Without Mercy

by Lisa Jackson

  Was there a flicker in Zach’s cool eyes?

  “A couple of nights ago, I came up behind two people out after curfew, down by the garage. They took off before I could catch up with them. You know anything about that?”

  “No!” Quick denial.

  “Did you know that Drew Prescott and Nona Vickers were a couple?”

  “Hell, no! Drew flirted with all the girls, wanted to get into their pants. He didn’t care who. I don’t think Nona was anything special to him.”

  “Real nice.”

  “Hey, you asked.”

  “Do you know anything more?”

  Zach closed down. “I told the cops and I’ll tell you—I don’t know anything about what happened to those two. And that goes double for the freakin’ horse! I do not know how Nova ended up locked outside.”

  Trent wasn’t convinced. Zach was a player. “Okay, but if you change your mind and suddenly remember something, it would be wise to tell me about it, because Mr. Flannagan is pretty pissed about the whole thing, seeing as the stable is his responsibility. He’s ready to rip you and Rolfe new ones with the business end of a pitchfork, so I’d think real hard about what you know and either tell me or the detectives.”

  Zach cocked his head, the tough facade cracking. “About … the horse, right?”

  “About anything.” Trent skewered the kid with a hard-ass glare. “You got something to tell me, Zach?”

  The kid looked away, sucked in a breath, shook his head. “No. I don’t know anything.”

  “Think about it, Zach. You’ve worked hard here. You wouldn’t want to mess up.”

  “I haven’t.”

  Trent didn’t believe that for an instant. “You can leave now. Tell Rolfe he’s up.”

  Zach couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. A few seconds later, Eric Rolfe walked in, hands in his pockets, face set in a bring-it-on-punk expression. “What is this?” he demanded, standing in front of the desk, rolling on the balls of his feet, looking like he was itching for a fight. “It’s time for dinner.”

  “Not yet. Sit.” Trent had already pegged Eric as a hothead. With little provocation, the guy would take a swing at him. And then there was the fight he’d already started with Shaylee Stillman. Yeah, a loose cannon.

  “I don’t get it,” Rolfe demanded. “I already talked to Lynch and the cops. So now you’ve got more questions?”

  “I just want to know why the filly was left out the other night.”

  “She wasn’t, okay? Jesus, who cares?”

  Trent leaned back in his chair, studying the tower of fury that was Eric Rolfe. “I care. I take it seriously when someone messes with animals. And the condition of the stables shows me that people are messing around. Someone’s been using the hayloft as a bedroom. Last night probably wasn’t the first time, and the way things go, I’m willing to bet that if one couple was using it, others knew about it, too. Kinda like a free, no-tell motel. One of them could have, by mistake, left the filly out because they were too interested in each other to realize they’d left the back door open and her stall was unlatched.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “No?” Trent leaned forward. “I thought that was part of your job description as a TA, that you help the teachers and the administration ride herd over the younger kids. I mean, you’re an esteemed TA, first line in the campus security force.”

  Rolfe snorted. “You don’t know Jack shi—”

  “Don’t I?”

  Rolfe’s eyes narrowed a fraction; his pupils focused hard on Trent. “You know, my old man’s an attorney. Big firm in San Francisco. He wouldn’t like you harassing me.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Rolfe. Your old man sent you here for a reason—because you had gotten yourself into a pile of trouble. What was it? B and E? Meth?”

  “I don’t do street drugs.”

  “That’s right. Pills. Vicodin. Percocet. OxyContin. Doesn’t matter what it was; you even stole from your grandmother to get ‘em.”

  “I’m clean now.”

  “Clean but picking fights with new students. Slugging girls. Not smart, Rolfe. You’re pushing it. Lynch might not have decided what your punishment should be, but I’ll give him some advice. You should either be kicked out of the program or assigned to the stables to shovel manure for the next three months.”

  “I was just making fun. That girl went all psycho on me!” Rolfe declared.

