“Yeah, but, listen,” he said, “I don’t want you hurt. I’ll take you back to Stanton House. You go back to your suite and lock the doors. I’ll—”
“What? Are you crazy? After finding Maeve?” she asked incredulously. What was he thinking? “No way can I just sit still and wait around.”
“There’s not much else you can do.” He was emphatic. “The phones aren’t working, so you won’t be able to get through and you won’t accomplish anything running around the campus in the middle of the night with a goddamned killer hiding nearby!”
“But I have to do something! I—we—can’t just sit around and wait. The last time he killed two people! How do we know that there isn’t another dead kid somewhere?” she said, her panic rising again.
Trent shook his head. “We don’t. But if someone’s dead, we can’t do anything about it now. It’ll be daylight in a few hours.”
“I don’t think we should wait,” she said, thinking of Shay. Was her sister safe? God, what if the killer were, at this moment, extracting his own special vengeance on her? Jules’s stomach turned sour and the night seemed so, so long. “What time is it?”
“Don’t know. Probably close to four.”
“Still two, maybe three hours before dawn,” she thought aloud. “The last time he hunted, he killed two people. Before that, if he did kill Lauren, only one, but maybe he’s escalating, one, two, and tonight maybe three? What if poor Maeve is just the first of many?” She looked down at the dead girl once more, and her stomach threatened to heave.
Trent took hold of her arm. “You’re jumping to conclusions,” he warned. “Don’t go off the deep end on me. Okay? I need you to think straight. Got that? You have to be clear.”
She was nodding but trying to step toward the door, to get out, away from the gloom and death that lingered here.
“Just wait,” Trent said, fingers tight over her arm. “Hold the lantern up. High. Like this.” He wrapped her fingers over the handle of the lantern he’d suspended over Maeve’s body. “There. Hold still.” Retrieving his cell phone from
his pocket again, he flipped it open, hit a button, and began taking pictures of the dead girl.
Each time the camera in his phone flashed, illuminating Maeve’s fixed gaze and gray face, Jules cringed.
Click.
Another image of death.
“I might not be able to call on it yet, but this damned phone can still serve a function.” He took two more shots as a nervous horse whinnied. “Just in case we have to leave, I want a record of how things looked when we got here.”
Click. Click. Click.
Three new, ghastly images.
Trent continued. “I would hate to leave and come back to find the girl moved or missing or I don’t know what.” Walking away from the body, telling Jules where to redirect the lantern’s beam, he took some photos of Omen’s damaged stall, then returned with a measuring tape, which he pulled out to the length of one foot. He lay the tape by Maeve’s hand, near the knife. “Just for some idea of perspective,” he said before snapping several more images.
Footsteps sounded outside.
Jules’s heart leapt to her throat.
Trent grabbed his pistol and trained it on the door just as it opened. Frank Meeker, weapon drawn, eased inside. “Police!” he said, as Trent lowered his pistol.
“Glad you’re here,” Trent said as Meeker’s gaze slid around the stable to land on Maeve’s body.
“Another one?” he asked as Jules, eyes turned from the death scene, nodded. “Son of a bitch.” Meeker shook his head sadly and holstered his sidearm. “Son of a goddamned bitch.”
CHAPTER 40
C
ooper Trent!
Shay, lying on her twin bed in the dorm, remembered why he seemed so familiar.
Jules had dated him. It had been during that weird time when the whole family was off-kilter. Max had just remarried and had a new baby, pushing Shay even further away from him. Edie had snagged all that she could of Max’s money, then retreated, going back to Rip Delaney, a son of a bitch if there ever had been one. It had been obvious to everyone, except love-besotted Edie, that Rip Delaney had only started seeing her and married her again for a shot at her part of the Stillman fortune, the pittance she’d received from divorce number two.
Greed, greed, greed. It had always come down to money with Edie. Same with Rip.
Then there was Max Stillman, dear old Dad. No, make that Max Senior as now there was a Junior for him to dote on. At six, Max, the younger, Shay’s half brother, was rumored to be hell on wheels. Good. Served her father right. It had always bothered Shay that Edie had been pregnant when she’d married Max and it had crossed Shay’s willing
mind that Edie had trapped Max with her pregnancy with Shay and that was the reason he’d never been close to his only daughter.
“Who cares?” she muttered now, but felt heat at the back of her eyelids. The truth of the matter was that Maxwell Octavius Stillman was just another self-indulgent creep who had cast Shaylee aside like last night’s leftovers once he became a father to stupid little Maxwell Junior.
Even before “Maxie” was born, Shay’s dad had never really had much to do with her, and she couldn’t even say it was to get back at Edie. Nuh-uh. Max just didn’t give a damn.
