He gasped as the collision sent waves down her bones, and he released her neck. His balance rocked, and she sank her strength into rolling to one side, flinging him off her body and into the snow.
Mercy scrambled onto her hands and knees toward where her ax had landed. Her fingers found the wood handle as she felt him grab the back of her coat. She let him pull her upright, both her hands now gripping the ax. Moving up to one foot, she spun with all her weight and knocked him off balance again.
She swung blindly with her ax. He shouted, and the sound of metal meeting teeth told her she’d struck home. He landed on his hands and knees and then clasped one hand to his bloody mouth.
Standing behind him, Mercy raised the ax over her head, her gaze locked on the back of his skull.
He’ll die.
Good.
She paused as he spit blood and moaned.
Fierce barking sounded to her right, and she turned to see a black wolf rushing her, its jaw wide open, its pointed teeth white in its dark mouth.
“Stop!”
Ten feet away, the black wolf slammed to a stop. The beast growled, low and threatening.
It’s a dog.
Mercy lifted her gaze, her ax still raised, searching for who’d shouted at the dog.
“Mercy!”
THIRTY-SIX
Truman and Bolton were silently trudging after Rowan through the snowy wilderness when a gunshot sounded, echoing across the bleak sky.
At the noise, they stopped and stared at each other.
A second gunshot boomed.
The shots were close by.
“Dammit,” said Rowan. “Thor!” Far ahead, the black dog froze against the white of the snow, his head swerving in the direction of his handler. “Here!” Thor raced in their direction, snow flying behind him.
“Which direction did it come from?” Bolton murmured, turning in a circle. “That way?” He pointed.
“That’s what I thought,” answered Truman, now that his heart had resumed beating.
Mercy?
He removed his gloves and unholstered his weapon as Bolton did the same.
“I won’t have my dog getting shot,” Rowan stated as Thor arrived and sat at her feet. She eyed their weapons, and her hands twitched. Truman knew she was armed. He’d spotted the familiar bulge at her ribs as she put on her orange vest.
But she left it at her side.
“Let’s go,” Truman ordered. He led off in the direction he believed the shot had come from. He jogged in the snowshoes, adrenaline keeping him moving, weaving among the thin trees. Behind him Bolton panted, and Rowan murmured to her dog.
We’re close.
A third shot sounded.
Truman ran harder.
Most people ran away from gunfire; he always ran toward it.
The sparse cover of the trees ended, and a wide expanse of snow spread before them. Far up ahead two people were fighting.
Truman sprinted up the gentle slope, his weapon ready, Bolton and Rowan on his heels.
Rowan said something, and Thor took off like a bullet.
The fighting woman hit the man in the mouth with her ax.
Mercy.
Truman knew her shape; he knew her movements. It was Mercy.
The man was on his knees, a hand to his bleeding face. Mercy raised the ax over her head, and Truman’s heart stopped again.
She’s going to split his head open.
She paused, the ax wavering in the air.
Thor caught her attention, and she turned to protect herself from the black attacker.
“Stop!” shouted Rowan. Thor halted.
“Mercy!” The name burst out of Truman, directly from his heart.
She looked past the dog. Truman was too far away to make eye contact, but an instant connection lit up his brain like a firework. In his mind his fingertips felt her skin, and his nose smelled her scent. As he ran closer, horror clogged his throat at the sight of the bruises and scabs on her face.
But their eyes locked.
She lowered the ax as if its weight had suddenly tripled, and took a hesitant step in his direction. “Truman?”
His name wavered in the air.
The bloodied man on his knees gathered himself to knock her down. Truman halted and pushed his weapon forward, his arms shaking with exertion. “Behind—”
Mercy was already spinning back toward her attacker, the tip of the ax handle in one hand. Her momentum swung the blunt end of the ax into his temple and he dropped. Mercy stood over him, the ax ready again. He didn’t move.
“Asshole.” Mercy’s curse floated across the snow.
“I like her,” muttered Rowan. “Heeere!” she ordered Thor. The dog shot across the snow.
