Without Mercy (Mercy 1)

“So am I.” He kissed her then, his lips claiming hers, and she felt as if she’d finally come home. She felt the heat of his body, the pounding of his heart, the sheer strength of him.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered. “I blamed you for something that didn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Water under the bridge.”

“No, it’s not. I think what scared me the most back then was how much I depended on you, how much I loved you.”

“Tell ya what,” he suggested, and she almost felt him smile in the darkness. “Let’s give it another go.”

She cleared her throat. “I don’t know how that will work.”

“As my father used to say, we’ll make it work. He was a f

irm believer in positive thinking. So am I.” He squeezed her and kissed her forehead again, and for a second in the darkness, she trusted that things would be all right, that they actually had a chance to overcome this nightmare they were living in.

“Listen.”

She did, and over the pounding of her heart, she heard nothing. Not even the rumble of a furnace.

“The power’s out,” he said, and she was finally awake enough to realize how dark the room was. There was no glowing digital readout on a clock, just total, pitch blackness, and the room was getting colder by the minute. “And the wind’s died down.” Trent reached over to the nightstand, and a moment later she saw the flash of his cell phone as he tried to make a call. “Out of luck.”

Jules huddled back under the quilt, shivering.

“Hey. Come on.” Trent was already swinging out of bed. “You’ll freeze in here. Wrap up,” he instructed, coiling a quilt around her as she tried to wake up, to think clearly.

She couldn’t stay here all night. Not with everything that was happening. Still half-asleep, she let him guide her out to the living room, close to the fire.

Naked, he poked and prodded the fire, his muscular silhouette in stark relief against the bloodred coals. He added several chunks of oak and fir, and as the mossy wood caught fire, he returned to the bedroom, then dragged his mattress and a pair of jeans to the living room. He dropped the mattress onto the floor and stepped into his jeans. “I have to go and check on the animals, make certain there’s heat in the stable, but stay here. I’ll bring the pillows out and you can sleep by the fire.”

“What? No!” She didn’t want to be left alone. Not tonight. Why? Come on, Jules, don’t be one of those men-dependent women you hate.

“Seriously. You’ll be safe here.” But there was a hint of trepidation in his voice. “Look, I’ll be gone less than twenty minutes, and I’ll leave the pistol with you.”

“You think the killer is after me?” she asked, and felt another sliver of fear.

“I don’t know who he’s after, or even if he’s still hunting, but I want to know that you’re safe.”

“Well, hey, me, too. I think that’s a great idea, but what about Shay?”

“She’s in the dorm with a buddy; she’ll be fine,” he reminded.

“We don’t know that. We don’t know if anyone here is ‘fine.’ It would be comforting to think that the murderer is finished with his work, that Nona and Drew were his only targets, that the murders were personal. But then there’s Lauren Conway.”

“Okay, point taken.”

“And you were going to leave me with the gun. For safety. Because in your heart of hearts, you have a feeling this killer isn’t done. And we could be targets, right?”

“Right.”

“I just need to know that Shay’s safe. That’s the reason I’m down here, you know. To take her home.” She was already unwrapping the quilt. “But there have been a few obstacles in my way,” she said, tossing the quilt aside. She snagged a flashlight from a side table, flicked it on, and started toward the bedroom. What had she been thinking? With everything else going on, she had no business sleeping with Trent. No business at all.

And all his words about sticking around, about trying again, these were empty phrases until they were out of the trap that was Blue Rock.

Crossing the bedroom, she tripped on her boots and stubbed her toe. Swearing under her breath, she located her damned panties and bra where they’d been flung into a corner. Her jeans and sweater were on the other side of the room, testament to how fast and anxiously they’d been stripped from her body.

Refusing to consider how foolish she’d been, she got dressed as quickly as possible.

“For the record,” Trent said, “I think this is a bad idea.”