  “The way I heard it, you were being pretty obnoxious about Nona’s death.”

  “Just tryin’ to lighten things up.”

  “Sure.” Trent eyed the kid. “The next time you want to mix it up, come up here. Don’t embarrass yourself by picking on some girl half your size.”

  “She was the one who looked bad.”

  Trent snorted. “I’m just reminding you not to mess up. Don’t mock the dead. Don’t pick fights, and if you know something, spill it. Tell me, tell the cops, whoever. You’ve had a pretty clean slate until today. So chill.”

  Fury darkened Rolfe’s eyes as he pressed his fists into the desk and leaned forward. “I don’t know anything, Mr. Trent, so get off my case.” He straightened, his balled fists at his side. “Can I go to dinner now?”

  Trent waved him off. “Yeah. Go.”

  In seconds he was out of the office and down the hallway. A moment later, Trent heard the exterior doors bang shut behind Rolfe.

  “Moody son of a bitch,” Trent said, unsatisfied as he tapped his pencil on his desk. He’d decided to push the kids about the filly being left outside, hoping they’d scramble around and admit that other people knew about the makeshift bed in the hayloft. It was hidden well, behind stacks that would be pulled down, but eventually, within a week or two, it would have been discovered. So Trent wondered who knew about it and figured it could well be whoever left the filly outside.

  But Bernsen and Rolfe hadn’t cracked.

  He put in a call to Sheriff O’Donnell, was patched to his cell, and did something that was way out of his comfort zone: He kowtowed to the big man. “I know the department’s strung thin,” he said when O’Donnell asked gruffly what he wanted.

  “So what?” The man’s baritone voice was as big as he was.

  “I worked in the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department in Montana; I know the ropes. You can check with Sheriff Dan Grayson or Detective Larry Sparks, Oregon State Police. I think, sir, with everything that’s happening here, you might want to deputize me.”

  “What?”

  “I’m already on staff. No one would know.”

  “Oh, I see, an undercover deputy. Hell, maybe I should just promote you to detective while I’m at it. Hell of an idea, Trent. You want a pension, too?”

  “No pay.”

  “You’re just an interested civilian trying to help his fellow man? Sure. And you’ll probably try to sell me land in Florida, too. You can’t be serious. I’ve got enough problems without some buff sporting a damned badge.” He paused, then muttered, “Shit,” under his breath.

  “I’m just saying I could help.” It was all Trent could do to hold on to his temper. Working for this prick wouldn’t be a picnic, but he needed to get closer to the investigation, learn information only the cops would have. And, truth be told, he would be an asset to the overworked sheriff’s department. “The weather service is predicting a blizzard. Up to three feet of snow. You think about it, Sheriff. Call Grayson.”

  O’Donnell snorted his disdain and advised, “Don’t hold your breath, Trent. I got a job to do, and I’m going with my trained professionals. I can’t afford to have another dead body on my hands. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go make a show of reassuring the entire student body that they’re safe here.”

  “And you believe that, Sheriff?” Trent asked.

  A raspy breath, and O’Donnell muttered, “What do you think?” before ending the call.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Everyone.” Reverend Lynch rose from his seat and spread his arms wide.


  From her seat at the head table, Dr. Williams clicked her spoon against a glass to garner all the residents’ attention.

  A foot above the main floor and perpendicular to the other tables in the hall, the head table’s placement reminded Jules of a medieval feast, where the lord and his privileged guests sat higher than his serfs and freemen—a not-so-subtle reminder of who was in charge.

  Jules sat on one side of the reverend, wedged between him and Dean Williams. Cora Sue sat on the other side of her husband, her face pinched and stern, as if she were sitting next to the director of Blue Rock because of some detested duty. It wasn’t hard for Jules to envision Reverend Lynch’s huge poodles sitting in front of the table, proud as lions in the service of their master.

  But the poodles weren’t here.

  And apparently, Reverend Lynch’s wife wished she wasn’t.

