Without Mercy

  “Too friggin’ bad,” Shaylee said.

  The other soldiers in Spurrier’s sick little army, Takasumi, Slade, and Donahue, stared at the muzzle of Meeker’s gun and the bodies littering the snow. One by one, they dropped their weapons and raised their hands. Takasumi was stoic, Slade defiant, and Kaci Donahue shaking, her teeth chattering so loudly they rattled. “Don’t shoot!” she yelled. “Please, please! Don’t shoot!”

  None of these three, the second tier of soldiers, it appeared, had gotten off a shot, nor been part of the action. Thank God. If they’d started shooting, the outcome of this battle might have turned out far, far worse.

  As far as Trent was concerned, they all deserved to face a judge and long prison terms.

  Thank God, Jules and Shaylee were safe. Finally. He rolled to one side, looking down on Jules, her dark hair fanned in the snow, her face pale in the moonlight. “Are you okay?”

  “Depends on what you mean by ‘okay.’” She managed a bit of a smile, then looked toward her sister. Tears filled her eyes as she saw that Shay was alive and unhurt. “Have I ever been okay?”

  “Never.”

  “Didn’t think so.” She pushed herself to a sitting position where she could see the damage. “Such a horrid waste,” she said as if to herself, then to Trent, “I could’ve taken care of myself, you know. You didn’t have to tackle me and pin me to the ground.”

  “Maybe I wanted to. Couldn’t control myself.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “I think I just did!” He winked at her as sunlight began to stream over the mountains, the long-awaited dawn chasing away the night.

  “Okay, okay, so you saved my life,” she mocked, somehow pulling herself together. “I suppose now I’m on the hook of owing you for the rest of my life.”

  “You got that right.” Trent gave her a squeeze with his good arm, helping her to her feet. He spied Meeker, still training his gun on the group of TAs who had survived. “We okay?”

  “Yeah. These are good kids,” he mocked. “They do what they’re told and right now, they’re cuffing each other. Just like I ordered.” Sure enough, he was standing close enough to the group so that they wouldn’t run and make a break for it, while watching them place handcuffs over their peers. He’d already collected their weapons and stood over the rifles and handguns.

  Trent asked, “So why didn’t you stay put, safe at Stanton House, huh? What the hell were you thinking?”

  “That maybe I could help. If you haven’t noticed I’m not all that great about just sitting around when there’s trouble.” She shook some of the snow from her hair. “Your turn. What the hell were you thinking, taking off and trying to take down Spurrier?” she said.

  “Actually he was taking me down, I just got lucky. But what I was thinking was just one thing. That if we ever lived through this nightmare, I was going to make damned sure that I never lost you again.”

  “Oh, yeah, right.”

  “Seriously,” he said, sunlight catching in his eyes.

  “Funny, I was thinking just the opposite,” she teased. “I told myself that if I had any brains at all and if I got through this and saw you again, I should run the other way as fast as my feet would carry me.”

  He arched a skeptical brow. “I’d catch you, you know.”

  “Oh, I know.” She buzzed his grizzled cheek with a quick kiss. “In fact, Cowboy, I was counting on it!”

  “Save me,” Shay groaned as she approached, nearly stumbling over Eric Rolfe’s dead body. She glanced down at him and her expression turned dark. “Serves you right, bastard,” she said just as Flannagan, astride Omen, burst across the lawn.

  The black horse plowed through the snow, sending up a spray of powder. Behind him, the entire herd ran wildly through the grounds, kicking up more snow, dark legs flashing, eyes bright.

  “What the hell?” Trent said, but got it. In desperation, Bert Flannagan had come up with the harebrained idea that a stampede would stop the ensuing attack. Eyes bright, Flannagan held a gun in each hand and the reins in his teeth, like some damned Hollywood version of an anti-hero riding to save the day.

  Like an avenger from hell, he headed straight for the weak group of TAs who were surveying the bloody scene, then climbed off his horse and scooped up all their weapons.

  “Hey!” Meeker said. “Leave everything. We got it.”

