by Leslie North
She didn’t know the guy, had barely talked to him three seconds at the gas station. Must be the stress of it all, the adrenaline rush of seeing someone murdered before her very eyes. A nervous bubble of hysterical laughter burst out of her. Her mind raced, throwing up tons of arbitrary facts and a few useful ones, from the classes she’d sat through at Brothers In Arms.
Shock. That was it. She must be in shock.
Vann had said people acted strangely under duress.
His voice rang through her head, oddly soothing despite her anxiety.
Keep calm. Use your mind. Assess the situation and act appropriately.
In the rearview mirror, headlights approached. This early in the morning, traffic was light. She squinted in the bright light as the vehicle neared. It was bigger than her compact rental, the beams of the headlights set higher. The closer it got, the greater her dread became.
The shooter had seen her car, seen the direction she’d headed.
If he followed her….
Acting on pure instinct, she inched open the driver’s side door enough to slide out, leaving her purse behind, and hunkering down at the front of her vehicle. If the cops found her car, which she prayed they would, they’d have her ID and would hopefully start a search. Crouching low, she hazarded a glance over the hood of the car and spotted a black SUV pulling onto the berm behind her rental. Frank Sutton’s SUV. The headlights were off now and the vehicle ground to a halt on the gravel several feet behind her car. From the angle her vehicle was parked at, she couldn’t see the driver and hopefully he couldn’t see her either.
Shit.
She glanced over the guardrail beside her and saw a set of steps leading down to a small beach below. If she could make it down to the beach, she could run back to town and find help. If she didn’t… well, then, chances were pretty good she’d end up exactly like Frank Sutton had back there.
Eyes closed, Mercy said a silent prayer then scurried for the stairs just as the driver climbed from the SUV behind her.
“You need some help there, ma’am?” the mystery shooter said. “Hey, wait!”
Mercy rushed down the steps toward the beach, afraid to risk a look back to see if Sutton’s assailant was following her. She didn’t need to. The sound of his curses followed by the pound of heavy footsteps on the wooden steps told her he was.
14
“You want some cheese with that whine?”
Vann glanced at Leila over the top of his soda glass, his look as flat as his attitude. “I’m good. Thanks.”
In truth, good was about as far from where he was as New Orleans was from Ortega. He exhaled loudly and rubbed his eyes. Turns out his fight with Jace had been the highlight of his shitty day, if that said anything. God, he was such a fucking idiot.
At the time, he’d thought sending Mercy home and taking some time away from the business were wise choices, but now, as he sat alone at the lunch counter at Scoops with no woman, no friends, and no prospects for his future, things looked pretty dark indeed.
He wasn’t sure why’d he come here to begin with. Leila might be Mark’s sister, but she treated all the guys like family. And family, he well knew from his own parents, meddled.
“So, what did you screw up this time, kemo sabe?” Leila continued to watch him with that knowing look of hers. “Please tell me you did not mess things up with that nice girl I met the other night. What was her name again?”
Forcing his tense jaw to relax, Vann said, “Mercy.”
“Right. She seemed perfect for you. Smart, funny, ambitious. Not willing to take any of your shit.”
Yep. She did, he realized. The knife in his chest twisted harder. “Yeah, well, she’s gone.”
“Gone where?” Leila frowned. “The program’s not done yet, is it?”
“Nope. She quit.” He glanced at his watch, barely hiding his wince. “My guess is she’s halfway back to New Orleans right now.”
Leila shook her head, wiping down the already clean countertop in front of him. “That’s too bad.”
Vann nodded. “Too bad” didn’t begin to cover it. He missed her more than he’d thought possible. Weird, he knew, since they’d only known each other such a short time, but he missed her southern drawl and her sweet floral scent. Missed her snarky comments and her soft touch. Missed damned near everything about her. Her smile most of all. Flashes of memories—her across the table here at Scoops, her hiking beside him through the flatlands, her beneath him as she came undone in his arms—bitch-slapped his already aching head.
All she’d wanted was to pass that class, to get that job she’d wanted, to prove herself for once in her life. Vann might not have related to her specific goals, but he sure as hell should have related to the sentiment behind them. And she’d tried so fucking hard too. Jesus. Didn’t he want the same kind of confidence, the same kind of assurance that she did? Didn’t everyone?
Then he’d gone and fucked things up at work on top of it all.
I’m such a fucking moron.
And yeah, maybe Jace had stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong, but how was that different than any other day? Worst part was, his best bud had been right. He had been slacking on his responsibilities as a co-owner of Brothers In Arms. For the past several months, ever since the first of those SEAL deaths had been reported in the media, and then after Mark’s accident, he felt like he needed to do more, wanted there to be more in his life. For the first time, he admitted to himself that teaching the classes and running the business was fine, but it wasn’t enough. Not any more. Vann needed more than the company could offer him. Mark had Geneva and Jace had his side job. Maybe it was time he stepped outside Brothers in Arms to do something for himself. He shifted on his stool, wincing slightly as the stitches around his wound pulled.
