Without Mercy

  “You have one? Here?” Shay was dumbfounded. She hadn’t seen Nona with a guy at all, and there were no pictures on her desk, no mention of him. In fact, up until now, Nona had only mentioned an abusive ex-boyfriend back at home. Though it wasn’t allowed, Shaylee had seen some of the kids flirting with each other. But Nona? “Who?” she asked.

  Nona just grinned like a cat who’d eaten a canary, and Shay ran through a list of potential candidates. Ethan Slade? He was cute as hell. Or Eric Rolfe, the kid with the military cut and sharp blue eyes. Maybe Tim Takasumi or Roberto Ortega, the two boys who had access to the nurses’ station. Shay had learned their names, along with everyone else’s, during the lame introduction ceremony.

  “So who is it?” she urged as they walked together.

  “Guess.”

  “I’m not guessing! I don’t even know anybody yet.”

  Nona giggled, then looked up and her smile faded. “Shh! Not now!”

  One of the boys in the group, the tall blond kid named Zach, looked over his shoulder, and Nona ran like a frightened deer to catch up with her friends Maeve and Nell, two girls who hadn’t yet given Shay anything but icy stares.

  Shay was left to bring up the rear. It figured. Not that she gave a damn. Shay watched Nona hurrying away, as if glad to be rid of her. Was Nona lying, bragging about some fantasy boyfriend? Like those little kids who have an imaginary friend, maybe Nona had an imaginary boyfriend. Or maybe it was Zach.

  Shay decided it was a waste of time speculating.

  Who cared?

  But suddenly Shay was more interested. As Nona ran, something started to fall out of her pocket—something dark and slim, like a cell phone or an iPod or a camera, all of which were strictly forbidden. Nona nearly stumbled, then shoved the object deep in her pocket, glancing at Shay.

  Their eyes locked, Nona silently pleading with Shay to keep quiet.

  Shay held her stare. No way would she rat her roommate out, but she wanted to know what was in the pocket and how Nona had pulled it off.

  Nona caught up with her friends, and she was suddenly giggling again with Maeve Mancuso and Nell Cousineau. Maeve, the reddish blonde from Rhode Island, was a bit of a basket case, as far as Shay could tell, a deep-seated romantic. She’d heard the girl was a cutter, that she had the scars on her wrists to prove it. And Nell, a sixteen-year-old from a small town in Marin County, north of San Francisco somewhere, seemed to have been blessed with a sharp wit and an extremely wicked tongue that Shay found intriguing.

  Now, Nona glanced over her shoulder and, casting a quick, almost naughty look over her shoulder at Shay, smiled slyly. So maybe the story about the boyfriend had all been a joke. Tell a big lie to the new girl, suck her in. Shay had been on the losing end of that prank more than once.

  But this, today with Nona, wasn’t quite the same. And then there was the phone—that’s what she thought it was, some kind of cell phone, here in the middle of nowhere. Would it even work?

  There was something going on with her roommate, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  What she did know was that she was an outsider.

  In a school of outsiders.

  Big surprise.

  It was friggin’ cold, and Shay would have liked a smoke. She hadn’t had a cigarette since leaving Seattle, and though she really didn’t think she was hooked, it would have helped ease her nerves. When she’d been admitted to this hell, the big nurse had informed her that all tobacco products, along with alcohol and all recreational drugs, were banned.

  Seriously?

  Hadn’t Shay smelled a whiff of tobacco smoke on a couple of the teachers? Dr. Burdette and Mr. DeMarco came to mind, as did some of the TAs. Shay was pretty damned sure that Roberto Ortega and Missy Albright, the tall, platinum blonde, had both reeked of tobacco just yesterday after returning to the chemistry lab after doing something with the rest of a group of the teacher’s aides.

  She couldn’t believe that no one on campus had a pack of cigs on them. Come on! There had to be eighty teenagers as students and over twenty members of the staff. Surely some of them smoked.

  Well, maybe this was her time to quit. At seventeen. When she’d barely picked up the habit.

  Gusting, the wind rattled through the surrounding trees and churned up the surface of Lake Superstition. She really had landed at the end of the world.

