A Merciful Fate (Mercy Kilpatrick Book 5)

by Kendra Elliot

  Just try me.

  Trevor wasn’t the best shield, but he’d do.

  I have no other options.

  Art hadn’t moved during the scramble. He stood in the same position, his weapon still trained on Mercy, his face blank.

  Her gamble with Art’s unwillingness to fire at her had paid off.

  It could have gone so wrong.

  “Damn you, Mercy. Don’t make me do this.” His voice cracked.

  “You already did it when you shot my niece.” She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to try it again? What’s one more murder?”

  “Shoot her!” Trevor forced out, gasping for air.

  His pulse thrummed in triple time against her arm.

  “He’s more likely to hit you,” she muttered. She knew it, and Art knew it.

  Does he care if he shoots Trevor?

  My human shield is expendable. With Trevor dead, Art was free.

  Art had to decide if he wanted another murder in his ledger. His weapon wavered, doubt in his eyes.

  What will he do?

  Her muscles were frozen to the point of pain, her brain scrambling through possible scenarios. None ended well.

  At least I gave us a chance.

  She shoved despair out of her thoughts. I’m not giving up yet.

  I have to take a shot. She would have to move her weapon from Trevor’s temple toward Art, and she suspected he’d shoot the moment her hand shifted. He wasn’t going to give her a second chance. Odds were not in her favor.

  It’s my only choice.

  Motion behind Art caught her eye. Truman.

  She kept her expression stable, her gaze sharp on Art, as she mentally deflated in relief.

  Don’t give Truman away.

  Apprehension halted her reprieve; Truman was in a bad position.

  His weapon was aimed at Art’s back, but if he missed Art, Mercy or Sandy could be hit.

  I can’t shoot at Art for the same reason. Truman could be hit.

  The dilemma incensed her.

  Art narrowed his eyes at her. “Who’s behind me?” he hissed. He raised his voice and called out, “My finger is on the trigger. I’ll put a bullet through both of them.”

  He’s right. At this close distance, shooting Trevor means shooting me.

  “Juergen,” said Truman calmly. “Put your weapon down.” Truman sidestepped slowly toward the cliff, trying to angle Mercy and Sandy out of his shot.

  Art heard the crunch of Truman’s steps and shifted, staying aligned between Mercy and Truman.

  “Put it down, Art,” Mercy asked. “This isn’t worth it.”

  “And end up in prison for the rest of my life? I don’t think so.”

  “You were a good agent, Art. I’m sorry this scum”—she squeezed Trevor’s neck, making him squawk—“this scum blackmailed you.” Trevor dug frantically at her arm, trying to loosen her hold, and she pressed the weapon into his head again. He froze.

  It wasn’t blackmail thirty years ago. It was Art’s greed.

  “I’ll do my best to get you in one of those country club federal prisons,” Mercy offered, knowing the murder of Tabitha Huff made it impossible.

  Art laughed, a pathetic, suffocating laugh. “Quit trying to bullshit me, Mercy. I took the negotiation workshops too.”

  “I didn’t,” said Truman. “Put your fucking weapon down before I blow a hole in your skull like you did to Tabitha Huff, Juergen.” He continued his slow steps, but Art kept perfect pace with him.

  Art has eyes in the back of his head.

  Truman’s gaze darted beyond her and to her left. He’s not alone. She imagined Truman’s accomplice attempting to line up a shot from behind the horse’s neck. It was nearly impossible.

  Sandy kept a hand on Mercy’s back for balance. Small tremors flowed through her fingers to Mercy’s skin, and her rough breaths were loud in the tense air.

  Art’s bullet won’t go through three of us. She’s safe.

  “Truman,” said Sandy in a hoarse voice. “He shot Kaylie. He thought she was Mercy.”

  Mercy flinched but held her focus.

  “You shot a child,” Truman said flatly behind Art. “Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you in the back right now.”

  “You know as well as I do,” Art stated. “You could accidentally kill your woman.” He held Mercy’s gaze. “I’m truly sorry for your niece, Mercy.”