Not like Rip Delaney had with his kid. Yeah, he’d been a loser with a capital L, always screwing around and getting into debt because he gambled, but at least he’d loved Jules. Sickeningly so.
Disturbed, Shay brought her thoughts back to the present; reined in those old emotions that were too painful to think about. Especially when Shay fantasized that her father had never met Hester, wife number 2, had never conceived her half brother …
Quit thinking about it! So your old man’s a prick, so what? Just focus on the here and now.
Shay was keyed up tonight, unable to sleep. Unlike Crystal. Shay’s roommate was currently dead to the world, her head buried under her pillow, her neck exposed, the odd-looking dragon tattoo barely visible in the half-light as she softly snored.
Earlier, Shay had heard the power go off, the rumble of the furnace fading into stillness. She’d clicked on her flashlight, just so the darkness wouldn’t close in on her. So she wouldn’t feel so alone.
When the backup electricity had powered on half an hour later, she’d gone to the window and spied two people walking swiftly along one of the campus paths, Jules and
Cooper Trent, Shay’s pod leader, huddled together. Trent had touched the crook of Jules’s arm as they slogged through the drifts in the predawn hours, when no one except the security patrols was supposed to be out.
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 damned 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.
With a sense of urgency pushing her, Shay hurried forward, across the lawn, under an awning and around the corner of the admin building. She eyed Stanton House and the area around the gym and cafeteria, scoping out the area, hoping to dodge the idiot nerd patrols. She just didn’t want to have to explain herself to Missy Albright or that freak show of a teacher, Flannagan.
Nothing.
She was alone.
She let out a breath and took two steps forward.
Crunch!
Hell! She froze. Was that a footstep? Where?
Her heart trip-hammered.
She inched her way to the side of a building and tried to calm down near a snow-draped rhododendron. Slowly, noiselessly, she turned, her eyes sweeping the serene white landscape. Everything was so still, eerily peaceful, the wind that had screamed through the canyons silenced, the icy pellets of snow that had stung her cheeks for days no longer.
The campus was empty.
Not one person around.
Not even a security patrol making rounds.
Nonetheless, her nerves tightened, the muscles in the back of her neck stiffening. She
felt
someone observing her; unseen eyes watching her every move.
Stop it! Don’t fall for any of the paranoia going around! Just get to Jules. Find out what the hell she’s got planned, how she intends to get you out of this freakoid school!
She started forward.
Crunch!
That was definitely a footstep.
Damn!
Instinctively, she whirled, snow kicking up behind her as she fell into a crouch, her muscles tense and ready, all her martial arts training clicking in. If she had to, she would attack.
She caught a glimpse of someone by the dorm.
The hairs on the back of her neck raised.
This was it!
The person looked her way.
Nell Cousineau?
The ninny was standing alone, shivering by the side of the dorm.
Seriously?
“Shaylee?” Nell said, spying her, relief evident in her small face. The girl’s teeth were chattering loudly, her breath a cloud.
What a moron! Nell wasn’t even wearing a ski coat, just some kind of flimsy flannel jacket.
“Shhh!” Shay hissed.
“Can you help me?” Nell said, moving closer.
“What?” This was the
last
thing Shay needed.
“I’m locked out,” Nell said, her big eyes pleading.
Great!
“What the hell are you doing out here?” Shaylee was pissed as she stood up and took a step toward the idiot of a girl. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be outside? That’s why they’ve got the beefed up patrols.”
“I know, I know,” Nell said, rubbing her arms and looking scared as a trapped rabbit. “It all freaks me out so bad. I—I can’t stand it here anymore. I’ve tried to get people to
help me. Counselors and teachers and my mom …” Her voice faded for a second and Shay thought the goose might break down into a puddle of tears. Instead she sniffed loudly. “I—I just want to get away from here and go home.”
“Yeah, well, I get that.” Boy did she ever, but she didn’t have time for Nell’s ridiculous antics. “Look, what were you thinking? What did you think you could do? Walk through the blizzard?”
“It’s not snowing now,” Nell said, hugging herself, and blinking like crazy. “I thought maybe I could steal one of the snowmobiles and drive it out of here. I know where the keys are.”
Snowmobiles?
“You do?” Shay was suddenly intrigued. This was the first she’d heard of snowmobiles, but it made sense. Of course Blue Rock Academy would have them. And they would be the answer to her prayers, a way to navigate through the snow-crusted hills and escape. For the first time in days, hope swelled inside her. “Where are the keys?”
“Here.” Nell actually held up her gloved hand and opened her palm to show off a tiny ring with two keys dangling from it. “I ripped off a set.”
“Really?” For an instant, Shay’s esteem for Nell shot to the heavens. How great was this? But Nell? Really? Wimpy Nell jacking anything, much less something as cool as a set of keys, was definitely a surprise. A good one.