  Flannagan did as he was told and eyed the small cluster of remaining TAs. “Guess I missed the action,” he said.

  Trent said, “A day late and a dollar short.”

  “Always these days, it seems,” Flannagan said, stuffing his pistols into holsters and eyeing the carnage as if he were sorry not to have been a part of it.

  Meeker looked at the vigilante. “You’re in time for clean up.”

  “My luck,” Flannagan said unhappily.

  “Who would have thought?” Jules whispered as she eyed the bloodied snow. Ortega, still alive, was whimpering.

  “I’ve got him,” Flannagan said, no doubt a trained medic, though Jordan Ayres, the nurse, dressed in a snowsuit, had left her post in the clinic and, with a bag in hand, was hurrying toward the injured students.

  Trent inspected the body of Eric Rolfe. The kid was dead, staring sightlessly upward, his face still showing signs of the hatred that had burned deep in his guts. Trent wondered what had happened to the boy to make him such easy fodder for a homicidal fanatic like Spurrier. Had Rolfe been hard-wired wrong from birth? He reached into the stiff, frozen pockets of Rolfe’s jacket and discovered a set of keys to the handcuffs.

  “Here we go.” Trent planted a kiss on Jules’s forehead as she rubbed her wrists and took the key to Shaylee, who, now that she had no one to kick to hell and back, was breathing hard, staring at her sister in disbelief.

  “You and the cowboy? Really?”

  “Looks like.” Jules hazarded a glance at Trent. No man on earth had the right to appear so damned sexy, especially after the hellish night they’d just endured. Quickly Jules unlocked Shay’s wrists. “How about that?”

  “Yeah,” Shay said rubbing her wrists and managing a fake, unhappy grin, “How about that?”

  Jules hugged her fiercely. The sky was lightening rapidly now, the sun chasing away the stars and reflecting on the churned snow. “God, I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Me too.”

  “I was afraid … really scared that they had …” She swallowed hard, the words hard to say. “I mean I thought they might have killed you, too. When I saw Maeve I was sure there were others and you …” Jules blinked hard, tears burning her eyes.

  “Hey. I’m okay.” Shay said. “But I told you this place was sick and twisted. You get it now, right? So why don’t we get the hell out of here? Take me home.”

  “As soon as I can,” she promised, swallowing the lump in her throat. “As soon as I can.”

  Shay was nodding to herself, the aftereffects of being held at gunpoint, in fear for her life, taking hold. “Good. That’s good. I have to get out of here. Hey, why don’t you give me those,” she said, indicating the small key that unlocked the cuffs. “I’ll spring Nell.”

  “Sure.” Jules handed her the keys.

  “First things first, though.” Shay marched up to a whimpering Missy Albright, pulled a pair of handcuffs from Tim Takasumi’s hands and clipped the cuffs on the taller girl herself. “Serves you right, you bitch!” Shay said, giving Missy a push, then catching her by the pockets.

  “That’s enough!” Meeker ordered and Shay, fists clenched, grudgingly backed away.

  “I hope you get what you deserve,” she said to Missy, then took off after Nell as Trent draped an arm over Jules’s shoulder and hugged her close. “Once a rebel,” he said, watching Shay, “always a rebel.”

  “Are you talking about Shay?” Jules asked. “Or yourself?”

  He smiled. “Both.” Then he kissed her forehead.

  CHAPTER 45

  Hours later, Jules relaxed a little. She and Trent had ende
d up in the school’s cafeteria where they were drinking coffee while still trying to figure out some of the loose ends that hadn’t yet made sense.

  At least her sister was safe.

  Shay, along with Nell Cousineau, had been taken to the clinic to be checked for injuries by Nurse Ayres. Afterward they were to meet with their counselors to help them sort through their war-torn emotions and the trauma of being held hostage, their lives continuously threatened.

  As far as Jules knew, Shay seemed to be handling the situation, at least outwardly, for the moment. Nell, however, was an emotional wreck, might be scarred forever, and was under the watchful eye of Rhonda Hammersley until her parents could arrive.