  “I know this is a difficult time for all of us,” Lynch said, standing tall in his black suit and white clerical collar. “What happened here is very disturbing. After tonight’s meal, we’ll have a vigil and prayer service in the gazebo, so bring your prayer books, candles, and bold spirits.” He smiled beatifically, as if campaigning to be a twenty-first-century saint. “We will be strong and weather this recent tragedy together.

  “And, please, know that we are taking every precaution for your safety. We have the deputies, detectives, and even Sheriff O’Donnell himself.” He motioned to a big man standing near the door. At six five and possibly two hundred fifty pounds, the sheriff reminded Jules of a bull mastiff. Hat in his hands, he didn’t crack a smile as his shaved head shone under the lights. “Sheriff O’Donnell has assured me that his deputies and detectives will serve and protect us.”

  The room remained silent, and Jules sensed that people on this campus weren’t feeling so secure, despite the presence of law enforcement.

  The corners of Lynch’s mouth twisted upward, an odd, pious smile. “Now, I’d like all of our students to know that counselors are available to speak with you round the clock. If there’s anything you’d like to discuss, please come directly to me or to Dr. Williams or Dr. Burdette. If you need to speak to family members, we’ll arrange it. This is a loss we share together, but in our darkest moments, we must remember, my brothers and sisters, that we have God on our side.”

  Now the silence was broken by the sudden whimper of a girl off to Jules’s left and the sound of sniffing as people tried to hold back tears.

  “We have some new business that cannot wait.” Lynch turned toward Jules, his small, dark eyes fixing on her. “Let me introduce the newest member of our staff, Ms. Farentino, who joins Blue Rock from Bateman High School in Portland, where she recently taught a variety of subjects, including history, art, and sociology. Ms. Farentino will be teaching some of our social and environmental classes. I trust you will show her the spirit and sense of community that is so much a part of Blue Rock Academy. Ms. Farentino?” He held out his hand to her, cuing Jules.

  She stood, lifting a hand. As she did, she spied Shaylee, sitting at a table with half a dozen kids, no doubt her pod. Shaylee sat apart from the others, a wide space between her and the next student, a black girl with cornrows. Nonverbal language that said Shay was not welcome. Shay’s mouth drew into a deeper pout as she met her sister’s gaze.

  Jules’s heart wrenched, but she couldn’t acknowledge Shaylee. She stayed on her feet while Reverend Lynch invited all the students and staff to meet her, then asked everyone to stand for a prayer.

  The meal was served family style and consisted of a hearty beef stew, crusty homemade bread, coleslaw, and apple pie. Jules was starving by the time she sat down, and every bite was delicious. Swabbing a last bite of bread with butter, Jules decided that any complaints Shay had made about Mrs. Pruitt’s cooking were just as unfounded as her feelings of persecution. But, then, that was the glass-is-completely-empty Shay.

  Reverend Lynch and Dr. Williams engaged her in conversation centering around the school. Cora Sue ate little and seemed pissed when the pie was passed. She shook her neatly coiffed head almost imperceptibly, as if the server, one of the students in Adele Burdette’s pod, should know instinctively that there were far too many calories in a wedge of Dutch apple pie.

  Flatware clicked, conversation was kept to a low, somber hum, and Jules felt the glances from the students. Curious. Wary. Anxious. They were sizing her up, wondering how much they could get away with if they ended up in her class.

  Once the meal was finished, people cleared their plates and began moving toward the prayer vigil. Jules caught Shay’s eye and knew she wanted to talk, but this was not the time. All eyes were on Ms. Farentino, the newcomer, who was supposed to be meeting staff and students right now. A few of the kids came up and introduced themselves, mumbling a quick greeting, and Jules nodded, smiled, and eased her way through the group.

  Wade Taggert, one of the counselors who also taught psychology, was one of the first to extend a welcome. His handshake was firm, almost too hard. His thin goatee showed hints of gray that matched the glacial shade of his eyes. His gaze held no warmth as he said, “Glad you’re on the team. We need you. I’ve been covering some of the history classes for a while, and it’ll be good to settle back to a normal workload.”

