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I’m sorry, she thought, knowing she was responsible for his impending death … and her own.
Where the hell were the sprinklers? Why wasn’t water raining down on the stalls? And the smoke detectors, why weren’t they shrieking more loudly than the terrified horses?
Not working.
Her assailant had seen to that.
Maeve thought of Ethan as she was dropped unceremoniously into a heap. Maybe he would come and save her. She tried to whisper his name, but her voice failed her.
In a surreal moment, she watched from the floor as her tormentor ca
lmly located a fire extinguisher, pulled it from its hook, and with expert precision sprayed the flames with a foaming retardant.
Then, just when Maeve thought she might be saved, her attacker threw down the canister, returned, bent over Maeve’s broken body, and reached into her boot to extract the hunting knife.
The knife … Oh, God. No.
“You’re left-handed, right?”
The rubber band at her wrist was snapped, then sliced cleanly. Coughing, smoke still heavy in the air, Maeve watched in mesmerized fascination as the blade was drawn across each of her wrists several times. Her heart raced, the pain throbbing through her body fading as blood began to flow, slowly seeping out of the neat lines.
The knife was shoved into her left hand, her fingers curled over its hilt.
“You know, Maeve, Ethan isn’t worth it.” The voice was casual now.
Warm blood oozed, dripping to the floor.
Maeve mewled, helpless, and she could do nothing but watch her brutal killer take her wrist and hold it aloft, moving it ever so slowly as drops of blood fell to the floor in what appeared to be a precise pattern. Then her arm was dropped, the blood smeared with the toe of a boot, and her killer walked calmly out the door.
Maeve tried to push herself to her feet, but her body wouldn’t work, her legs leaden, as if her spine had been severed. It was over. She swallowed a small sob, knowing she was going to die.
Words from the last hymn she’d ever sung slid through her mind. Let gods and kindred go, this mortal life also; the body they may kill …
Light-headed, she felt herself crashing, the bluish lights wavering in front of her eyes. “Ethan,” she whispered as darkness overcame her, “Oh, love …”
CHAPTER 37
Jules couldn’t look at the damning evidence another second. She scooted her chair back and walked into the living room. Something was in the air tonight.
She shivered inside, feeling as if a ghost had just passed through her soul. “I should really check on Shay,” she said, frustrated that her cell phone was missing.
“Shay is safe. She’s in the dorm, with her roommate and security guards.”
“As if that’s any consolation. The security around here is about as solid as a sieve. Kids come and go at will. Escape artists and sociopaths—no wonder there’s a killer on the loose.”
There was an underlying sense of panic among the students. Dormitories had been fitted with new locks, and staff members were taking turns sleeping in extra rooms in each of the buildings housing students. Security teams had been formed under the guidance of Deputy Meeker, who had deputized Bert Flannagan, Wade Taggert, and Rhonda Hammersley, but now that she’d read Lynch’s files, Jules worried that one of those faculty security groups could be harboring the killer.
“Do you want me to call over to the dorm?” Trent offered. “Ask someone to check on Shay?”
“Yes … no. That would draw attention to her, and she’s already under suspicion, with her hat being found at the crime scene.” She twisted her hair into a knot at the base of her skull and held it there for a second. “What set the killer off? Why now?”
“I don’t know.”
“We need to talk to Meeker or the sheriff. Or maybe we should confront Lynch ourselves.”
“We’re not confronting anyone, but I can track Meeker down,” Trent decided. “The problem is, once I tell him you broke into Lynch’s office and took the files, we’re opening a new can of worms.”
“Technically I didn’t break in,” she argued, frustrated and edgy. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to have my cover blown. Once it gets out that I’m Shay’s sister …” She walked to the window but didn’t dare peek outside, so she ended up pacing back toward the fire. “Oh, God, they might know who I am already. Someone stole my cell today. If they get into my directory, it won’t take long for them to start piecing relationships together.”
