Without Mercy - Lisa Jackson [131]
Clutching the phone, welcoming the sharp slap of the wind on his face, he made his way across the snow-covered lawns, the blizzard nearly a whiteout, the lights on campus barely discernible until you were nearly upon them, but he had no trouble navigating, not here, not in the one place on earth he thought of as home.
At the breezeway, he stomped snow from his boots, though the concrete was already covered with snow and ice, carried by the raging wind. Even the long roof shuddered under the weight of the heavy accumulation.
Inside the admin building, he walked quickly down the hall, then slipped into his private office, a place where he wouldn’t be disturbed, a spot he rarely used, as he had a much more private one.
Tonight, he was certain, he wouldn’t be disturbed. Nonetheless, he locked the door behind him. He unzipped his jacket and pulled off his gloves, the interior feeling warm, though his thermostats were set in the low sixties for the night hours. He drew the shades quickly and hung his jacket on a coatrack, then got down to business at his desk.
He turned on Julia Farentino’s phone. As the kid who’d stolen the phone had said, the cell was already unlocked. He had free access to menus of text messages, lists of contacts and calls that had been received, sent, or missed. Then there was the contact list, which proved without a doubt that Julia Farentino was at the very least a fraud, at the worst an undercover cop, though he doubted that. He saw her as a lot of things, but a detective?
Unlikely.
He gleaned what he could from the slim device and stared at the glowing menu of names and numbers, making note of each. His teeth gnashed in frustration. How he would love to squeeze the life out of the damned cell! Or, better yet, her long, sensual neck. In his mind’s eye, he envisioned confronting her. Or better yet, gaining her trust. Finding a way to isolate her from the rest, get her alone, flirt with her a bit. Toy with her emotions.
That part of seduction was easy.
He imagined pricking that part of her that found danger attractive and tapping in. Touching her cheek, catching her gaze, offering her the smallest of smiles as his eyes held hers. She’d get the message.
They would be somewhere secure, a place where she would feel safe letting down her guard.
Flipping the phone in his hands, he imagined the look of excitement in her gray eyes, the tease of her naughty smile as she realized he was dangerous, but, she would tell herself, only slightly.
That bit of false knowledge would be her undoing.
But he had no time for fantasies, not tonight. He studied the information on the phone.
Several names on the contact list caught his attention: Shay, for example. Not a common name but the same as the newest student, the one who resembled Julia. And then there was Analise. Again, not common, though neither were rare. Yet he wondered…Unfortunately, Julia hadn’t added pictures of those she called into the phone’s memory; her screen saver was of a gray cat, sitting on his haunches, batting at some unseen item with one paw.
He dialed each number. The first—for “Shay” with an area code he recognized as that of Seattle, where Shaylee Stillman lived—hadn’t gone through. The storm again. He tried again, and this time, the call went to voice mail, with no instructions, just the flat voice of a prerecorded message from the cell phone company instructing him to leave his name and number.
He clicked off. Drummed his fingers on the desk. This wasn’t good, not good at all.
He dialed the number for Analise. Again, no last name. But this time the call was picked up on the third ring.
“Hey, Jules,” a woman greeted, obviously reading the caller ID. “Oh, good, I want…talk to…can’t…hear…Jules? Oh, rats! Try…call again.”
With dead certainty, he recognized the voice. So Julia “Jules” Farentino possibly knew both Shaylee Stillman and Analise Delaney. A contradiction. A