Truman slowed to a walk, his energy evaporated, but nothing would stop him now.
She was alive.
His fiancée turned her head, keeping one eye on the man in the snow while watching the three of them approach. She swayed on her feet.
Her face was black, blue, green, and a hideous shade of yellow. Scabs crusted her lips and nose. Her black hair was a stringy, tangled mess.
She was beautiful.
He strode directly to her and wrapped her in his arms. She shook and quietly sobbed, her face buried in his coat. He was barely aware of Bolton cuffing the man in the snow and pulling him into a seated position.
The stress, anxiety, worry, and despair of the past several days melted away, and his head throbbed at the release.
He had her. She was back. And he wasn’t going to let her go again.
His eyes squeezed tight, his lashes growing damp.
“Stop right there!” Rowan snapped, making Truman jump and lift his head. Beside her, Thor growled, and Bolton raised his weapon.
Rowan had spoken to a small approaching figure. A girl.
Mercy spun around. “Eden! It’s safe. Come here, honey.”
With a hesitant look at a glaring Rowan, the girl approached. The missing teenager, Truman realized as the girl fell into Mercy’s arms the same way she had fallen into his.
Mercy’s green eyes met his. “Eden helped me escape. We need to locate her mother.”
“Her mother is already waiting for her,” Truman said, unable to look away. “I didn’t know if I’d find you.” His voice cracked.
“That makes two of us,” she said softly. “But it doesn’t matter now.” She leaned into Truman, still holding the girl, who was sobbing frantically.
“Everything is good,” Mercy whispered. “Everything.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Mercy hung on Eddie’s every word, and Truman gripped her hand as they sat in his living room, exhausted from her rescue yesterday. Truman had brought Mercy back to his home in Eagle’s Nest after a visit to the ER. The doctor had pronounced her fine but a little beat-up. Exactly what she’d informed Truman on the drive home from the woods, but he’d insisted on hearing it from someone else. She’d been x-rayed and poked and prodded while drinking a hot caramel macchiato and eating a Big Mac. Her stomach had churned at the rich food, but her tongue and brain had been in heaven.
The food had helped more than the painkillers.
“Sean spilled everything,” Eddie told them as he sipped from a cup of coffee, his usual jovial face fully serious. “It took all of two minutes before he told us that Neal Gorman had betrayed Tim O’Shea and Mercy to Pete Hodges.”
“What?” Mercy was in shock. “But Neal . . . he . . .” She shook her head, unable to reconcile the actions with the ATF agent who had helped her prep for the assignment. “That can’t be right.”
Eddie grimaced. “We arrested him this morning. We didn’t communicate our suspicions to the ATF, worried that the leak went deeper than just Gorman.”
“That asshole,” grumbled Truman. “Gorman stood with us every minute as we waited through negotiations and then watched the operation blow up.”
“Right?” said Eddie. “You should have seen his face when we showed up at his office t
his morning. He knew the minute we walked in. I thought he was going to piss his pants.”
“What about Carleen?” Mercy asked as the female agent’s kind brown eyes popped up in her memory.
“Agent Aguirre is clean, according to Gorman,” said Eddie. “It appears this was all on him. Somehow Gorman discovered who had committed the ATF robbery—”
“And murders,” added Mercy.
“Eight months ago. Instead of taking the information to his boss, Gorman kept it close, using it to blackmail Pete into giving him several of the stolen weapons.”
“But why did Gorman want weapons?” Truman asked.
“He sold them. Since he worked for the ATF, he knew who would pay top dollar.”
“Money,” Mercy said with disgust. “It always comes down to money.”
“I think Gorman’s ego took over. Sean said he frequently communicated with Pete.”
“Is that when Gorman told Pete about Chad—I mean Tim—and me?” Mercy’s voice cracked on the agent’s name. His death would always haunt her.
“Sort of.” Eddie took a deep breath. “At some point Gorman decided he wanted glory at the ATF. He started to feed Pete information about crucial servers that were being used at the ATF’s Yakima satellite branch.”
“Servers that didn’t exist,” Truman pointed out.
