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As she did, the lights blinked again. Hell. The last thing they needed was to lose power. He watched the incandescent bulb in the fixture over the table begin to glow again.
“Looks like we’re on borrowed time with the electricity.”
“There are backup generators, aren’t there?” she asked, the empty pot still in her hand as she stood at the archway to the kitchen.
“Yeah, but they won’t help here. The generators have enough juice to power up the dorms, education hall, chapel, rec hall, and some of the outbuildings like the stable, but that’s it. Stanton House will have power; I won’t. None of these cabins will. So we’d better get ready.” He pushed back his chair and set to work stacking wood near the fireplace, enough for the night. He also lit three candles in glass jars to give light where kerosene lanterns might fail. Inside the small closet off the hall, he found a couple of flashlights and flipped them on to make sure the batteries were strong. Both lights fired up with steady beams. “We might freeze,” he said, “but we sure as hell will be able to see.”
“How comforting.” Jules stretched, placing her hands over her head and arching her back as she moved her head from side to side.
Her breasts were thrust forward, the hollow of her throat revealed, and he had to drag his eyes away, force his concentration to the remnants of the documents on the table. Did she have any idea how sexy she appeared, her dark hair cascading down her back, her eyes closed as her lean runner’s body stretched?
The woman had to realize what she was doing.
With an effort, he tore his eyes from her, turning back to what was left of Rhonda Hammersley’s file. No red tape here. This woman seemed on the level—solid, conscientious, religious. Lynch’s only note was that she internalized too many problems and was an overachiever, which Trent found odd. Wasn’t that what Lynch wanted? Wasn’t it what he preached to the kids?
So why the notes about the violent tendencies of the other staff members? Why hire these ticking time bombs? True, Lynch needed strong, tough teachers. Leaders, not psychos.
Bert Flannagan’s dossier noted that he’d been dismissed from several colleges and had an attraction for weaponry. After his stint in the U.S. Army, he’d been denied two jobs in law enforcement. The word mercenary was written with a question mark beside it.
Wade Taggert’s file was almost completely burned; just one note suggesting he had delusions of grandeur could be deciphered when Trent held a magnifying glass and flashlight close to the browned page.
“Here’s a really scary one,” Jules said, pushing some nearly illegible pages toward him. Trent read his own file and saw that Lynch had noted that Trent had once been employed by the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department, was an ace marksman, and was licensed to carry a gun. All true.
“Funny woman.”
“Just trying to keep things light.”
“It’s nice to know that you’re not only an idiot for sneaking around Lynch’s office all by yourself, but also a comedienne.”
“We got the information, didn’t we?”
“You should have told me. I would have come with you.”
“You would have tried to talk me out of it,” she said, her eyebrows rising, daring him to argue.
&n
bsp; “Probably.”
“So don’t go calling me an idiot.”
“How about bullheaded?”
“Maybe.”
He leveled his gaze at her as she held her coffee cup in two hands and placed her lips over the rim. “From now on, you don’t go anywhere without me.”
“Don’t go all macho on me, Trent.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know, but think about it. Don’t you have security duty? I do. With Hammersley and DeMarco.”
“I don’t trust him. DeMarco.”
She let out a nervous laugh and shook her head. “Me neither, Cowboy. But for the record,” she said, pointing to the burned pages, “I don’t trust anyone.”
“Except for me.”
