Without Mercy (39 page)

A few seconds later, she heard him stride out of the room, slamming the door to the office so hard the building shuddered.

Now was her chance!

She started counting to ten to make sure he wasn’t returning but stopped at five and unlocked the bathroom door.

The room was awash in shifting golden light. Deep in the fireplace, flames consumed the sheaves of paper tucked into manila files. Black smoke rolled up the chimney as the pages curled and burned.

Jules threw open the screen of the fireplace and grabbed a poker from the hearth. Leaning close to the fire, feeling its heat, she used the tool to push the pages apart, separating the stack of files, easing each manila folder away from the center of the blaze, trying to save as many of the documents as she could.

“You bastard, what were you up to?” she said under her breath, and wondered what information the files had contained. A clue to the killer’s identity?

Unlikely.

But surely proof of the school’s complicity in something that wouldn’t bear scrutiny in the light of day.

She managed to drag the papers onto the stonework, then used the small shovel to stamp out the flames curling over the corner.

“Come on, come on,” she urged, leaning over the smoldering, smoking papers. Some of the pages were untouched, others completely consumed.

All were files on the staff and students at the academy; there were no accounting ledgers, no proof of a second set of books.

So what did it all mean? she wondered, soot on her gloves and jacket. Somehow she had to find out, and the
only way was to haul these files, half burned as they were, out of here.

A brass wood carrier sat empty on the hearth. It might just do the trick. Using the thick leather gloves left near the utensils on the hearth, Jules carefully pulled out the papers she could salvage from the firebox. The edges of the pages were blackened, some still glowing red, but she kept at it, blackening the fingers of the gloves, carefully laying the pages and files, some still with clasps, into the carrier.

She had started adjusting the screen when she heard a noise in the hallway.

She froze. Oh, God, no. Not when she was so close. Sure enough, voices carried through the door.

“She could still be in here?”

Wade Taggert!

Damn!

She straightened, left the gloves on the hearth, and slid silently toward the bathroom.

The doorknob rattled.

Her heart nearly stopped.

Lynch hadn’t locked the door when he’d flown out in a rage.

Not the dead bolt, but the lock in the knob might always be turned to the locked position.

The door didn’t open immediately, but she didn’t dare draw a breath. What if they had a key? How would she explain herself? The carrier of burned pages?

Heart in her throat, she backed up, caught the corner of Lynch’s desk with her thigh, and bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

“You smell smoke?” Takasumi asked.

“Always. Lynch burns a fire every day, rain or shine. Kinda like Nixon.” Taggert laughed. “I heard he built a fire and ran the AC.”

“Did you believe the girl’s story? That she’d gone to the gazebo for meditation?” Takasumi asked.

“Don’t know. She’s disturbed.”

“Weird if you ask me, but then aren’t they all? Talk about a fantasy world. I mean, out in the gazebo in the middle of a damned blizzard, clicking that rubber band at her wrist. It just doesn’t make a whole lotta sense.”

“Maeve has issues; let’s just leave it at that.”

Oh, yeah, ever the good therapist.
What was Wade thinking, discussing a student, his client, with Takasumi?

Jules eased into the bathroom just as the door to it clicked loudly.

“This one locked, too? It’s not supposed to be, right?” Takasumi asked.

Jules’s knees went weak. How could she explain herself being in the office, carrying a load of half-burnt papers? How many laws was she breaking?

“It’s the only way his office is secure, really, so Lynch locks it. Come on. She probably got done with her prayers and went back home.”

The “she,” no doubt, meant Jules.

Dear Lord, she hoped they didn’t check at Stanton House.

Tense, ears straining, Jules waited. Footsteps retreated. Finally, far off, a door closed. She didn’t know which direction they’d gone, out the front or the back of the chapel, so she waited longer, giving them a head start, the seconds slowly stretching to minutes.

When she could stand it no longer, she opened the door. The hallway was empty, nearly dark, the only illumination coming from night-lights in the chapel. Fearing she’d be accosted at any instant, Jules quickly hauled the carrier with its stack of smoldering papers down the short corridor.

At the back door, she sent up a quick prayer.

