Without Mercy (Mercy 1)

So what did it all mean?

Nothing good, that was for sure.

And why hadn’t Jules confided to her about Trent, that he was the same bull rider she’d once thought she’d marry? Sure, Jules had never admitted that she’d planned to wed the cowboy, but Shay had known, had sensed the change in her. Shay understood her older sister so much better than Jules understood her.

Now, though, why was Jules keeping secrets?

As a sense of foreboding slid through her, Shay had watched through the window as near the chapel Trent leaned over and brushed a kiss across her sister’s cheek.

Like he cared for her.

A stone forming in the pit of her stomach, Shay wondered if Jules had known that Trent was part of the staff when she’d taken the job. Maybe Jules had come to Blue Rock not to help Shaylee but because she wanted her old boyfriend back. Maybe Shay was just an excuse.

That was crazy, wasn’t it?

Jules, though no genius, had loved her, had always protected her younger sister.

Until now.

Shay had been about to turn away from the window when she’d spied another figure against the snowy landscape. Tall. Alone.

What in the world, Shay had wondered. Had the loner been following Jules? No, that didn’t make any sense. He had paused, as if contemplating his next move, then turned, and in a split second, his face had been illuminated by the moon’s frail light.

Father Jake?

Shay’s heart had nearly dropped.

Why in the world had he been out in the middle of the night?

Probably not writing next week’s sermon.

Shay had stepped away from the window and spied her backpack in the corner of the room. She hadn’t called Jules, as the d

amned cell phone she’d taken off Nona had nearly run out of battery, and Shay didn’t have the charger.

So, she’d stretched out on the bed, contemplating her next move, thinking about how she could get out of this damned prison.

Finally, she’d decided, she would have to confront her sister the old-fashioned way: face-to-face.

As for a killer on the loose?

She wasn’t worried.

She could handle herself.

Now, smiling to herself, she dressed in the dark, adding another thermal layer beneath her jacket. Ski pants slid over her jeans, and she stepped into boots. Gloves in her pocket, she was ready.

Quietly, she eased out of the room and down the hallway. So what if she set off any alarms? She was no longer worried about the stupid security devices; so far, they hadn’t caught her coming or going at will. She knew that the cameras in the rooms didn’t exist. As for the hallways, she’d take her chances.

Down the stairs and into the basement.

Though, supposedly, each building had been double-checked and made more secure, it was a joke. Just like everything else around here.

Quickly, she made her way to the window and unlatched it with the screwdriver she’d hidden in an old dilapidated bookcase. Pushing the glass open was easy; hoisting herself upward and through, her escape was a piece of cake. Once outside, she felt alive again. The night air was crisp and bracing, the snow a thick white blanket, the moon a bright orb in a black sky speckled with stars.

While the twinkling lights in the gazebo shined no longer, a few security lamps offered some illumination, enough so that she could navigate easily.

She stayed on the shoveled, trampled paths, hoping to keep her tracks hidden now that no new snow would cover them. The brittle air burned in her lungs, bringing with it a faint scent of smoke.