  At the head of their group was her team leader, the rugged-looking guy with the familiar name. There was just something about Mr. Trent that got under her skin. He was twenty feet ahead, near the front of the line. His leather jacket, lined in sheepskin, was stretched over his broad shoulders, and his jeans were faded, even frayed a bit. Leather gloves and well-worn cowboy boots …

  Why the hell did she think he was familiar?

  “Okay, everyone, listen up.” He turned, his breath fogging in the air. “You all know the drill, except for Shay, so someone buddy up with her. You, Ethan, show her the ropes.” He pointed to a dark-haired boy who, without a word, walked over and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Ethan Slade,” he said, though she recalled his name from the embarrassing introduction ceremony that had happened earlier this morning. She remembered Ethan Slade because he was just so damned hot. With near-black hair and a quick grin, he was friendly enough, though he probably wouldn’t give up many secrets about the place. His skin appeared permanently bronzed, as if he had some Hispanic blood in him, and Shay was drawn to the whole dark-side vibe to the guy. Add to that the interlocking tattoos on his left arm. Very cool.

  A few of the students turned to look at her. Most seemed curious, but two of the girls pissed her off. Tiny Maeve with her perpetual pout, and her BFF Nell, the athletic one. Those two threw her glares that could cut through steel, as if she’d dissed them.

  Get a life, she thought before turning away from their harsh gazes and completely ignoring them.

  Which was likely to piss them off even more.

  Exactly the point.

  Shay wasn’t looking for a new set of friends anyway. If these girls in her pod didn’t like her, fine. They’d made that perfectly clear the moment Reverend Lynch had introduced Shay to the campus.

  Directly after the first prayer in the predawn hours at the chapel, Lynch had announced, “Everyone, we have a new student with us. Shaylee, come on up here.” To her utter mortification, she’d been escorted by Dr. Williams to a spot in front of the podium, where she’d faced the congregation of staff members and students. “This is Shaylee Stillman, from Seattle. I expect you all to introduce yourselves at breakfast and do everything you can to make her feel at home.” Reverend Lynch had placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder, then led them in a final prayer that included thanking God for sending Shaylee to Blue Rock Academy. As the group had whispered “Amen” in unison, Reverend Lynch had squeezed her shoulder a bit, and she’d looked at him sharply, only to see him smile benevolently at her.

  Now, though, it was Ethan who had his hand on her shoulder. A nice feeling.

  “I’m Shaylee,” she said to Ethan, and was a little mesmerized by the gleam of his white teeth.

  He was muscular and compact, like a wrestler. “I guess I should say ‘welcome.’”

  “Don’t. I’ve heard it enough.”

  “I bet.” He stifled a grin, and his dark gaze glinted, as if he understood. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad around here after all.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed Maeve, Nell, and Nona whispering and sending her dark looks.

  Shay was used to it.

  She’d been the “new girl” before. She knew the drill. They’d eventually warm up, or not. But if she was buddied up with Ethan, she’d become public enemy number one, the new bitch in town. That might not be so smart.

  “Okay, grab your equipment inside the door, and let’s make this stable shine,” Mr. Trent said. “Last week, Dr. Burdette’s team got special mention for how clean it was after her team cleaned it. I think we should show them up.”


  Shay stepped closer to Ethan, murmuring, “Oh, don’t tell me they give out gold stars for shoveling horse poop.”

  Ethan didn’t bother hiding his smile, that heart-stopping flash of white against his dark skin. “Better than that. Credits. Toward using the Internet or phones.”

  “They allow you to communicate with the outside world? Wow.” She widened her eyes as if awestruck. “Finally. A reason to live.”

  Is that how Nona had her cell phone? If so, then why was she hiding it?

  “Sure,” he said as they walked inside the building that smelled of horses, dung, and oiled leather. He grabbed a pitchfork from the wall and tossed it to her, tines pointed upward. She caught the fork on the fly.

  He added, “You just have to play by the rules.”

  “I have a little trouble with that.”