Then she let herself out and stepped into the night.

CHAPTER 33

“I
told you she was trouble,” his right-hand man said as he flipped a cell phone through the air, the slim instrument glistening under the lamplight as it arced in the snowfall.

The Leader caught the phone on the fly and jammed it into the pocket of his ski jacket. “I unlocked the security code. Piece of cake.”

Cocky son of a bitch. “I’ll check it out.”

“Just give me the word,” his minion insisted, teeth flashing. “I’m ready. We’re ready. Whatever you want.”

That was better. “Soon.” They had a plan, but it might have to change if Julia Farentino became a serious problem. And his right-hand man was correct—things were spinning out of control. “You’re not going rogue on me?”

“Never,” the kid said, but there was an undertone to his words, and if one of those he trusted ever struck out on his own, started taking matters into his own hands …

“Trust me.” Another flash of white and the kid took off, disappearing into the thick veil of snow. Was he lying? A master at deception? If not he, then who?
Some
one was definitely playing by his own rules.

The Leader just had to find out who was deceiving him.

There was restlessness in the night, the precursor to what was to come, what he would decide. He felt a thrill at the prospect, a sizzle in his bloodstream, but there were worries as well.

Like the snow spinning fast and wild as it fell, the winds of change were swirling, winds that he needed to control. Was his right-hand man correct? Did the problems begin and end with Julia Farentino, or did they run deeper?

Darker?

Was she more dangerous than he imagined? All of his fantasies about her and the Stillman girl, the two women who resembled each other, would have to be tamped down until he was certain about her.

Clutching the phone, welcoming the sharp slap of the wind on his face, he made his way across the snow-covered lawns, the blizzard nearly a whiteout, the lights on campus barely discernible until you were nearly upon them, but he had no trouble navigating, not here, not in the one place on earth he thought of as home.

At the breezeway, he stomped snow from his boots, though the concrete was already covered with snow and ice, carried by the raging wind. Even the long roof shuddered under the weight of the heavy accumulation.

Inside the admin building, he walked quickly down the hall, then slipped into his private office, a place where he wouldn’t be disturbed, a spot he rarely used, as he had a much more private one.

Tonight, he was certain, he wouldn’t be disturbed. Nonetheless, he locked the door behind him. He unzipped his jacket and pulled off his gloves, the interior feeling warm, though his thermostats were set in the low sixties for the night hours. He drew the shades quickly and hung his jacket on a coatrack, then got down to business at his desk.

He turned on Julia Farentino’s phone. As the kid who’d
stolen the phone had said, the cell was already unlocked. He had free access to menus of text messages, lists of contacts and calls that had been received, sent, or missed. Then there was the contact list, which proved without a doubt that Julia Farentino was at the very least a fraud, at the worst an undercover cop, though he doubted that. He saw her as a lot of things, but a detective?

Unlikely.

He gleaned what he could from the slim device and stared at the glowing menu of names and numbers, making note of each. His teeth gnashed in frustration. How he would love to squeeze the life out of the damned cell! Or, better yet, her long, sensual neck. In his mind’s eye, he envisioned confronting her. Or better yet, gaining her trust. Finding a way to isolate her from the rest, get her alone, flirt with her a bit. Toy with her emotions.

That part of seduction was easy.

He imagined pricking that part of her that found danger attractive and tapping in. Touching her cheek, catching her gaze, offering her the smallest of smiles as his eyes held hers. She’d get the message.

They would be somewhere secure, a place where she would feel safe letting down her guard.

Flipping the phone in his hands, he imagined the look of excitement in her gray eyes, the tease of her naughty smile as she realized he was dangerous, but, she would tell herself, only slightly.

That bit of false knowledge would be her undoing.

But he had no time for fantasies, not tonight. He studied the information on the phone.

Several names on the contact list caught his attention: Shay, for example. Not a common name but the same as the newest student, the one who resembled Julia. And then there was Analise. Again, not common, though neither were rare. Yet he wondered … Unfortunately, Julia hadn’t
added pictures of those she called into the phone’s memory; her screen saver was of a gray cat, sitting on his haunches, batting at some unseen item with one paw.