  His words were kind enough, but his tone seemed hollow, soulless. There was something unfathomable about him.

  Salvatore DeMarco was next in line, and he seemed a bit more sincere, with his dark good looks and quick, if slightly forced, smile. He was strong and fit and taught math, science, and survival skills. “You’ll like it here,” he predicted, his near-black eyes glittering.

  As they introduced themselves, the other teachers insisted that Jules would fit right in.

  Jules was pretty sure she wouldn’t.

  Reverend McAllister was quick to grab her hand, smile at her, and joke that she’d brought the bad weather. He had to be in his midthirties but looked younger, one of those faces that would always hold a hint of the boy he once was. “This is a great place,” he told her, “once you get to know us. I’m really sorry you came at such a bad time.”

  Bert Flannagan’s handshake was a grip of steel, his expression intense. Jordan Ayres was friendly enough, a real take-charge woman who seemed to be sizing her up during their brief conversation. Jules then made small talk with Adele Burdette and Tyeesha Williams, both somber as they acknowledged the tragedy of losing a student to such violent means.

  Jules was just about to extricate herself from the group as a whole when Cooper Trent approached her. “Hope you’re settling in,” he said as they were within earshot of the other instructors.

  “Not quite, but I’m getting there.”

  “It takes a while, you know, as we’re so isolated, but I think you’ll find Blue Rock interesting.”

  “I’m sure I will,” she said, meeting his gold-hued eyes and remembering how they darkened with the night, how his pupils would dilate when he stared at her.

  She swallowed hard and folded her arms, afraid she might reach for his hand. Being close to him was not a good idea. She couldn’t take these memories of how she’d once loved him. She had to suppress the quicksilver flashes of their passion that burst inside her whenever he was near.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” he said.

  A little too late … no, make that a lot too late.

  “Thanks,” she said through lips that barely moved. Of all the men in the world who were qualified for the PE instructor job at Blue Rock, what twist of irony was it that brought Cooper Trent here? Talk about bad luck!

  As if reading her mind, he stared at her a second too long, then turned away, leaving her to bob and weave her way past a few others on her way to the door.

  Once outside, she took in a huge breath of air. Her nerves were as tight as piano wire from the ordeal of keeping up her facade, and she’d just arrived! Maybe it would get easier as she went along. She’d never been a great liar, and now she had to stay on her toes, not
let anything slip.

  Lost in thought, she followed a dark path toward Stanton House and nearly jumped out of her skin when a box hedge shook, a dark figure rising behind the snow-covered green.

  “What the hell!” Jules backed away, nearly falling into a mound of snow at the edge of the walkway. She caught her balance as she recognized her sister. “What’re you doing?”

  “We have to talk,” Shay said in a stage whisper as she fell into step beside her. “Just keep walking and tell me how you think taking a job here is going to get me out.” Her greenish-gray eyes flashed with anger beneath the brim of a watch cap with the Blue Rock insignia on it.

  “I told you already.”

  “My roommate died last night.” Shaylee’s lower lip wobbled on a sob. “They’re thinking that somebody here killed her!”

  “I know that, Shay. I’m so sorry.”

  “So let’s go.”

  “We can’t just walk out of this place. Remember: A judge put you here.”

  “I know, but people are being killed!” Shay sniffed, starting to hyperventilate.

  Jules put a steadying hand on her sister’s back. “Hey, calm down. Just hang in there.”

  “I thought you were going to help.”

  “I am.”

  “Is anything wrong?” Trent’s voice boomed from behind them, and Shay actually darted away from Jules as Trent approached.

  “I’m handling it,” Jules said. Dear God, she didn’t want Shay to see her with Trent and somehow put two and two together. Shay might remember him. “Thanks, Mr. Trent.”

  “No problem. Shaylee’s one of the students in my pod.”