  Mercy’s knuckles turned white on Trevor’s weapon. “Bullshit. You tried to kill me.” She concentrated to keep her arm steady. “You know what, Art? Remember how I told you I wanted to be friends after our one date? That was bullshit too. I refused because you were too old for me!”

  Rage flashed on his face.

  I pushed too hard.

  She braced for his shot.

  But the rage vanished, and his features sagged, turning him into an old man.

  His transformation staggered her. The confident FBI agent was no more.

  “I’m sorry, Mercy.” He lowered the weapon, and Sandy noisily exhaled behind her.

  He looks ready to fall apart. His weapon rose a few degrees and turned toward his head.

  “Art! Don’t!” she ordered. He met her gaze, and she silently pleaded with him. His hand halted, but his face filled with regret.

  Mercy didn’t relax and kept her eyes locked on him. “It’s going to be okay, Art. You don’t need to do that. Everything will be fine,” she said automatically.

  He knows it will never be fine again.

  “Toss your gun back here,” Truman commanded. “And then remove the rifle.”

  Art stretched out his arms and let the pistol dangle from one finger. He raised his chin, his eye contact staying with Mercy, looking ready for a crucifixion.

  “Thank you, Art,” she said, exhaling some of her tension.

  He has a long road ahead of him.

  He slowly rotated ninety degrees to his left, stopping to look out over the endless view.

  “Your gun,” Truman reminded him.

  Art didn’t move.

  Mercy backed out of Truman’s line of fire, dragging Trevor with her.

  If Art fires at Truman, I won’t hold back.

  Art tossed the gun aside toward Truman, his arms still outstretched. He removed the rifle and flung it in the same direction.

  Thank God.

  Art looked back at Mercy, remorse in his gaze.

  She said nothing. It was over. Art would never be a free man again.

  He sacrificed—

  Art darted two steps and leaped off the cliff.

  Mercy couldn’t breathe. Screams sounded in her head.

  He didn’t.

  Art . . .

  Truman lunged toward the ridge, his desperate act too late. He stumbled, landed on his chest, and slid partway over the edge. His head and arms dangled off the cliff, as he looked straight down hundreds of feet. Sandy shrieked and grabbed Mercy’s shoulder, nearly knocking her over.

  “Truman!” Mercy started to release Trevor to grab Truman, but loud thumps made her spin to her left. Samuel sprinted toward Truman. He grabbed the man’s boots and hauled him back.

  Truman rolled onto his back, staring at the sky, his chest heaving. “Holy fuck.”

  “No shit,” answered Samuel. The officer took a tentative step to look over the edge and stepped back immediately.

  “I didn’t see him,” said Samuel in a stunned voice. “No way he survived that.”

  “No,” Truman agreed, still lying on his back. He turned his head and met Mercy’s gaze.

  Did that just happen?

  Art is dead.

  She couldn’t speak. Her knees shook.

  Art is dead. The phrase echoed in her mind.

  Samuel took Trevor from her chokehold, and her arm’s muscles protested as she straightened it. Samuel rapidly searched and cuffed Trevor.

  “Oh my God,” Sandy said, covering her face with her hands. “I’m going to see that for the rest of my life.”

  “Me too
,” Mercy said hoarsely. “Are you okay?”

  “My scalp is burning, but I’m fine.” Sandy dropped to the dirt and sat cross-legged, her shoulders slumping. “I just need to sit down.”

  Mercy did too. Truman sat up as she walked over. She took one of his hands and lowered herself heavily beside him. “I don’t think anyone’s legs feel very strong at the moment.” She breathed hard as she looked off in the distance. The stunning vista felt tainted.

  Could I have stopped him?

  Truman awkwardly pulled her into his lap. “I need a moment,” he said, burying his face in her neck.

  She held her lips to his temple. “You’re not the only one.”

  “I can’t believe—”

  “Don’t talk about it right now,” she ordered. The sight of Art leaping off the ridge would haunt her forever. It flashed on constant replay in her head.

  They were silent for several seconds, each simply breathing and taking strength from the other.

  “I love you,” he stated.

  She pressed her face harder into his rough stubble. “I love you more.”

  Samuel cleared his throat. “It’s getting late. Can we take this asshole back to the station?”