“Correct. But once the men of America’s Preserve blew up the office, Gorman would turn them in and bask in the triumph for quickly solving a domestic terrorism case.”
“Wait a minute,” said Mercy. “Pete would have immediately fingered Gorman as a leak.”
“Gorman didn’t say it outright, but I think he planned for Pete to have a very short life span after the explosion.”
“But Sean knew someone from a federal agency was feeding Pete information.”
Eddie grinned. “Well, I can tell you Neal Gorman fully believes Pete hadn’t told anyone he had help, but I wonder how many other people knew. Anyway, Pete grew hesitant about the server plan, worrying that it could be traced to them. Gorman started to sweat that his plan would fall apart before it was executed, so he gave Pete information about the spies in his compound, hoping Pete would take care of Tim and Mercy.”
“Sean also knew a federal operation was being set up outside the compound. Gorman must have warned Pete,” Mercy said quietly. “I don’t think Pete trusted anyone—even his closest men. What a horrible way to live.”
“I suspect Pete’s confidence in Gorman was bolstered when he got your names.” Anger vibrated in Truman’s tone.
Mercy’s limbs went cold. Pete could have made brutal examples out of her and Tim O’Shea in front of his people. Instead he’d kept Tim’s death quiet. Mercy wondered if Pete had worried he might have to answer for their deaths one day and didn’t want a compound full of witnesses.
“Why did Pete have Tim’s body dumped near Eagle’s Nest?” Truman asked. “According to what Bolton told me this morning, the first John Doe was the son of the older couple who owned the property where he was found. The couple had suspected the remains could be their son but were too scared of recrimination from Pete to report America’s Preserve to the police. Exactly what Pete wanted. Why did Pete change that with Tim?”
Eddie paused and held Truman’s gaze. “According to Sean, you were the target. Pete believed you knew about Mercy’s assignment. Tim was a message to you.”
“Well, that didn’t fucking work,” Mercy spat out. “Shows how much he knows about Truman. At least Tim’s wife wasn’t the one to find his body.”
Poor Ollie.
Another teen popped into Mercy’s head. She’d witnessed the tearful reunion of Eden and her mother, and then cried herself when she saw Noah, looking alert and healthy for the first time since she’d known him. She’d hugged the boy as his mother thanked her for saving his life. Eden wept as she and Mercy parted, promising to keep in touch. Both children held a special place in her heart.
“What happened to Noah’s father, Jason?” she asked.
“He’s got a huge stack of charges to face, including Tim’s murder.”
“His son nearly died from his inaction,” Mercy pointed out.
“The district attorney is on top of that one too,” Eddie told her. “Oh—the pregnant lady had a baby girl. I was told to deliver the message to you.”
“Cindy.” Mercy mentally crossed off another concern on her list. “Those poor people,” she said slowly, thinking of the other women in the compound. “How will they return to a regular life? No homes, no jobs.” She thought of Beckett and the little bag of supplies he’d given her. Truman had told her the large man had died from gunshot wounds.
Mercy had a dozen conflicting emotions about that.
Her emotions had been on a wild ride for the last twenty-four hours. Overnight she’d clung to Truman and woken up a half dozen times with visions of Sean’s leering gaze or Pete’s fists and boots close to her face.
She felt a squeeze on her hand and turned to see Truman studying her in concern.
“I’m fine.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m going to be fine,” she corrected herself.
He nodded. “I know you will be.”
I just need time.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Three months later
It was their wedding day.
Truman couldn’t stand still and swayed from foot to foot.
Ollie elbowed him. “You gonna faint?” asked the teen, his eyes concerned.
“No.” Truman studied the young man in his new suit. The first suit Ollie had ever owned. “You look good, Ollie.”
Instead of ducking his head, Ollie grinned, straightened his shoulders, and looked Truman in the eye. “I know.” He dusted an invisible speck from his shoulder with a cocky flick of his fingers.
He’d come a long way from the shy teenager Truman had met in the woods.
Ollie leaned forward and winked at Kaylie on the other side of the minister.
