Without Mercy

by Lisa Jackson

  Maeve’s companion wrapped a comforting arm over her shoulders, then shepherded her toward the path leading past the chapel.

  For a second, Jules thought he might be Ethan Slade, the boy she assumed Maeve was crying over.

  Or was it someone else who was comforting her?

  For half a heartbeat, she thought Maeve’s companion might be Father Jake, but he seemed much too familiar to be the youth minister.

  They disappeared into the night, and Jules was left wondering about Maeve Mancuso.

  Truth to tell, Jules didn’t know why the girl had been reduced to tears. Her emotional state might have had nothing to do with unrequited love. Perhaps, as she’d claimed, grief over Nona was setting in. In any case, teenaged girls were known to have extreme highs and lows, elated one minute, depressed the next.

  Still, Jules was bothered, though she didn’t know how to help Maeve.

  She remembered the glimpse of Maeve’s note and thought of the one that had been left for her. Both on lined paper, but in different hands.

  HELP ME, the first had pleaded. OMEN was the warning in Maeve’s possession. Had the girl written it, or had she received it?

  Jules would probably never know, but those three simple words, written on two scraps of paper, bothered her, and all of Shay’s fears, real or imagined, slid through her brain.

  Get over it. So you saw some notes. So Shay thinks there’s some deep, dark conspiracy on campus. Big deal.

  As the wind shrieked over the lake, Jules walked toward Stanton House. With each step, she told herself she was letting her imagination run away with her, that Shay was wrong, but as she walked by the chapel, a shudder ripped through her soul.

  CHAPTER 31

  “Damn!” Jules couldn’t find her cell phone. Her gloved fingers scrabbled through her purse but came up empty as she turned on the snowy path leading to Stanton House.

  She’d planned on phoning Adele Burdette, the headmistress for the girls. According to all the Blue Rock Academy literature she’d skimmed, as a member of the staff, she was supposed to help with emotional or physical trauma as well as report all “incidents” with students, including physical altercations or verbal confrontations or emotional problems.

  Maeve Mancuso’s meltdown in the hallway probably qualified, but Jules didn’t want to create a tempest in a teapot. She figured she’d let Dean Burdette know what happened, but downplay it. So, after she got hold of Burdette, Jules planned on calling Analise and her husband. She needed to find out more about the TAs, and she decided a good source of information would be her cousin. Eli had been a TA; he hadn’t revealed much before, but if she confronted him now, she felt sure he would give her more information if there was some kind of secretive cult.

  Or laugh in your face.

  Since her phone wasn’t in her purse, she checked her book bag. Nothing. Her pockets, too, were empty. “Can’t be,” she said to herself, remembering that she’d had it just before class when she’d talked to Edie.

  The phone was definitely missing.

  Had she left it in the classroom? She knew she had it there; she’d been talking to Edie.

  Oh, great. A killer on campus, and now she didn’t even have a cell phone to call for help. Some example she was setting for these kids.

  As Jules turned on her heel and headed back to the education hall, she thought of the information on that phone. The calls that had come in from Shaylee on Nona’s prepaid cell, the menu of numbers that included Shaylee’s old cell phone and Edie’s home and cell. Analise and Eli’s number would show on the recent calls. Though she remembered locking the phone, any techie type would make fast work of unlocking the phone and retrieving all of the data stored inside.

  “Damn.”

  Her heart began to race, and she had to fight a looming sense of panic. “Don’t go into orbit yet,” she cautioned herself, her breath fogging with the cold. The phone wasn’t really lost or stolen, just misplaced. However, the knot twisting painfully in her stomach reminded her of how much she had at stake.

  She flew into the building and ran up the stairs. Her boots rang in the hollow hallway, melting snow dripping onto the tiles. On the second floor, she nearly skidded around a corner, then stopped short when she spied Missy Albright just closing the door to room 212 behind her. Loitering in the empty hallway, as if he was standing guard while waiting for Missy, was Zach Bernsen.

  What?