Then there was the fact Jace had called him on his shit. In front of Mercy, no less. After their abysmal morning hauling ass back to Brothers In Arms—injured, exhausted, on-edge—it had been the last straw. So yeah, he’d blown up, said a bunch of shit he shouldn’t have and stormed out.
He wasn’t making excuses for his awful behavior. SEALs didn’t make excuses. But he was feeling…reflective.
“You want another root beer?” Leila asked, her tone less sharp now and more sympathetic. “Sugar always helps me when I’ve done something dumb.”
Vann snorted. Yep. Mark’s sister. Always good for the bald-faced truth and a good kick in the pants when needed. He pushed his empty glass across the counter toward her. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” She winked and walked away. He focused on the TV screen in the corner.
A reporter was covering a breaking news story, footage behind her showing a gas station he recognized as being not far from the compound. Vann reached behind the counter and grabbed the remote, turning up the volume.
“Police are on the scene and information is spotty at present, but it appears that the victim died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Authorities are going over surveillance footage now and have released this video from earlier this morning, shot around the time of the victim’s death, of two potential witnesses. Again, Congressional candidate and former SEAL, Frank Sutton is dead of an apparent suicide.”
Grainy, black and white images flickered on the TV screen and Vann’s eyes slowly widened. First because that asshole Frank Sutton had offed himself, which seemed very coincidental given the recent rash of SEAL “suicides,” then second because…oh shit! That was Mercy’s compact rental car, her face visible through the windshield as she gunned the engine and shot out of the station lot and onto the highway, narrowly missing a collision with an oncoming truck.
Sliding off his stool so fast it skittered backward, Vann moved closer to the TV to hear the reporter say, “If anyone has any knowledge about the identity of the SUV driver, please contact the police immediately at….”
He tuned out the reporter’s voice, focusing instead on a shadowed figure in the background, near the air pump station where Sutton’s b
ody was sprawled. The mysterious person—a male, given their size—climbed into the black SUV and pursued Mercy’s rental car out onto the highway.
Goddammit! If anything had happened to Mercy, he’d never forgive himself. She was supposed to be on a plane home right now, not being chased down by a potential murderer or worse, lying dead on the side of the road somewhere. Adrenaline and dread pumping hot through his system, he headed for the exit. He and Mercy might have their issues, but he cared about her. More than he wanted to admit. He’d protect her, with his life if necessary.
“Hey!” Leila called as he passed by. “Where are you going?”
“To rescue my woman.” He stumbled out of Scoops and charged toward his Range Rover, Leila’s voice chasing him all the way.
“About damned time!” she yelled, waving. “Go Vann!”
Mercy held her breath, sticking close to the sheer rock cliffs for protection. The ocean roared before her, waves crashing hard against the shore and somewhere behind her lurked a killer with a gun.
Eyes squeezed shut; she cursed herself for getting into this situation. Why hadn’t she tried harder, listened to Vann’s advice, stayed with the program and done her best, even if she failed? The sound of metal clinking against stone jolted her from her pity party.
Self-recriminations wouldn’t save her ass now.
Okay. Fine. Think Mercy, think.
She ran through the things she’d read in her manuals and the scenarios they’d gone over in the classes she’d attended at Brothers In Arms. Study your surroundings. Take note of possible escape routes. Mercy gazed down the long stretch of beach on one side of her. Not good. No hiding places at all. She’d be an easy target. Biting her lip, she checked out the other direction. To her right, she spotted several large boulders, an opening in the cliffs. Her heart skipped.
The cove!
The same cove Vann had taken her to that first magical night they’d spent together.
If she could somehow get to the cove then there was another set of stairs nearby, she remembered. Stairs that would lead her back up to the highway where she could hopefully flag down help before the killer on her tail took her out.
Judging the distance from where she stood, she’d say it was maybe three hundred feet away. Doable, if she sprinted all out to get there. She remembered Vann saying something about how difficult a moving target was to hit. Now, all she needed was a distraction.
The sinister snick of a gun being cocked echoed, pulling her from her plans.
“Come out now,” her assailant growled. “And I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Yeah, right. Rule one of Civilian Defensive Tactics Training, never trust a criminal.
Mercy smiled. Maybe she had learned more from the program than she’d thought. A huge outcropping of rock kept her hidden from his view and his bullets. Plus, keeping him talking seemed like her best distraction at the moment, so she considered her response while inching slowly toward the corner of the cliff behind her. “Why did you kill that man back at the gas station?”
“He was becoming a liability.”
His voice sounded so cold, so callous, so dark and deep that Mercy shuddered as she moved closer to the open stretch of beach between her and the cove. If Satan spoke, that’s how she imagined it would sound. “Liability how?”
