From #1 New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson comes a pulse-pounding thriller that goes behind the doors of an exclusive academy with a terrifying secret . . .   Ever since her father was killed in a home invasion, Julia “Jules” Farentino has been plagued by nightmares. Her half-sister, Shaylee, now seventeen, has had her own difficulties, earning a lengthy rap sheet. Still, when Jules learns of her mother’s decision to send Shay to Blue Rock Academy, an elite boarding school in Oregon, Jules is skeptical. A student went missing a few months earlier and there are rumors she may have died during one of the school’s questionable treatments.   On impulse, Jules applies for a teaching job at the Academy. Shortly before she arrives, a student is found hanged, another near death. Hysterical, Shay believes it’s murder. Staff members are wary and unwelcoming—all except Cooper Trent, who has his own suspicions, his own secrets, and was once Jules’s lover.   Then another girl is found dead. Something sinister is at hand—but Jules may be too late to stop it. Behind the Academy’s idyllic veneer lurks an evil force on a brutal and terrifying mission. And Jules has become the next target of a bloodthirsty killer without limits, without remorse, without mercy . . .   “A juicy creep-a-thon . . . builds to a suprising cliffhanger ending.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)   “A NAIL-BITING ROLLER-COASTER RIDE.” — Library Journal   “THE BOOK’S ENDING WILL THROW MOST READERS FOR A LOOP.” —The Free Lance-Star LISA JACKSON  is the #1  New York Times  bestselling author of more than seventy-five novels, including  One Last Breath,   You Will Pay, After She’s Gone,   Close to Home,   Tell Me, Deserves to Die,You Don’t Want to Know,   Running Scared,  and  Shiver . She has over thirty million copies of her books in print in nineteen languages. She lives with her family and three rambunctious dogs in the Pacific Northwest. Readers can visit her website at www.lisajackson.com and find her on Facebook. Without Mercy By LISA JACKSON KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP. Copyright © 2010 Lisa Jackson, LLC All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4967-1048-2 CHAPTER 1 Help me ... Oh, God, please someone help me. ..." The voice was a desperate plea, barely audible over the sounds of a familiar song and the steady drip of liquid splashing, like a single drop of rainwater hitting the ground. Over and over again. Her heartbeat pounding in her eardrums, Jules Farentino, barefoot and wearing only a nightgown, made her way toward the den where a fluttering blue light was barely visible through the sheers on the French doors. "Hurry ... there isn't much time. ..." She wanted to call out but held her tongue. The feeling that something was wrong here — something dark and evil — caused her to creep silently along the icy floors. Slowly, she pushed open the door to the den and peered inside. The L-shaped couch and a recliner were illuminated by the weird, flickering light of the muted television. Michael Jackson's voice sang about Billie Jean through the speakers. Above the melody: Drip. Drip. Drip. So loud. Like rolling thunder in her aching head. Liquid warmth splashed on the tops of her bare feet, and she looked down quickly. Her eyes rounded as she saw the blood dripping from the long blade of the knife in her hand, the red stain spreading into a pool. What? No! She tried to scream but couldn't, and as she looked toward the open French doors, she saw her father lying on the floor near the coffee table. "Help me, Jules," he said, lips barely moving. He stared up at her, eyes unblinking, a jagged gash on his forehead, a stain spreading on the front of his rumpled white shirt. Blood gurgled from the corner of Rip Delaney's mouth as he stared up at her, whispering in a wet rasp, "Why?" Transfixed, her hand now sticky with blood, she started to scream — "Seven forty-five in the morning. It's a chilly thirty-seven now. That's only five degrees above freezing, you know, but temperatures will climb until midafternoon, topping out near fifty. It's going to be a cold, wet one today, a major storm expected to roll in later this morning. Now for the traffic report ..." Jules awoke with a jerk. Her heart was pounding, her head splitting, the radio announcer's voice an irritant. She slapped off the alarm and shivered. Her bedroom was freezing, her window open a crack, wind rushing inside, rain beating a steady tattoo against the roof. "Damn," she whispered, wiping her face, the vestiges of her ever-recurring dream slipping back to the dark corners of her mind. She glanced at the clock and groaned, realizing with a sinking feeling that she'd forgotten to reset her alarm. Rolling off the bed, she disturbed her cat that had been sleeping in a ball on the second pillow. He lifted his gray head and stretched, yawning to show off his needle-sharp teeth as she snagged her bathrobe from the foot of the bed and threw it on. She