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“One of my finer traits.”
“What happened to kind, honest, loving?”
She flipped a hand dismissively. “Overrated. Let’s not go there.”
“Fair enough.” Was there just a spark of humor in his eyes? She felt herself warming to him again and gave herself a swift, silent mental kick.
“So give me the rundown on the school. And don’t sugarcoat anything.”
“Yes, ma’am!” He barked out a laugh, and she didn’t blame him. In all the time she’d known him, Cooper Trent was a straight shooter, telling it like it was and damn the consequences.
“Well, since I can’t talk you out of resigning …”
“You can’t. Forget it.”
He frowned. Seemed to wrestle with a decision and finally appeared to accept the fact that, like it or not, he had to deal with her. “Well, to start off, you said something about there being a test about you? That’s really not too far from the truth. If we’ve got anything, we’ve got rules, regulations, and tests at Blue Rock.” He shook his head and swore again, but some of his ire had dissipated.
“Is that bad?”
“Probably not. These kids who come to the academy, they do need structure. No doubt about it. They need to understand and accept authority. And most of all, they have to be kept busy all the time.”
“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop?”
“At least,” he admitted. “A l
ot of these kids are smart. Most of ‘em basically good, just out of control.”
“And the rest?”
He thought. “I don’t necessarily think it’s the students, but I get a hint at the school, a feeling, of something darker going on, something …”
“Evil?”
He shook his head but said, “I don’t know. What happened last night wasn’t pretty.” He glanced over at her. “I found the kids. The boy in a crumpled heap, losing blood, barely alive, and the girl …” Trent stared at the road where the headlight’s beams lit up the snow. “She was strung up on the crossbeams of the stable, naked, bloody, and just hanging in the cold.”
Jules shivered inside. She’d known that Cooper Trent was a realist, a man who knew that death was just a natural part of life. Even so, he was bothered by what he’d seen last night. Seriously bothered.
“There’s talk of suicide, that she flipped out and rigged this noose over the beam and threw herself from the stacked bales or a ledge higher up, but I don’t see it.”
“You think she was murdered?”
“I’d bet my best horse on it.” He nodded. “Since the Prescott boy isn’t talking, there are no witnesses, so we can’t be sure. Yet. But once the ME takes a look at the body, does the autopsy, we’ll know more.” He slid her another glance, and this one cut to her soul. “Just for the record? My money’s on murder.”
CHAPTER 19
Maeve Mancuso reached under the wide bell sleeve of her black shirt and snapped the band against her skin, once, twice, three times. Over and over again until her flesh stung, until it felt real. Real pain. Real life.
Things were getting monstrously boring in the rec hall, waiting for the cop guys to do whatever they had to do out there. Nell yawned, suppressing a little peep.
They can’t make us read all day, Maeve thought, though it had sort of been how the day had gone. Reading and waiting. Stuck in the rec room so long, some of the students had nodded off, and for once the teachers didn’t seem to care. But Maeve didn’t want to sleep, not with Ethan nearby. With her luck, she’d doze off and snore up a storm or drool on her books. She needed Ethan to see her in the best possible light if she was going to get him back. She snapped the bracelet again—a fat rubber band, really—and then let her fingertips smooth up toward her elbow, bumping along the ridges of scars that lined her arms. On bad days she used to pick and scratch, try to make them bleed, but not anymore. Ever since the day she’d kissed Ethan after he’d helped her cart her kayak to the water, that fall day when diamonds danced on the lake and the sun still had the power to warm through her clothes, she had vowed to stop cutting. A guy like Ethan didn’t want a girl with bloody speed bumps covering her arms. She had promised herself never to cut again and actually started applying vitamin E to the scars, because her doctor said that would help them heal.
She dreamed of the day when she and Ethan would get out of here, when they would have the freedom to go to college together, maybe get their own place. Of course, she had to make him love her again, but it was going to happen. She was sure of it. Looking down at the stack of books in front of her, she picked up the fat Shakespeare volume she’d checked out of the library and opened it to Romeo and Juliet. Now, there was a love. Someday, Ethan would want her with the same passion and intensity. Someday, they’d be free of slutty girls like Shaylee Stillman. Girls who got off on stealing away other girls’ boyfriends.
Now that the fight was over and the three kids had been marched off, Maeve had a better view of Ethan, who sat across the way writing something in a notebook. His head was tipped down, light glinting off his dark hair. He wore a plaid flannel shirt that showed off his shoulders and broad chest, and she thought of the way his arms had felt when they’d kissed, his biceps rounded and tight. He was a solid guy, strong and caring, and she could lose herself in those dark eyes.
And at that moment, as if he sensed her, Ethan looked up, his gaze searching the room, locking on her.
Oh, God.