He dialed each number. The first—for “Shay” with an area code he recognized as that of Seattle, where Shaylee Stillman lived—hadn’t gone through. The storm again. He tried again, and this time, the call went to voice mail, with no instructions, just the flat voice of a prerecorded message from the cell phone company instructing him to leave his name and number.

He clicked off. Drummed his fingers on the desk. This wasn’t good, not good at all.

He dialed the number for Analise. Again, no last name. But this time the call was picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Jules,” a woman greeted, obviously reading the caller ID. “Oh, good, I want … talk to … can’t … hear … Jules? Oh, rats! Try … call again.”

With dead certainty, he recognized the voice. So Julia “Jules” Farentino possibly knew both Shaylee Stillman and Analise Delaney. A contradiction. A niggle of fear slid through him. Heretofore, he had been certain there was no indication that she’d known anyone who’d ever attended Blue Rock Academy.

An outright lie?

Or an omission?

Lie? Omission? What did it matter?

No, not Analise Delaney. He corrected himself as he remembered that the pretty girl had married Eli Blackwood. Another mistake. He’d trusted Eli, though he had not entrusted him with too many secrets. Good thing, as the boy had failed him.

How did she know Analise and Eli Blackwood?

Scowling, he dialed the number marked as “home,” with its Seattle area code, and heard her voice, though the connection was fading. “Hi! You … reached … Jules …
out right now … know … drill … leave … -sage and I’ll call you back as …” The call was disconnected, but there was no mistake. He recognized her voice. Julia Farentino, who had sworn she lived in Portland, Oregon. Why would she have a Seattle exchange? Had she moved? Kept her service in Seattle, Washington, because it was easier? Friends and family knew the number?

There were lots of possibilities.

But it was just too much of a coincidence to think she’d been hired soon after Shaylee Stillman had become a student….

And they resembled each other.

He took another chance and dialed the number marked “Mom.”

The phone rang several times before it was answered by voice mail. “You’ve reached Edie. Sorry to have missed your call. Please leave …” And blah, blah, blah.

He didn’t have Shaylee Stillman’s file in front of him, but he remembered that her mother was Edith Stillman, the same woman whom Julia had tagged as “Mom.”

So they were sisters?

He stared at the certificates on the walls of his study, an impressive and vast array of documents proclaiming him “excellent” or “exceptional,” degrees that proved his natural intellect and ability to work hard against the disadvantages of his early years. And yet, sometimes he erred. His sharp, clinical mind could be clouded by lust, by envy, by greed, sins of the soul that he’d tried so hard to tamp down.

He leaned back in his chair so far that it squeaked in protest.

Why would she lie?

To get the job?

To be near her sister. No wonder he’d blended the two women in his mind, fantasized about both.

Or was she here for a darker purpose?

It didn’t matter. The bottom line was that he couldn’t take a chance with her. And her death was the only sensible answer. Confronting her, exposing her as a liar, might ensure that she was thrown out of the school. But intuition burned deep in his gut, telling him that there was more to her deception.

And he couldn’t take any chances.

The phone jangled in his hand. Analise’s number showed on the screen. He clicked on. Didn’t say a word.

“Jules?” Analise’s voice was clear this time, but he didn’t respond. “Can you hear me? Oh, God, I hope so. Jules?
Jules!
Listen, Eli would probably kill me if he knew I told you this, but there is something going on at Blue Rock—can you hear me? Oh, God. I didn’t want to tell you, didn’t think you’d be in trouble or danger or, oh, God. Neither Eli nor I are sure of what it is, but there’s some kind of secret club there. I know it sounds weird, but I feel they could be … I don’t know,
dangerous
sounds so over the top, but that’s what I feel … Jules? Are you there? I thought the place would be good for Shay, but I don’t know. I love the school, believe it really helped me, but … you’re right. Oh, darn, I should have warned you. Look, I’ll try to call back. I hope you’re doing okay, that you’ve got power. We’re out here … Jules? Damn it all anyway!” She clicked off, and the Leader stared at the phone. All of his plans, all of his dreams, all of his ideals flashed like lightning through his mind.