Without Mercy (8 page)

She read the academy’s mission statement, a letter from Reverend Lynch, and a few glowing testimonials. It seemed so scripted.

Her eyes glazed over as she clicked on the faculty page. It seemed like a small list, and she didn’t recognize any names. Maris Howell’s name was conspicuously absent. A note at the bottom of the page stated that the Web site was being updated.

“I’ll bet,” she said aloud. “Have to update the Web site so it doesn’t show one damned flaw.” Everything about the school seemed too good to be true.

“Just your suspicious nature,” she said, echoing her ex-husband’s accusations when he swore on his mother’s life he wasn’t having an affair. But then Sebastian Farentino was nothing if not a liar who would call up any excuse to save his own pathetic hide. She’d learned that soon enough. And as for the accusation of him having an affair? How long had it taken him to marry wife number two? Five or six weeks from the minute the divorce papers were signed.

“Fast work, Sebastian,” she said under her breath, though, in truth, most of her anger and hurt had dissipated in the past three years.

The worst part of the whole betrayal was that his new wife, Peri, had once been Jules’s best friend. The whole scene reeked. “So cliché,” she told herself as she clicked off the school’s homepage and checked the status of her ever-shrinking bank account. From there, she clicked on the Web site she’d been using to find a job. She scoured the listings, read over the few responses she’d received—all negative—and convinced herself that as an out-of-work third-year teacher, she would never find a teaching job. For now she would have to stick with waiting tables.

Discouraged, she pushed back her chair and headed down to the kitchen, where she placed a pot of tea on one of the two working burners. She had rented this two-story condo near the university after moving back from Portland. She’d envisioned herself going back to school, then maybe someday buying a place of her own. So far it hadn’t happened.

When she’d taught at Bateman High School, her debilitating headaches had caused her to miss a lot of class time. Those headaches were the direct result of sleepless nights, nights of suffering from recurring nightmares. “Insanity are us,” she said sarcastically as the teakettle shrilled, and she reached for a cup.

She found a tea bag she’d used that morning, stuck it into a cup, then filled the cup with steaming water. What if her waitressing job dried up? High-end restaurants were closing daily in Seattle and its suburbs.

Her dwindling bank account was testament to the fact that she needed another source of income. She’d considered taking in a roommate, a situation she’d heretofore avoided. But things had changed. Since there was no chance of Shaylee moving in, Jules could cram her desk into her bed-room
and rent out the other two to college students. Yeah, it would cut into her privacy, but at least she’d have help with the rent and utilities. Maybe then she wouldn’t worry about losing her home.

She thought fleetingly of the house she’d shared with Sebastian, a sleek contemporary set on a wooded hillside with a view of Mount Hood. A lumber broker, Sebastian still lived in that house in the west hills of Portland, now with Peri and their one-year-old daughter.

Surprisingly, she didn’t miss him. In truth, she probably missed her friendship with Peri more. As for the house, it had always been “his,” all glass and wood and high ceilings and flat-screen TVs. Bought with his money, decorated according to his taste. No, she didn’t miss Sebastian Farentino, nor did her mother’s disappointment that she’d let such a good catch “slip through her fingers” really bother Jules. What really killed her was that Peri, a friend since the sixth grade, had traded their relationship for one with Sebastian.

That
had been the sharpest knife in her back.

But then, Peri had known about Jules and Cooper Trent.

And that fateful knowledge had apparently given her carte blanche when it came to flirting with her best friend’s husband.

Lost in thought, Jules carried the tea back up to her office. If it hadn’t been Peri, some other woman would have convinced Sebastian to stray. He was a player and would be until he was six feet under. Jules was better off without him.

You never really loved him; come on, Jules, admit it.

She didn’t want to go there. She’d
thought
she’d loved him at the time she married him, had
intended
for the marriage to be her first and last.

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, and 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?”

“Nah. Not always.” Her voice was low, hard to hear over the rush of the wind. “There are some places that aren’t covered.”

“And you know where they are?” Shay guessed.

“Oh, yeah!” Nona nodded her head, obviously proud of herself. “But you still have to be careful,” she whispered; then her lips twitched. “It makes it really hard to have a boyfriend.”

“You have one? Here?” Shay was dumbfounded. She hadn’t seen Nona with a guy at all, and there were no pictures on her desk, no mention of him. In fact, up until now, Nona had only mentioned an abusive ex-boyfriend back at home. Though it wasn’t allowed, Shaylee had seen some of the kids flirting with each other. But Nona? “Who?” she asked.