  Trevor glared at him.

  Mercy didn’t unwrap her arms from Truman’s shoulders. “That’s Trevor Whipple,” she said. “He admitted torturing Bree to get her to tell him the location of the money left over from the robbery.”

  Truman started under her tight grip. “He’s one of the original thieves?” He looked at the man. “Where the hell have you been for thirty years?”

  Trevor was silent.

  “We were right about Bree. She was the driver for the robbery.” Mercy turned to Sandy, who still sat on the ground, the shovel across her lap. “Sandy . . . is the money really in a safety-deposit box?”

  She slowly shook her head. “I lied,” she whispered.

  I knew it.

  “I thought if they believed the money was in a bank, they would drag us back to town and not shoot us right here.” Sandy’s face crinkled, and tears threatened. “I’m sorry . . . I don’t know anything about the money. Bree never told me. I was stupid to think she might have hid it up here.”

  “I guess we’ll have to ask Bree when she wakes,” stated Truman.

  If she wakes.

  Truman jerked in her arms. “Rose is in labor,” he blurted. “I forgot to tell you.”

  Joy radiated through Mercy. A month early . . . that’s not too bad. “We were a little busy, so I’ll let it go this time.” She kissed Truman’s rough cheek but then frowned at the concern on his face. “What is it?”

  “The baby is breech, and Rose is dehydrated from the flu. Everyone was rushing to the hospital when we left.”

  Worry for her sister made her crawl out of Truman’s lap, her anxiety spiking. “We need to go.” Babies are breech all the time.

  But this is my sister.

  “Your dad nearly went to the hospital instead of coming with us.”

  “My dad? He’s here?” Surprise made Mercy search the area.

  “He’s not here, but he brought us his horses and provided directions to get here.” He met Mercy’s eyes. “He had to choose between going to Rose or helping you. He chose you.”

  He chose me.

  Her head swam, and she felt as if she were peering over the cliff again.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The sky was just starting to darken as the group headed home. Knowing Rose was in labor made Mercy want to gallop her horse back.

  But she stayed with the group.

  They agreed to ride back to Bree’s farm. Her barn had room for the two extra horses until Karl could come get them. Truman drove the ATV with Trevor cuffed behind him, and Samuel led Truman’s horse. Trevor mouthed off several times. Truman finally threatened to tie him over a horse on his stomach, and he stayed quiet after that.

  Mercy checked for cell phone reception two dozen times.

  They were nearly to Bree’s when she finally reached Pearl on the phone. She pelted her sister with a dozen questions.

  “Slow down,” Pearl ordered. “I can’t answer everything at once. Kaylie’s resting comfortably. The doctors are breathing a little easier because it’s been twenty-four hours without a sign of infection.”

  Relief swamped Mercy.

  “She’s complaining that she can’t see Rose even though they’re in the same hospital,” said Pearl.

  Mercy couldn’t help but smile. That’s my girl. A good sign that Kaylie was on the mend.

  “And Rose?” Mercy held her breath.

  “She had a C-section. They couldn’t turn the baby. The doctor preferred the surgery instead of attempting a vaginal birth, and Rose didn’t have strength left for any kind of birth. The flu was really hard on her.”

  “Is the baby at risk from the flu?” Mercy whispered.

  “They talked about separating Rose from the baby—”

  “Oh no,” Mercy gasped.

  “But Rose’s fever has been under control, and her lungs are clear. They don’t believe she’s contagious any longer, just wiped out and dehydrated, so they’ll let the baby be with her if she wears a mask and washes her hands nonstop.”

  “When can we see her?”

  “She’s in recovery right now. Nick said she’ll be in her room in about an hour.”

  “What did she have?” Mercy blurted.

  Pearl laughed. “I wondered when you would ask. She had a boy, but I’ll let Rose tell you the name when you see her.”

  “Ohhh. Darn you! That’s going to drive me nuts.”

  “Dad said Truman was worried you were in some sort of danger,” Pearl stated with a question in her tone.

  “It’s all good,” Mercy said, too tired to tell the story. “We’ll be at the hospital in a few hours. Tell Rose we’re coming.”