  For a split second, they both appeared startled; then matching grins quickly slid into place. Just like clockwork. “Hi!” Missy said brightly. She held up her calculator as Jules approached. “I’m sorry, but I lost my stupid calculator. It must’ve fallen out of my purse when I was in your class.”

  “Is that right?” Jules couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. “You know, I didn’t see it when I was straightening up the room.” And now I’m missing my phone.

  “I know, I know.” Missy rolled her eyes in a silly-me-I’m such-a-goose expression. “When I started looking around the classroom, Zach came up here and found me. I’d left it in the science lab when he and I were doing calculations for a chemistry experiment.” She stretched her mouth and lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug while starting to walk toward the elevators with Zach. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Wait a sec. While you were in there,” Jules said, motioning toward the door to her classroom and not letting the girl escape so easily, “did you happen to see my cell phone?”

  Missy’s face collapsed into an expression of confusion. “Nuh-uh,” she said, shaking her head and keeping her gaze locked with Jules’s. “But I wasn’t looking for it.”

  “I just thought you might have come across it while searching.”

  “Sorry.” Again she lifted her shoulders as if that said it all. Other than calling the girl an out-and-out liar or stripping Missy of her bag and searching it, Jules was out of options. As for Zach, he seemed almost bored with the exchange.

  “Then it must still be in the classroom,” Jules said as the two students retreated for the bank of elevators.

  She opened the door to her room, and it appeared just as she’d left it, the desks rearranged into a semicircle, all the surfaces clean.

  Jules searched for ten minutes, opening drawers, looking in the closet, eyeing the floor, but she came up empty-handed. Her cell phone wasn’t anywhere to be found. Had Missy taken it? Someone else in the classroom? Or had Jules lost it during the time she’d spent dealing with Maeve?

  She realized that a cell phone was like gold to these kids; most of them would jump on the chance to swipe it, either for personal use or for trade. The reasons didn’t necessarily have to be nefarious.

  And yet…

  Once again she turned off the lights, but this time, before she actually stepped into the hallway, she detoured to the window and looked across the campus, where snow glittering under the security lamps offered a peaceful vista.

  Warm lamplight glowing from the chapel added to the appearance of serenity. All an illusion, she told herself.

  If she didn’t believe it, all she had to do was ask Nona Vickers’s father.

  She spied Missy and Zach as they walked rapidly from the education building toward the chapel. Zach’s arm was slung over Missy’s shoulders, as if he were shepherding the tall girl.

  Just as they reached the arched doors, Missy dared to look over her shoulder. Her face turned upward, her gaze centered on the very spot where Jules stood in the darkness.

  She froze, wondering if the girl could see her.

  Don’t make more of it than it is, the voice of reason nagged at her, but she felt a whisper of fear just the same.

  With a word from Zach, Missy slipped through the door of the chapel, and Jules was left with the disturbing notion that despite all the accolades about Blue Rock Academy, Shaylee might be right. It could very well be the school of the damned.

  If so, Jules was going to find out.

  Tonight.

  * * *

&n
bsp; Trent caught Jules as she was leaving the education hall. Head bent against the wind, apparently lost in thought, she was walking quickly in the direction of Stanton House. “Hey, Ms. Farentino,” he called, just in case anyone saw him flagging her down. “Wait up!”

  “What?” She looked up quickly, startled as she slowed in the light of a tall lamppost. Snow swirled around her, catching on the wisps of hair that had come free of the hood of her long coat.

  It could have been a trick of light, but for a fraction of a heartbeat, the corners of her mouth lifted a bit, as if the sight of him was a welcome distraction. “I want to talk to you about one of our students,” he said, and resisted grabbing the crook of her elbow.

  “Which one?” she asked as he reached her.

  “Andrew Prescott,” he said, his voice lowered as they walked along the path. “I just got the word a couple of hours ago—he didn’t make it. Lynch will be making an announcement a little later.”

  Jules paled under the lamplight, her gray eyes darkening with sadness. “Another one,” she whispered. “Dear God, I was hoping he’d recover.”

  “We all were.”

