Without Mercy (Mercy 1)

A rubber ball smacked into the back of the last remaining student on the green team, a short, smooth-faced boy, quick on his feet but not quite fast enough. Before he could step out of the way, two more balls hit him in the midsection. The kid made a fist, hit an imaginary target, and tried not to swear as his teammates, lined against the wall and already out, groaned in unison.

On the other side of the court, their opponents, wearing yellow mesh pinnies, whooped, hollered, and gave each other high fives. Several of the guys raised their hands, jabbing a single finger in the air. Their team was “number one.”

From the Olympics to a mini dodge ball tournament at Blue Rock Academy, the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat never changed, Trent thought as he blew the whistle. At least the tourney had provided a distraction from the pall that had settled over the school. “Okay, yellow team wins this round!”

More shouting and jumping from the students in the yellow vests.

The green team fell morosely quiet, as if the tourney really mattered. Two kids grabbed stray balls and started shooting hoops.

“Hey! Balls in.” Trent blew his whistle and caught everyone’s attention again. “That’s it! We’ll call it a day. So tomorrow is the dodge ball finals, and Wednesday we start martial arts.” Neither of the two sports were Trent’s favorites. He preferred canoeing and rafting and horseback riding, even snowshoeing, over indoor activities. But because of the blizzard and security concerns, they were stuck inside.

He heard a few boys on the yellow team taunting the losing team. “Enough! Now listen up. Pick up the balls and hit the showers!” A few of the younger kids on the green team tossed the balls into the cart, which they rolled into a closet while others took off at the speed of light to avoid any extra work. Finally, the kids who’d helped him ran off the court to catch up with their classmates.

As he locked the closet and was about to snap off the lights to the gym, Trent noticed Reverend Lynch standing in the doorway near the front entrance. He’d probably been watching all along. That’s the way it was with the school’s director, always observing or dropping into class unannounced. Usually he reminded Trent of Ichabod Crane from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, but today, bundled in a ski jacket and insulated pants, he seemed less gangly as he strode across the gym.

“Mr. Trent.” Lynch smiled, though there was little humor in the lines of his face. He crossed the glossy gym floor in his boots, tracking water and snow. Clueless. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” Trent said, though he felt a tightening in the back of his neck. This was the first time since he’d been hired that Lynch had searched him out. In the past, he’d been summoned to the reverend’s private office, usually with a group of teachers. “Careful with the shoes.”

“What?” Lynch looked down and sighed, finally noticing the wet tracks. “Oh. Sorry.”

“What can I do for you?” Trent walked with Lynch into the wide hallway that was the main entrance to the building.

“I was told by Sheriff O’Donnell that you’ve been deputized.”

Trent gave a quick nod. “That’s right.”

“And you worked as a deputy for a sheriff’s department in Montana. That’s in your file.”

“Pinewood County.”

“Good. Well, then, it only makes sense. I think Blaine O’Donnell might want a few more deputies, and if he asks, I’m going to suggest Bert Flannagan and Kirk Spurrier. They’re already in charge of security.”

“No women?” Trent grabbed a folded towel from the cart near the shower room.

“Oh.” Lynch’s mouth twitched. “You’re right. Guess I’m old school, and I suppose that could be construed as sexist these days. Which, by the way, I am not. If push comes to shove, I think Dr. Burdette would make an excellent deputy.”

Trent wasn’t sure he agreed, but he kept his opinion to himself.

Lynch frowned and waited as Trent shook the folds from the towel. “So as things develop, I want you to not only report to the sheriff, but to me as well.”

“You?”

“You are employed by the school,” Lynch reminded him with the supercilious smile that bugged the hell out of Trent.

“I am, and I take my teaching job seriously,” Trent said, thinking of the information he’d already obtained in conversation with detectives. Certain details were not to be spread around campus; it would compromise the investigation. “But the teaching gig is different from police work.”

“Of course. But I’m counting on you to keep me informed.”

Trent wasn’t one to sell out, even if he was on a payroll. “Tell ya what. If I find out anything that you, as the director of the school, should know, I’ll fill you in. But I can’t compromise the case.”

“Oh. Well, of course, I wouldn’t want you to do that,” Lynch said as a gust of wind rattled the double doors at the end of the hall.

Trent didn’t buy the minister’s pout—all that wounded integrity.

“I just need to be informed for the safety of the students,” Lynch explained.

Trent held the reverend’s gaze, knowing full well there was more to it. “I’m sure the sheriff will keep you updated,” Trent said, wrapping the towel over one hand.