Without Mercy (Mercy 1)

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.

But Maeve detected satisfaction in Kaci’s gaze and knew the older girl had just come into the bathroom to rub it in.

How mortifying.

Without making a sound, Maeve left the restroom and walked into the hallway, where Mr. Trent stood leaning against the far wall, waiting for her.

Great!

Arms crossed over his chest, he caught her eye, then fell into step beside her. “You okay?” he asked.

She wanted to dissolve into a thousand pieces. “Yeah,” she lied. Don’t make me talk, please, please, please. I can’t talk about it!

“Sure?”

“Mmm.” She nodded her head frantically, anxious to get rid of him. The last thing she needed was her semihot pod leader watching as she imploded, self-destructing. Her throat was still thick, but she forced out the words, “I, uh, think I’m coming down with a cold or something,” she said, the lie tripping off her tongue.

“Okay.”

He was buying it? Really?

“I know all this is difficult.”

What? He knows? Was she that transparent?

Then she got it. He was talking about Andrew and Nona being killed.

“We’ve got grief counseling set up. Private and group. And you know that if you want to talk, I’m here….”

“I know,” she said, forcing brightness into her tone that she didn’t feel. Mr. Trent didn’t understand it, of course, but she was way beyond being saved by talking.

Talk was useless. She needed action.

CHAPTER 32

In a throwback to his youth, Father Jake made the sign of the cross over his chest as he stared at the altar in the chapel.

He hadn’t been a Catholic in a long, long while, but old habits died hard, especially when confronted with great tragedy, hard times.

He’d seen more than his share of heartache, fear, and humiliation in his thirty-six years, and throughout it all, his faith had been unshaken. He knew the emotional pain of losing a wife, of watching her slowly die and realizing that her death was the result of his own actions.

He’d felt despair as great as any and guilt that had been unbearable. He’d made mistakes during his lifetime, had been a liar, a cheat, and he had done things for which he’d had no pride.