  “You won’t,” he predicted, and there was an edge to his voice that she hadn’t noticed before. And the glint in his eyes hardened a bit.

  Yeah, sure. The guy talks nice for a second and you think he’s into you?

  Stabbing the pitchfork into a clump of hay, Shay wondered if there was a reason their team leader had picked Ethan to show her around. Maybe it was Ethan’s job to watch her a little more closely. He would probably report back to the pod leader or maybe Reverend Lynch.

  He was probably a spy, faking that he liked her.

  Shaylee shivered inside and didn’t let it show. But she suddenly felt more alone than she ever had in her life.

  From the reading loft in the education hall, the Leader watched Trent’s group head to the stables.

  Shaylee Stillman brought up the rear, and he couldn’t help but notice how she walked, the way her hips moved slightly. Her forced bravado—but he believed that her mask was slipping. All that sassy, dark attitude would give way.

  It always did.

  Except for Lauren, right? She’d managed to keep her sarcastic tongue and glint of daring in her eyes, no matter how she was put to the test.

  A classic mistake.

  And stupid.

  A student of history, he’d known better than to trust any female completely. Cleopatra, Mata Hari, Wallis Simpson. Prime examples of seductresses who changed the course of the world. And yet, he had let down his guard.

  Not that she’d been any woman, Lauren Conway. Oh, no.

  And he’d fallen for her allure.

  Completely.

  Madly.

  Stupidly.

  He’d allowed her into his inner circle.

  For all the wrong reasons.

  Mainly because of his ego.

  And his dick. His damned dick.

  Just like all those screw-ups in history who’d lost wars, given up thrones, changed the course of civilization: all for a woman.

  She was Eve with the apple.

  Delilah with her shears.

  Jezebel with her idolatry and witchcraft!

  He’d been forced to deal with her, and it had been painful, a reminder from God that despite his intelligence and his honed body, he was, in fact, only human.

  And he couldn’t make the same mistake again.

  Not with Shaylee Stillman.

  Not with any woman.

  CHAPTER 8

  Everything was distorted.

  Colors off. Light shifting. A headache thundering behind her eyes.

  Jules blinked. She was home … right?

  In the house she shared with her parents and sister?

  Or was she?

  Things were a little off, the rooms so dark.

  In the den, the French doors were ajar. Wind whispered through the crack, causing the gauzy curtain to flutter. It moved like a dancer, gracefully gliding over the wood floor, its hem stained a vibrant ragged scarlet as the sheer fabric swept over a dark, congealing pool of blood.

  Jules’s heart pounded in fear.

  She felt the knife in her hand, saw drops of blood sliding down the blade to fall and splatter around his body….

  Brrriiinggg!

  Jules awoke with a start. Her cell phone was jangling, her computer screen dark, as it had gone into hibernation mode. She must’ve dozed off searching for hits on the academy, Lauren Conway, and Maris Howell. Snagging the phone before it rang again, she said, “Hello?” and tried not to sound too groggy.

  “Hey, it’s me.” Erin Crosby had been Jules’s friend since college. Although they had been education majors together, Erin had found that being a teacher wasn’t her thing. These days, she sold cell phones and service plans. Erin had also made the fateful mistake of introducing Jules to Cooper Trent. Somehow Jules had forgiven her for that one.

  “Thought you might want to go out for drinks tonight. Or sushi,” Erin suggested. “You’re not working, are you?”

  “Got the night off, so just let me check my social calendar,” Jules said dryly. Her lack of social life since her divorce was well known, and Erin had been privy to the entire Peri/Sebastian debacle. Once upon a time, they’d all been friends.

  “How about six-thirty at Oki’s?”

  Jules glanced at the digital clock on the monitor of her computer. Four twenty-seven. Just enough time for a run, a shower, and, if the gods of Seattle traffic were on her side, the trip into downtown during rush hour. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. Gerri’s already on board. Gotta run. I’m getting the evil eye from my manager.” She hung up.