  She let out a long breath as he brought her up to date on what Meeker had told him about the deaths. She listened, shivering slightly, worry straining her features. He added, “In some ways, I don’t know how these kids are bearing up under the strain. A killer on the loose, and we’re all pent up here in the storm. Unless the son of a bitch got out that first night, after he attacked Nona and Drew and before the blizzard hit, he’s trapped here.”

  “With us. I know.”

  He witnessed her shudder and wanted like hell to wrap a comforting arm around her, to hold her close, to press his lips into her frozen hair and whisper that everything would be all right. But he didn’t. First, he couldn’t give anyone else a glimpse that he knew her more than as a new colleague. Secondly, he’d sworn long ago that he wouldn’t try to keep close contact with any woman who’d made it clear she wasn’t interested.

  Jules qualified. Big-time.

  Right after Rip Delaney’s murder, Jules had been adamant that she didn’t want anything to do with him.

  Thirdly, he now knew that despite all of his rules and vows to himself, he couldn’t trust himself near Jules, because, like it or not, he’d never gotten over her. Being near her, staring into her concerned eyes, watching the thoughtful pout of her lips, he realized with heart-jolting clarity that he still wanted her.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  For a heartbeat, he considered throwing caution to the wind and leaned closer to her.

  “Mr. Trent!” a young voice called, shattering the moment. He looked over his shoulder and spied Banjo Harris running toward them.

  Oh, hell!

  He’d forgotten that he’d promised to meet with her to resolve some questions about her schedule.

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “Wait! I need to talk to you!” Jules was insistent, grabbing his arm.

  He couldn’t risk lingering any longer. Too many people were watching. He stepped away, breaking contact. “Then come by my place tonight, say ten, ten-thirty,” he whispered, anxious not to be overheard. “You know which one it is?” She nodded. “The porch light will be off.” God, what was he thinking? Inviting her to his cottage? Inviting disaster.

  “I’ll be there,” she said softly just as Banjo bounded up to them, her guitar case banging against her back with each stride.

  “Thanks,” he said to Jules, then turned on his heel.

  Being any closer to her was dangerous.

  Dangerous in a million ways.

  “You’re wrong!” Maeve insisted. Her insides were shredding as she walked toward the cafeteria with Nell, Lucy, and that awful new girl, Shaylee. Just because Shaylee was in their pod didn’t mean that they had to hang out with her.

  Not that it mattered now.

  The rumor was that Andrew Prescott had died. He’d really died. And although Maeve had given up the romantic notion of a suicide pact between Drew and Nona, once she’d learned that there’d been an attack, she had desperately wanted Andrew to live. As if his survival was a valiant act, a way to defy the killer who’d taken his beloved’s life.

  Drew’s death, on top of Maeve’s own problems, made life here at Blue Rock unbearable. For the past couple of days, her friends had been trying to convince her to give up on Ethan, to deny that which was the most important, the most vital part of her.

  She knew in her heart that Ethan was her true soul mate, the only man she would ever love.

  God, she was so miserable, and she couldn’t keep from crying. Her tears froze on her face, tiny diamonds in her eyelashes, and the night wind blew so hard it made her lungs feel frozen. Maeve didn’t know how she’d get through dinner. Of course, she felt a little zing of anticipation because Ethan would be there, but she feared that he wouldn’t spare her a look. He wouldn’t wink, wouldn’t give her any indication that she was special to him, even though he’d said it dozens of times before.

  Hadn’t she been there for him during all those awful, ridiculous accusations about him and Ms. Howell? Hadn’t she stood by him? Given him an alibi if he needed it? Didn’t he know that she’d do anything for him? Anything?

  Their boots crunched in the snow that was crusting over. She’d never been so cold in her life. But this, the chill of winter, was nothing like the ice that threatened her heart when she thought of losing Ethan.

  Ethan loved her, he did. He’d told her so. Every time they’d gone to the hayloft where … Oh, God, she couldn’t think of Nona, how she’d died dangling from the end of a rope.

  The lump in her throat was so large she could barely breathe, and the thought that Ethan could be with anyone else was like a thousand daggers in her heart.