He, Ollie, and Kaylie stood at one end of the great room in the showplace home of Christian Lake, Mercy’s longtime friend. On their left an entire wall of windows offered magazine-worthy views of a gigantic deck and the snowy lake. The glass reached the soaring ceiling and its rustic beams. Outdoors it was dark, a light snow falling, but inside, the giant room was gently lit with delicate string lights, candles, and a warm fire in the huge fireplace. Polished wood accents gleamed everywhere—everywhere that wasn’t decorated for Christmas. Cedar garlands arced across the walls and fireplace. A tree decorated in red, gold, and white nearly touched the sky-high ceiling.
The home and decor were stunning, but Truman barely noticed. Instead he studied face after face before him, marveling at how his life had changed since he’d moved to Eagle’s Nest. His parents sat in the front row along with his sister and her husband. Behind them was his other family—his men. Ben and his wife, looking as proud as if Truman were their own son. Samuel and Sandy had their heads together, whispering and smiling with eyes only for each other. Truman expected another wedding announcement soon. Royce and his young family. Lucas and his grandmother Ina—who was like a second mother to Truman.
On the other side of the aisle was Mercy’s family—now Truman’s. Her brother Owen, his wife, and their two children. Pearl, her husband, and their children. And then there was Rose, glowing and lovely. Nick sat beside her, one of Rose’s hands in his, and baby Henry on his lap staring nonstop at the lights on the Christmas tree.
Mercy’s mother, Deborah, sat alone in the first row, an empty white chair next to her.
“Are you ready for this, Truman?” Kaylie whispered, a sly look in her eye. Her red nose stud glittered, matching her dark-red dress. Her hair was in long, dark, loose curls, her resemblance to Mercy stronger than ever.
“Of course,” he mouthed soundlessly, noticing that some of Dulce’s white cat hairs had stuck to the waistband of Kaylie’s dress.
Love surged in his heart for their little patchwork family. Pets, teenagers, and all. H
e and Mercy had agreed that only Kaylie and Ollie would stand with them during the wedding. Not as attendants, but as part of their family of four.
The soft Christmas music faded away, and the slow instrumental opening to Etta James’s “At Last” began to play. The small congregation stood and turned to look behind them.
Truman’s pulse sped up, and his gaze locked on the opening at the other end of the room.
He couldn’t breathe.
At last, my love has come along.
“That’s our cue, Mercy.” Her father took her hand and tucked it in his arm. She didn’t move. Instead she studied his face, committing it to memory, another page in the recollections of her wedding day. The day after she’d returned, her father had humbly asked her forgiveness and asked to escort her at the wedding. It had filled the gaping hole in her heart.
Karl’s fingers didn’t shake as he smiled at her with the love that she’d missed for fifteen years.
Today her heart was full. Overflowingly full.
“Let’s do this,” she whispered. She raised her white sheath gown a few inches from her feet and lifted her chin. The dress was simple and elegant, made of a luminous silk that she’d fallen in love with the first time she saw it. No sequins, no lace, no ribbons. Her choice was styled off the shoulder and had close-fitting silk sleeves all the way to her wrists and was followed by a small sweep train. It was as light as air on her skin.
They stepped into the giant room, and the music gently swelled in the background.
I found a dream that I could speak to.
Every eye in the room was on her, but she saw only Truman. He looked so serious in his dark suit, staring at her as if stunned she’d shown up. Then his face slowly broke into a wide smile. Mercy brushed her lashes. Her damp eyes and the light of the candles had created a star effect, making her see nearly invisible silver strands, leading her down the aisle to Truman.
The faces of her friends and family caught her attention as she passed. The people she loved to work with. Jeff and Eddie and Darby. Britta stood next to Evan Bolton, her face solemn, Zara sitting quietly at her feet. Christian blew her a kiss, and beside him sat Salome, his half sister who’d told Mercy that fate dictated she belonged with Truman. Salome’s dark gaze glowed, her hand clasped in that of Morrigan, her daughter, whose eyes were wide in childish delight.
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