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A girl screamed, the horrid sound echoing down the corridors.
Jules struggled.
She connected once with the butt of the gun.
Her attacker let out a wounded, frustrated howl, then easily pried the pistol from her fingers.
Oh, God, no …
In the stark beam of the flashlight, Jules found herself staring down the barrel of the very gun Trent had given her. Breathing hard, blood drizzling from the corner of her mouth, Missy Albright gloated.
“No,” Jules said, not really believing that the girl who had been assigned to her class was capable of murder.
Smiling with smug hatred, her platinum hair shimmering white, Missy seemed to read her mind. Swiping at the blood, she taunted, “So, Ms. Farentino, why don’t you name some of the things from the 1930s that are the same as today?”
“What?” Jules said, her head thundering. God, what kind of sickness was this?
“Hey, I know,” Missy said, grinning more widely, blood showing between her teeth. Her little-girl voice irritating. “How about starting with Bonnie and Clyde in the thirties, and today? Uh, how about Missy and Eric?”
“Oh, shut up!” Eric ordered, but he did laugh, that nasty humorless chuckle.
Nell Cousineau trembled like a leaf, looking ready to throw up, and Shay, hands behind her back, glowered with pure hatred as she stared at Rolfe.
“Ms. Farentino,” he mocked, taking the gun from Missy. “I figured you would join us. You know,” he said, wagging the pistol in front of her nose, “you’re just so damned predictable.”
She met his stare without flinching.
“I’m thinking,” he continued.
“That would be a first,” Shay said and was rewarded with Missy jabbing an elbow into her side. “Bitch!” she muttered, doubling over in pain and Jules couldn’t help her.
“Shh,” she warned, hoping S
haylee would take heed.
“As I was saying,” Eric said, a little more agitated. “I think maybe we can have some kind of family counseling tonight. You know, a little sisterly one-on-one? You’ve both got dad issues, right?”
So they knew that she and Shaylee were related. Jules should have guessed.
“You’re a dick, you know that, don’t you?” Shaylee said. “A real piece of work.”
“That may be, bitch, but guess who has the gun?” Eric was really rubbing it in now. “So if I were you, I’d shut the fuck up and start pleading for your pathetic life.” He glanced at Missy and his sadistic grin widened. “Not that it will help. You’re as good as dead already.”
The fire was spreading, Trent was vaguely aware of the shimmering wall of heat, the acrid smoke and the crackling sound of voracious flames.
He blinked, trying to keep from blacking out, and saw the toes of heavy boots in front of his face. Glancing up, feeling blood ooze from the back of his head, his eyes focused on not one, but two dark figures looming above him, surrounded by creeping, shifting fire.
The room spun. He thought he was seeing double, but, no, they were different, not twins, not some melded dizzying image. Dressed in black, the men stood together, glaring down at him. Through the smoke, he recognized Kirk Spurrier, the pilot, his dark silhouette outlined by flames, as he said, “This is what you get when you go nosing around where you’re not wanted.” Spurrier grinned with a sense of satisfaction, the smile of a demon.
Spurrier was behind the murders? Not Lynch? Something was wrong here. Pain pounded in Trent’s head as he clung desperately to the conscious world.
The pilot’s accomplice was no big surprise, a kid Trent knew well. Tall, athletic Zach Bernsen was shoulder to shoulder with the older man. The piece of oak Trent had dropped now swung from one of Bernsen’s big hands. As Trent struggled, Bernsen raised the bloody stick as if all too ready to bash Trent’s head in once again.
“You bastard,” Trent spat at the pilot as blackness pulled at the corners of his vision.
“Make that ‘you superior bastard,’ seeing as you’re on the floor.” Spurrier’s smile twisted evilly and he snorted an amused laugh. “Welcome to your own personal hell, Trent. It’s better than you deserve. I know who you are, that you were hired by Lauren Conway’s parents to find out what happened to her. And I know about Julia Farentino as well.” As if noticing Trent tense, he added, “That’s right, I saw you together tonight, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that the two of you are involved. Then there’s that little fact everyone kept forgetting to cough up, that Julia Farentino is related to Shaylee Stillman.” Before Trent could respond, Spurrier said, “No worries, though, that’s a bit of information that’s going to die here, tonight, with you and Lynch’s files.” He started to laugh, but coughed instead, the smoke getting to him.
“We have to get out of here,” Bernsen said nervously, covering his face with the crook of his elbow. Zach wasn’t quite as brave as he wanted to appear.