  “She asked about you several times while she was in labor.”

  Guilt punched her in the chest. “I promised her I’d be there,” Mercy said. “I told her she could count on me if no one else was available, and I let her down.”

  Pearl snorted. “Well, everyone was available except for you. I’d say you’re off the hook.”

  “I wanted to be there,” she said softly.

  “We’ve been sitting in a waiting room for hours. No one was allowed in the surgery but Nick. You haven’t missed anything.”

  The words didn’t comfort her.

  It was midnight when Mercy and Truman finally reached the hospital.

  Truman sent a text to Nick, who replied that they were currently awake, and then met them at the nurses’ station to okay their visit. The tall man looked exhausted but ecstatic. Even though Nick had spent hours at the hospital and probably been sanitized from head to toe, Mercy smelled his usual scent of fresh-cut lumber. She and Truman followed him through security doors and down a hallway. Outside Rose’s door, he pointed at the hand sanitizer on the wall, and both cleaned their hands. The lights were low as they entered Rose’s room, and she turned her face toward Mercy.

  A God-size punch hit Mercy in the chest at the sight of Rose sitting in bed holding her baby.

  She’s beautiful.

  The few lights illuminated the head of Rose’s bed, giving her a Madonna-like presence.

  “Mercy?” she asked, her voice muffled behind her mask.

  “Yes.” Mercy was at her side in a split second, all eyes for the baby. The round head was so tiny, the nose and lips perfectly shaped, the closed eyelids nearly translucent. “Oh, Rose. He’s lovely.”

  “I can’t stop touching his hair.” Rose softly stroked the dark fluff. “I can’t believe he’s really here.”

  “Pearl wouldn’t tell me his name.”

  “Henry Levi.”

  Tears burned in Mercy’s eyes. Her brothers. One who had died at birth and another who had died the previous year. She couldn’t speak.

  “Would you like to hold him?” Rose lifted him away from her chest.

 
Mercy took the tiny bundle, amazed at how light he was. Dulce weighed more. “Is . . . is he healthy?”

  “Yes. Even though he’s a month early the doctor is pleased with his development. We shouldn’t be in the hospital any longer than normal.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, Rose. I know I promised—”

  Rose waved a hand, dismissing her words. “Besides Nick, five different people offered to take me to the hospital. Everything was fine. Dad said you were on a job without cell service.”

  That is true. “Yes.”

  “He sounded worried.” Her tone was inquisitive.

  Dad . . . worried about me? “Everything turned out fine. I’ll tell you the whole story tomorrow.” Mercy changed the subject. “How are you feeling?”

  “Very floaty. I don’t know if it’s the medication or Henry.” Her voice took on a dreamy tone. “Mercy . . . It’s like . . . a brand-new piece of my heart suddenly woke up. A huge section brimming with energy and soul-deep love. I can’t explain it.”

  Truman came beside her. “Nice job, Rose.” He gently touched a tiny clenched fist and looked at Mercy with a passionate fierceness she felt to her bones. The tiny boy had stirred something inside him.

  He held her gaze for a long moment, keeping her speechless, before turning to Nick.

  “Congratulations, Nick.” Truman shook the tall man’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “The wedding is next,” Nick stated.

  Rose laughed. “He wanted to get married tomorrow, but Mom and I insist on a real wedding.”

  Nick looked abashed. “I’m willing to wait two months. Deborah claims she and Pearl can pull a wedding together by then.”

  “I’ll help,” Mercy said, her gaze back on the tiny human in her arms.

  “How about you two?” Nick asked. “You pick a date yet?”

  She exchanged a glance with Truman. They’d purposefully not announced a date, wanting to know Rose and Nick’s plans first. “We decided on December.”

  “Definitely,” added Truman, meeting her eyes.

  He’s still looking at me as if I’m his dinner . . . or dessert.

  She handed the baby back to Rose. Without him, her arms felt weightless. How did such a small bundle do that? “We’ll be back tomorrow, Rose.” She kissed the top of her sister’s head and gave Nick a hug. His smile had stretched from ear to ear their entire visit.