Without Mercy (Mercy 1)

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.