  Meeker, with the help of Flannagan, Taggert, and Burdette, had locked the offenders in the clinic, the new makeshift jail. Ayres helped with the wounds. Eric Rolfe was dead, Roberto Ortega clinging tenaciously to life, Spurrier fast slipping away, the leader no more.

  Earlier, from her suite at Stanton House, Jules had watched as a sheriff’s helicopter was able to land long before the roads were cleared. Detectives Baines and Jalinsky had already taken both Trent’s and her statements and were in the process of interrogating Spurrier’s followers. The sheriff and a few deputies, who had arrived via helicopter, were talking to the students, taking statements one by one in a long, grinding process.

  Through it all, while the detectives were going over the crime scenes of the stable, clinic, campus lawn, and retrofitted fallout shelter, Jules and Trent had pieced together what had happened.

  It was unthinkable, really, Jules thought now as she took a swallow of tepid coffee. She’d been blown away to learn that Kirk Spurrier, the pilot and sometimes teacher, had put into action a plan to take over the school. In his deluded vision of the world, he’d seen his control of Blue Rock Academy as the ultimate revenge against Reverend Tobias Lynch and his mouse of a wife, Cora Sue. Spurrier’s plans had been more far-reaching, though, according to some of the TAs who were talking. The academy was just a stepping stone for a far bigger area of influence that included other schools where he would gather his flock of fanatics. He’d seen himself as a true crusader, one who would eventually lead a huge congregation as a televangelist with political influence.

  Jules reached for the pot of coffee on the table and refilled her cup. Trent was looking through the windows, his good arm draped over her shoulder. He, too, seemed lost in thought, his coffee forgotten.

  Jules lifted the pot and he nodded, so she topped off his cup and thought of the TAs who had become Spurrier’s followers. The police were still sifting through all the members of the program, talking to Lynch and those they knew about, trying to determine how deep was Spurrier’s influence.

  His inner circle of Rolfe, Bernsen, Albright, and Ortega had been told most of his plans. Bernsen and Albright, the remaining inner-circle members who were still conscious, had reluctantly told of Spurrier’s mission, though they’d vehemently denied any part of the killings of Drew Prescott, Nona Vickers, and Maeve Mancuso.

  They wouldn’t budge on that issue—their beloved leader was not a killer! However, they did claim that Spurrier had worried that there was a “rogue” in their midst. Missy was convinced that Eric Rolfe was the killer as he was always pulling at the bit, anxious for bloodshed, pushing Spurrier to become more violent.

  Who knew?

  Spurrier was nearly dead, Rolfe already gone to meet his maker.

  Meanwhile, a couple of the investigators were going over the stable, hoping to find some bit of forensic evidence to connect Rolfe with the killings. Fortunately, cell phone service, though spotty, had been restored.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m about ready to leave this place,” Trent finally said. He twisted his neck, stretching tight muscles.

  “The sooner the better. I just want to wait so that I can take Shay with me.”

  “That might be a while.” Trent’s gaze skated over the group of students at tables near the far wall. They were all quiet, their faces pale. The survivors. Jules wondered how much each of them had known, how many had suspected the evil that had been a part of Blue Rock.

  An outside door opened and Father Jake found his way into the cafeteria. Spying Jules and Trent, he wended his way through some empty tables. “Long night,” he said, and kicked back a chair. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all,” Jules said.

  The preacher was somber as he upended one of the unused cups on the table and poured himself a thin stream of coffee. “Since you two were so involved in this mess, I thought I should explain myself, why I’m really here.”

  Trent snorted. “Even you have a secret agenda?”

  “Don’t we all?” The preacher managed a half smile and leaned back in his chair.

  All true. Jules had lied to help spring Shaylee from the academy and Trent was really undercover trying to determine what had happened to Lauren Conway. They both had fessed up and now, it seemed, it was Father Jake’s turn.

  “So, here’s the deal,” he said and launched into his story. He explained that he’d been hired by Blue Rock Academy’s board of directors to double-check on Lynch. After Lauren Conway’s disappearance, the members of the board, unsatisfied with the reverend’s explanations, had wanted another viewpoint on the school.”