  “I’m just saying that I saw him with Kaci Donahue,” Lucy said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  But it is! It’s my life! He’s everything to me! She blinked hard, pretending the snow on her eyelashes was bothering her, when, in truth, she was fighting a losing battle with tears. She loved him. She’d proven it. Letting him touch her and kiss her and make love to her. She would have risked everything for him.

  “No guy is worth this,” Shay said, as if she had some experience with this kind of pain. Yeah, well, who needed her opinion anyway?

  “Ethan is,” she whispered fervently as they reached the cafeteria and pushed open the doors. The bright lights blinded her, and the smell of Mrs. Pruitt’s shepherd’s pie made her gag. Bile rose up her throat, and it was all she could do to swallow it back. She couldn’t let any of the staff know how she felt. She cleared her throat and whispered, “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now.”

  “Uh-oh.” Nell’s gaze swept across the wood-paneled interior to a far table, where Ethan was seated alone with Kaci. “I can’t believe he has the balls to show up here with her.”

  “They’re both TAs,” Lucy pointed out.

  Maeve wanted to disappear through the floor. She grabbed the band on her wrist and snapped it hard, harder. She needed to feel a pain to drown out the bleeding in her heart.

  “Bastard!” Nell hissed.

  Shay said, “She doesn’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “Well it’s right in her face!”

  For his part, Ethan glanced at Maeve, gave her a quiet, innocuous smile, then turned back to Kaci. Just like that. As if she were just another student he barely recognized, a nobody in Mr. DeMarco’s calculus class. Someone he had to help understand logarithms.

  Nothing more.

  Zach and Missy joined the other couple, and Maeve thought she might be sick. The two couples looked like they were on some kind of double date.

  Maeve took her seat at Mr. Trent’s table. Wedged between BD on one side and Nell on the other, Maeve tried not to focus on Ethan, but it was damned hard. Why didn’t he understand that their love was something so special, something priceless? Under the table, she snapped at her wris
tband, letting the sting keep her in the moment.

  The rest of the students took their places, and Reverend Lynch confirmed that Andrew Prescott had died. Somberly, he led them in a prayer while a glum silence fell over the stunned students.

  Everyone had known that Drew might die, but it was still weird. Surreal. For a while, out of respect, or just because it was expected, everyone was quiet, the shepherd’s pie and salad passed around the tables with very little conversation.

  That changed midway through the meal as people began to talk in hushed tones, then with more animation over the clatter of flatware and clink of plastic glasses. Maeve had taken a serving of the pie and a slice of bread, but when it came to actually eating, she couldn’t manage a bite. And the buzz of conversation faded into white noise, punctuated by Kaci Donahue’s trilling laughter.

  Tears welled in Maeve’s eyes, and she had to fight to keep them from streaming down her cheeks, so she squished her bread into small dough balls and thought of ways to make Ethan love her again.

  What would it take for him to realize that she, not bony Kaci, a girl who was a female version of a daddy longlegs spider, was the woman he was meant to be with?

  “You need to be chillin’, Maeve.” BD grinned, his dark eyes dancing as he stared at her torn and flattened dinner roll. “You’ve already killed it!”

  On the other side of him, Keesha laughed.

  That did it! Maeve’s stomach lurched and she didn’t care about the rule that everyone was supposed to wait until after another prayer before leaving the dining hall. No one understood her. No one! Not even Nell.

  And not even Ethan, she thought miserably.

  She scooted back her chair and took off, wending her way through the tables toward the hallway and restroom. She felt the prying heat of curious eyes upon her and hoped beyond hope that Ethan saw her pain and would come looking for her.

  He didn’t, of course.

  To her absolute mortification, the next person who pushed open the door to the restroom was Kaci Donahue. Maeve wished she’d hidden in one of the stalls.

  “Hi,” Kaci said lightly, as if there was nothing wrong. She leaned close to the mirror and studied her reflection, dabbing at the corner of her lips as if to wipe away an errant bit of lip gloss.