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Hell!
If only she could get out of these restraints! All she needed was a little room to spin, gain some momentum, and she’d kick that sick smile off the bastard’s face. He’d go down cold. She could take care of him, she could. She only needed a few feet of space.
But the monster knew what she planned and held her fast.
“I’m sorry,” Nell whispered, tears running down her face as she shivered with the cold.
What a wimp!
“They said …” Her teeth were chattering crazily, not so much from the cold but from the fear that was eating her up inside. “… They said that if I did this, I would be safe.” She was sobbing now as Missy Albright, part of the security patrol with Eric, showed up and snatched the keys from Nell’s shaking fingers.
Missy pocketed the keys.
Nell mewled forlornly.
“Shhh!” Shay couldn’t believe what a weakling Nell was. But she also couldn’t believe that she herself had been stupid enough to be caught off guard, to be lured into this ridiculous trap. And the fact that Eric Rolfe had caught her only made it worse.
“Let’s go,” Missy said, nodding to Eric. “Before anyone else shows up.” She glanced up at Stanton House, where a few lights were burning as Eric pushed Shay forward and Nell, sobbing, was herded by Missy.
Shay was nudged along, the barrel of Eric’s gun now placed firmly against her spine, reminding her that he’d gladly shoot through her spinal cord and leave her dead or paralyzed. “Don’t trip,” he whispered softly, “or make any sudden moves, or I promise you, you’ll never get off another round kick or any of that tae kwon do shit again.”
The backup power had returned, but Jules wasn’t about to sleep.
Not after Maeve’s murder.
She’d allowed Trent to walk her, first to the chapel, where he’d kissed her gently enough to break her stupid heart, then here, to Stanton House, to what? Wait for the damned dawn? Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
She paced from one side of her suite of rooms to the other and all the while, the image of Maeve, lying in a puddle of her own dark blood, burned through her mind. It was the same kind of mental picture of her father that she’d carried with her since the night he died.
What was it her shrink had said? That she had the unique ability to block out impressions she didn’t want to face, but also to dwell on those that were the most repulsive. He’d been fascinated by her case and had told her that she’d locked Trent away from her life because she was afraid that if she trusted him too much, he’d leave. Just as her father had left her the first time Rip and Edie had divorced. Just as her stepfather, Max Stillman, had after his short marriage to her mother. Then her father, after remarrying Edie, dying as he had … Rip’s death had been the ultimate abandonment.
He hadn’t wanted to leave, though, had he, Jules?
He left because someone took his life.
You pushed Trent away because you were afraid of loving him too much, of being hurt, of him leaving you … You were a coward.
“Stop!” she ordered, her voice ringing louder than she’d expected. Too bad. She wouldn’t listen to the arguments that raged in her mind, the stressful battles that always brought with them pounding, merciless headaches. Just like the one that was forming behind her eyes right now.
Think, Jules, think. Figure this out, damn it!
Before something happens to Shay!
She walked into the bathroom, found her bottle of Excedrin and tossed back four pills before dipping her head under the faucet for a swallow of water. Standing, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she caught her reflection in the mirror, witnessed her own fear, her own frustration in her own eyes.
Who was behind these murders, the brutal killings, all with separate MOs? She and Shaylee had spent night after night watching CSI and Law and Order and anything forensic on what was then Court TV. She knew how things worked, and it seemed odd, out of character, for the murderer to kill Drew with an ax or hatchet, to strangle Nona and dangle her from the rafters, and then to slit Maeve’s wrists, after burning her hair. Nona and Drew had been naked, Maeve fully clothed, but then Nona and Drew had taken their own clothes off presumably while having sex.
The killer hadn’t undressed them.
There had to be a connection between the killings, one she was missing. One that was deeper than the fact that the killings had been committed in the stable.
Or was that just a line from TV? She stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Who was killing off students? And why those particular students? Were the killings random, the victims’ deaths a matter of opportunity, or had the murders been meticulously planned, the victims chosen and stalked? That seemed more likely, considering the methods of death.
Or was that, too, something she’d learned from watching too much television crime?
She threw cold water on her face, willing the headache to subside, then yanked the hand towel from her face and patted her skin dry.
How had the killer known Maeve would be in the stable?
