Without Mercy (Mercy 1)

She kicked her chair into position in front of the desk. “What does it matter now?” she asked herself, sipping her tea. It was all water under the bridge.

Back at her keyboard, she clicked on the Web site for Blue Rock Academy again and looked at the pictures of the campus. Boy, were those “at-risk” kids having fun with their guitars, canoes, horses, hiking boots, and fishing poles. She scrolled through photos of apple-cheeked students, lodgelike buildings, a sparkling mountain lake, and snow-glazed mountains that spired to a clear blue sky.

What a crock.

She clicked through the different areas of the Web site and came to a menu with options that included “Employment Opportunities.” With another touch of her finger, she found that the school was looking for a kitchen worker, a maintenance man, and a teacher.

She was a teacher. An unemployed one, at that. One with a teaching certificate good in Oregon. Not believing for a second that she’d actually try for a job at the school, she printed out the application. Why not?

The last thing Shay needs is you messing things up. She’s there for a reason, under judge’s orders, and she’s made it crystal clear that she doesn’t want you anywhere near her.

Jules scanned the questions. Did she still have a résumé? She tapped a finger on her desk. The school wouldn’t hire her if they knew she was related to one of their students.

So she’d have to lie.

And not just one lie, but a lot of them.

She’d have to use her last address in Oregon, which would work out, as she hadn’t yet bothered to change her driver’s license to Washington. That would be good. More distance between herself and Shay, whose place of residence was Seattle.

She’d also have to lie to Edie, but that wouldn’t be too tough; Jules had lots of practice from her own years as a rebellious teen.

What would she accomplish if she did get hired? So she would see Shay every day, so what?

You would be able to see for yourself that the academy is on the up-and-up; that all those testimonials are, in fact, true. If not, you could help get Shay released, right? Find out the dirt—if there is any—and spring your sister. On top of that, be pragmatic: There’s a bona fide teaching job at a private school. Even if you don’t stay for more than a year, it will look good on your résumé that you’re still working in your field as an educator.

Well, not if it was found out that she’d lied, an

d Shay would make certain of that.

What the hell had she been thinking?

That she could kidnap her sister?

That she could expose the school for being a sham just because it all looked too perfect?

“Stupid.” She took the pages she’d printed out and, one by one, flipped them into the trash.

“What did you mean about the microphone and camera?” Shay asked her roommate the next day after class. She’d already suffered through a prayer service, four classes, a pathetic group meeting after lunch, and now was scheduled, with the rest of the losers in her “pod,” to do the assigned chores. Today they were cleaning out the horse stalls. Tomorrow they’d repaint some of the canoes. The next day back to cleaning the stalls and maybe fixing and polishing saddles and bridles and the rest of the tack. The fun just didn’t stop here at Blue Rock.

“In the sprinkler heads,” Nona whispered as they lagged behind the rest of the group walking briskly toward the barns. No one else could hear, not even smarmy Kaci Donahue, the leggy brunette TA who seemed to be everywhere, or her sometimes friend Drew Prescott, a mean-faced dude who Shay guessed had some kind of inferiority complex from the snide comments he made about nearly everyone.

“Who’s watching?” Shay asked.

Nona shrugged. “Who knows? Lynch? Burdette? Some pervert?” She slid Shaylee a knowing look.

“Someone in particular?” Shay asked.

Nona hesitated. “More than one.”

“Who?”

“I, um, I dunno,” she said quickly, as if wishing she’d held her tongue. Shaylee wasn’t letting her off that easy.

“You do.”

She didn’t respond as ten pairs of boots crunched in the snow and a flock of geese flew overhead, a wavering, uneven V heading north through steely clouds.

Shaylee tried again. “So we’re always being spied on?”