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A far cry from that long-ago idyllic summer.
Trent hurried her along the edge of a building that held equipment, to the row of old, ramshackle cottages that were home to some of the teachers at the school.
Wade Taggert resided in one. Kirk Spurrier, when he was on campus, lived in another, and Salvatore DeMarco in a third. Bert Flannagan had his own quarters in a loft of the tack room near the stable. Charla King, too, had her own place while most of the other members of the staff lived in suites at Stanton House.
As snowflakes stung her face, she thought of those who had elected to become a part of Blue Rock Academy. Teachers, counselors, and administrators who had supposedly been recruited by Reverend Lynch for their leadership and scholarly capabilities.
Or for other unknown reasons?
Then there was the group of teachers’ assistants, kids who had elected to stay on and be a part of the Blue Rock Academy college program, smart students who Shaylee was certain were part of some kind of dark, secret cult. Their faces flashed before her eyes. Missy Albright, Zach Bernsen, and Kaci Donahue, members of a deadly secret society? What about Eric Rolfe? Ethan Slade? Half a dozen others? Who among them possessed the qualities of a coldblooded killer?
What about the students who were trapped here? Could one of them be the murderer, a sociopath? Every one of the students at the academy had psychological problems, some worse than others, some with streaks of violence.
Maybe the answer lay in the files she’d rescued from being incinerated. Maybe not.
Who?
Why?
She shuddered as Trent guided her along the back side of the houses, along what could loosely have been called an alley. Lights glowed in the windows of several homes. Others, unoccupied and in various states of disrepair, were dark, windows boarded over, snow and ice accumulating over rusted spouts and porches.
Trent’s cottage was the last in the row, a single-level bungalow that looked as if it had been constructed in the thirties or forties and was in serious need of renovation. The back steps were atilt, and the roof sagged in spots.
“Welcome to the Ritz,” he muttered under his breath as he unlocked the door. Once they were inside, he threw the bolt behind them and snapped on a few lights. Even though the temperature inside the cabin couldn’t have been much more than sixty-five degrees, the air felt warm, a distinct difference from the frigid outdoors.
“You okay?” he asked, and set the carrier on the short bench in the enclosed porch.
“Just great,” she said sarcastically. “Couldn’t be better. Cut off from the world in the worst snowstorm of the decade, maybe the century, and trapped with a homicidal maniac on the loose. Seriously, could things get any worse?”
“I’m here,” he reminded her.
“My point exactly,” she shot back, then caught his slow-spreading smile. “This has to be as bad as it gets.”
“Is that right?”
“Absolutely!” She tossed him a don’t-mess-with-me look. “So don’t you dare think of yourself as some kind of Western-type hero, okay? You can peddle, but I’m definitely not buying.”
He grinned, a devilish twinkle in his eye. “Aw, shucks, ma’am, and here I was givin’ it my best damned shot.”
“Not good enough, Cowboy.” But she couldn’t help smiling, some of the tension broken. He was right, she thought as they both kicked off their boots, leaving them under the bench on the porch; she felt safer with him, somehow sensing she could trust him—despite the fact that she’d sworn years ago to never see him again.
Fool. You knew better. Even when you married Sebastian. Inwardly cringing, she watched as Trent hung his hat on a peg, then peeled off his coat.
A pistol was tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
“Wait a second,” she said. “You’re carrying a gun?”
He hooked his jacket over a free peg. “I figured it might be a good idea.”
“I guess, considering.”
“Yeah. It’s legal. Meeker and O’Donnell know. They’re okay with it.”
“And Lynch?”
He snorted. “Trust me, Jules, there are enough weapons locked in gun closets around this campus to arm a small country.”
“Really?” she said. “So much for peace, love, dove.”