  Jules wasted no time. She stripped off her jeans and sweatshirt, threw on her running gear, and was on the jogging path just as the streetlamps began to glow. Dusk came early this time of year, and with the oppressive cloud cover, gloom had settled deep into the city. A heavy mist seeped through her clothes. Though the temperature was somewhere near fifty degrees, Jules broke a sweat within five minutes. Cars and trucks sped past, tires humming through puddles, engines rumbling, windows fogging. Jules slogged through the puddles and around pedestrians and dogs, tackling the hill that marked the midpoint of her circuit. She was breathing hard, and her waterproof running shoes were leaking. Just another couple of miles, she told herself as she angled toward the university, through the skeletal trees shivering as the rain thickened.

  She thought of her father and the night he died, how she’d found him in the den, the weapon that had taken his life lying in a thick red puddle beside him. Or had it been still in his body? Her dreams were confusing and sometimes her memory jumbled. Some people had speculated that Edie had killed him, the man she’d married twice. Others suspected that nineteen-year-old Jules, who had picked up the knife when she found him, had used it to stab him viciously. Even Shay had been a suspect, but the footprints outside the house and the open door that appeared forced had convinced the police that the intruder who had stolen Rip Delaney’s wallet had also taken his life.

  The intruder had never been found, and though the cloud of suspicion over the family had slowly lifted, life had never been the same.

  No amount of counseling sessions or antianxiety pills had stopped the horror of the recurring dream that robbed Jules of sleep, creating debilitating migraines that had often forced her to spend days in bed.

  Even after five damned years.

  So she ran.

  Every day.

  Rain or shine.

  Taking a respite only if the snow was ankle-deep or the sleet so severe that ice froze solid on the streets.

  It kept the demons at bay and helped with her sleep.

  She rounded a final corner and sprinted downhill. From this vantage point, she usually caught glimpses of the lake, but not today. It was too foggy, too dark.

  By the time she reached her doorstep, she was breathing hard and covered in sweat. She leaned down to stroke Diablo, then flew through the shower, washed her hair, and twisted it into a topknot. Slapping on some lipstick, she called it good.

  On her way out the door, she grabbed her cell phone and tucked it into her pocket. Through some searching on the Internet, she’d found Lauren Conway’s parents’ number in Phoenix. She’d phoned
twice, left a short message each time, but so far her calls hadn’t been returned. She figured if anyone had the dirt on Blue Rock, it would be the Conways. Either they’d want to discuss their missing daughter, or they’d shut Jules down, but she had to give it a try. She hadn’t been so lucky at tracking down Maris Howell.

  Yet.

  She locked the door behind her, then headed for the Volvo. The car’s windows began to fog as she wended her way toward the restaurant near Pike Place Market. When she turned onto Pine Street, she lucked out and spotted an older Cadillac vacating a spot. She nosed into a parking space, glad that she’d have to pay for just a few hours’ street parking. That would save her some money. Flipping up the hood of her jacket, she jogged the four blocks to the restaurant.

  The sushi bar was all metal and glass, dim lights, and aquariums filled with strange-looking fish that Jules hoped weren’t on the menu. Most of the small tables were occupied, and muted conversation hummed. Erin was waiting, waving frantically from a booth in the back. Gerri sat across from her.

  “We’ve already ordered,” Erin announced as Jules slid into the booth beside her. “Edamame appetizer, California rolls, shrimp tempura.”

  “And dragon rolls,” Gerri added.

  “Sounds good.”

  “We just didn’t know what you wanted to drink.”

  “With this?” she asked. “Saki. No question.” She scoffed at Erin’s glass of white wine and Gerri’s martini. They’d known each other since their freshman year in college, all ending up in the same dorm, none pledging a sorority, all education majors. Gerri was from Washington, D.C., while Erin had grown up around Spokane. It was Erin who had first met Cooper Trent through her older brother, who trained horses.

  They drank, ate, and laughed. Erin’s sarcastic sense of humor helped chase away the sense of foreboding that had been with Jules ever since she’d first found out that Edie and a judge were sending Shay to Blue Rock. Eventually the conversation wound its way to the academy.

  “What’s going on with you? You look depressed,” Erin said, dipping a slice of rainbow roll into mustard sauce. “Don’t tell me it’s Sebastian.”