  “Yours,” Trent guessed. “So what did you conclude?” Trent asked.

  “Obviously, I think that Lynch should step down.” Jake McAllister smiled. “And don’t look at me. I know my limits as a clergyman, and I don’t belong here. But Lynch has been convinced that he should resign. It should happen this afternoon. I told the board that I’ll stay on until they find a more suitable replacement.”

  Jules was having trouble taking it all in. “Do you think Blue Rock will shut down?” she asked, her coffee forgotten.

  McAllister lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe. But, under the right direction, I think it could work. I hope it can.” He offered up a thin smile. “There’s always a need for troubled kids.”

  Jules knew it. Shay was a perfect example. God only knew if, after this terrifying experience, she would ever return to that happy little girl she remembered.

  The doors opened again and a few more students, after being interviewed, were filing into the cafeteria where Martha Pruitt had put together a long buffet of sandwiches and cold drinks. They were sober and pale, not the excited, eager group she’d first met … Dear Lord, had it only been a few days earlier?

  Several of her students caught her eye and she held up her hand, waving to them as they found trays and silverware. Ollie Gage looked at her with owlish eyes, and Keesha Bell offered up her free hand, the other linked tightly with her boyfriend’s. Even Crystal Ricci gave her a nod. As in any tragedy, people were drawing together. With minimal conversation, they filed through the line and congregated at the tables at the far side of the room. A few counselors were interspersed with them, but today, for once, there were no assigned tables; no strict rules and most of the students seemed content to hang together in a large group.

  A few seconds later the door flew open and Shay walked in. She took a quick look around the cafeteria, spied Jules and made a beeline to the table.

  “I thought you were being counseled,” Jules said as her sister approached.

  “I was. But I’m okay.” Shay was nodding, agreeing with herself. “I think we can leave now.”

  “Just like that?” Jules asked, dubious. “You’re ‘okay’ and the school is releasing you? Now?”

  “They think I’ve been through enough.” Shay was actually smiling for the first time in a long, long while. It wasn’t the infectious, eager grin from her youth, but it was a smile just the same.

  “Wow. I’m surprised, but I guess that it’s all good,” Jules said, though Shay’s release, considering everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, seemed a little premature.

  As if reading her thoughts, Shay added, “Dr. Hammersley wants me to see someone, a counselor up i
n Seattle, maybe do some outpatient stuff and, of course, I’ll have to deal with the judge.” She was talking fast now. Excited. Ready to finally get out of the school she considered a prison. “I figure Edie will straighten all that out, you know, because of everything I’ve gone through. Being a hostage, seeing people killed.” She shuddered and Jules noted both Trent and Father Jake were watching her sister, as if trying to understand Shay. Which, of course, was impossible.

  “I’m sure Edie will try. I’ve talked to her, explained that I was coming to get you, but I haven’t admitted to working here yet. I thought that would best be said face to face.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Shay wasn’t really listening, too keyed up. “If Edie has to, she can talk to Max. There has to be a way to convince the judge to let me go home.”

  “You’ll need a counselor’s recommendation, I would think, and a letter from someone here at the school as well as a good attorney,” Father Jake said.

  Shay shrugged. “Then it should be no problem.”

  “We’ll work on it.” Jules said, still not wholly convinced. That was the problem with Shay; she thought if she believed something strongly enough, she could make it happen by the sheer force of her will. “Why don’t you get something to eat until all the paperwork’s ready?” When she saw Shay about to argue, Jules said, “You know the drill. Everything takes time.”

  “Fine.” Shay rolled her eyes. “But I’m not hungry. I’ll just get something to drink and take it back to the dorm. I really want to pack and get out of here.”

  “Wait a sec. Are there any special forms that need to be signed, so that you can leave with me? Since I’m not your mother.”

  “Hammersley said you have to go prove who you are. That you’re my sister, or something like that. She said that the secretary, Ms. King, has all the release forms.” She turned her eyes on Father Jake. “And then someone in authority has to sign them.”