Nona just grinned like a cat who’d eaten a canary, and Shay ran through a list of potential candidates. Ethan Slade? He was cute as hell. Or Eric Rolfe, the kid with the
military cut and sharp blue eyes. Maybe Tim Takasumi or Roberto Ortega, the two boys who had access to the nurses’ station. Shay had learned their names, along with everyone else’s, during the lame introduction ceremony.

“So who is it?” she urged as they walked together.

“Guess.”

“I’m not guessing! I don’t even know anybody yet.”

Nona giggled, then looked up and her smile faded. “Shh! Not now!”

One of the boys in the group, the tall blond kid named Zach, looked over his shoulder, and Nona ran like a frightened deer to catch up with her friends Maeve and Nell, two girls who hadn’t yet given Shay anything but icy stares.

Shay was left to bring up the rear. It figured. Not that she gave a damn. Shay watched Nona hurrying away, as if glad to be rid of her. Was Nona lying, bragging about some fantasy boyfriend? Like those little kids who have an imaginary friend, maybe Nona had an imaginary boyfriend. Or maybe it was Zach.

Shay decided it was a waste of time speculating.

Who cared?

But suddenly Shay was more interested. As Nona ran, something started to fall out of her pocket—something dark and slim, like a cell phone or an iPod or a camera, all of which were strictly forbidden. Nona nearly stumbled, then shoved the object deep in her pocket, glancing at Shay.

Their eyes locked, Nona silently pleading with Shay to keep quiet.

Shay held her stare. No way would she rat her roommate out, but she wanted to know what was in the pocket and how Nona had pulled it off.

Nona caught up with her friends, and she was suddenly giggling again with Maeve Mancuso and Nell Cousineau. Maeve, the reddish blonde from Rhode Island, was a bit of a basket case, as far as Shay could tell, a deep-seated romantic.
She’d heard the girl was a cutter, that she had the scars on her wrists to prove it. And Nell, a sixteen-year-old from a small town in Marin County, north of San Francisco somewhere, seemed to have been blessed with a sharp wit and an extremely wicked tongue that Shay found intriguing.

Now, Nona glanced over her shoulder and, casting a quick, almost naughty look over her shoulder at Shay, smiled slyly. So maybe the story about the boyfriend had all been a joke. Tell a big lie to the new girl, suck her in. Shay had been on the losing end of that prank more than once.

But this, today with Nona, wasn’t quite the same. And then there was the phone—that’s what she thought it was, some kind of cell phone, here in the middle of nowhere. Would it even work?

There was something going on with her roommate, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

What she did know was that she was an outsider.

In a school of outsiders.

Big surprise.

It was friggin’ cold, and Shay would have liked a smoke. She hadn’t had a cigarette since leaving Seattle, and though she really didn’t think she was hooked, it would have helped ease her nerves. When she’d been admitted to this hell, the big nurse had informed her that all tobacco products, along with alcohol and all recreational drugs, were banned.

Seriously?

Hadn’t Shay smelled a whiff of tobacco smoke on a couple of the teachers? Dr. Burdette and Mr. DeMarco came to mind, as did some of the TAs. Shay was pretty damned sure that Roberto Ortega and Missy Albright, the tall, platinum blonde, had both reeked of tobacco just yesterday after returning to the chemistry lab after doing something with the rest of a group of the teacher’s aides.

She couldn’t believe that no one on campus had a pack of cigs on them. Come on! There had to be eighty teenagers as students and over twenty members of the staff. Surely some of them smoked.

Well, maybe this was her time to quit. At seventeen. When she’d barely picked up the habit.

Gusting, the wind rattled through the surrounding trees and churned up the surface of Lake Superstition. She really had landed at the end of the world.

At the head of their group was her team leader, the rugged-looking guy with the familiar name. There was just something about Mr. Trent that got under her skin. He was twenty feet ahead, near the front of the line. His leather jacket, lined in sheepskin, was stretched over his broad shoulders, and his jeans were faded, even frayed a bit. Leather gloves and well-worn cowboy boots …

Why the hell did she think he was familiar?

“Okay, everyone, listen up.” He turned, his breath fogging in the air. “You all know the drill, except for Shay, so someone buddy up with her. You, Ethan, show her the ropes.” He pointed to a dark-haired boy who, without a word, walked over and put his hand on her shoulder.