The mystery shooter gave a derisive snort. “Sutton was nervous. Thought my methods were too extreme. He was going to turn on me, so I had to take him out. Was going to frame that fucking nosy Indian for it too, but things didn’t pan out the way I planned.”
Breath lodged in her throat, Mercy bit back a gasp. Vann. The dam breaking, the tracks he’d mentioned. The sabotage. This man had tried to kill them too? Not good. Not good at all. Muscles quivering with fight or flight instinct, she gripped the smooth corner of the cliff face tight. “Sometimes things don’t work out.”
“Don’t even think about running. You won’t make it,” he growled.
Cringing, Mercy battled her insecurities. It was as if the man had read her thoughts. If ever there was a time for confidence, it was now. She’d never needed to believe in herself so much, but could she do it? The sounds of his clothes rustling in the breeze grew closer and Mercy realized two things at once. First, if she didn’t try, she was dead anyway. And second, she could do this. She would do this. Vann had once told her that she needed to use her size to her advantage. Being small made her lighter, quicker.
After one last deep breath for courage, she took off, sprinting as hard and fast as she could toward the cove ahead. Behind her, she heard a loud curse, then something whizzed past her ear, splintering the stone ahead. A bullet. The pound of her steps on the wet sand coupled with the thud of her heartbeat drowned out everything now. Must get to the cove. Must get to help. Must get back to Vann and tell him I love him.
Lungs burning from exertion and cold sweat prickling the back of her neck, she reached the cove and ducked inside, racing for the stone steps near the back of the cavern. Squinting through the darkness, she spotted the staircase just as her assailant rounded the entrance of the cove.
“Stop!” he yelled, his weapon raised and aimed for her, his body silhouetted against the brighter light outside. She still couldn’t see his face, but if she made it through this ordeal, she’d never, ever forget that voice. “Get over here or I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”
Swallowing hard, she fumbled backward toward the staircase, remaining silent. The guy would most likely kill her anyway and Vann had once mentioned using the cover of darkness and quiet to mask your location. Being a difficult target seemed her only hope for survival.
He chuckled, low and menacing. “Smart girl.”
Summoning all her courage and energy, Mercy scrambled up the slippery stone steps. More bullets pinged around her, sending a spray of rock in her path. She didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Vann. Must get to Vann. Must tell him what’s happening. She emerged out onto the berm of the now busy highway and checked both ways. Too much traffic to cross, but she ran close to the side of the road, trying desperately to flag someone down. This was also probably the safest spot for her, given the shooter was unlikely to attack with so many witnesses. Jogging in the direction she thought the Brothers In Arms compound was, Mercy kept glancing back over her shoulder to see if the shooter was gaining on her. So far, he’d not crested the top of the stairs, but that didn’t mean anything. He could still be after her, gaining on her, ready to shoot her.
Mercy turned around, only to slide to a halt, hands up and screaming.
Headlights blinded her as a vehicle squealed to a halt on the paved berm in front of her. Shaken, her knees gave away and she crumpled to the ground. Footsteps pounded toward her— friend or foe? She didn’t know. All she knew was she wasn’t going down without a fight. Too weak to stand, she cowered, covering her head with her hands for meager protection, storing up what was left of her energy for one final attack.
“Mercy?” A familiar voice said. Not the shooter, her traumatized brain realized. “Suyeta?”
Vann! Sobbing, she clung to him as he gathered her into his arms, holding her tight.
“Are you all right?” he asked, pulling back and checking her over for injuries. Finding none, he swooped her up in his arms, carrying her back to the safety of his Range Rover. “What happened?”
The story spilled out of her in one long sentence, as jumbled as she felt. Still, he seemed to understand her, even if she didn’t understand herself. She hiccupped and sniffled. “I think he’s still after me.”
“Shit.” Vann grabbed a handgun from the glove compartment and chambered a round. “Stay here. Lock the doors.”
“Wait! Shouldn’t we go to the police?” she shouted, but it was too late.
Shivering from cold and shock, Mercy did as he commanded, watching through the windshield as Vann cautiously made his way toward the staircase. He stood at the top, weapon aimed down the steps before climbing down. As he disappeared, her panic rose higher. What if t
he assailant shot him? Killed him? What if he never came back again?
Fresh tears swamped her eyes and spilled hot down her cheeks.
She’d come to California to secure a job. Instead, she’d fallen in love.
Even if he didn’t love her back, she wanted him to know. She’d tell him, when he made it back.
Please God, let him come back to me.
Soon, Vann reemerged from the top of the stairs and her heart nearly burst with joy. He stalked back toward the vehicle—all lean muscled lines and sleek masculine grace—and warmth burst through her. She’d never seen a more gorgeous man in all her life.
“Gone. Found some footprints; the same ones as before but no shooter,” Vann said, opening his door and clicking on the safety on his weapon before shoving it back into the glove compartment again.
He’d barely gotten settled back behind the wheel when she grabbed him and kissed him long and hard and deep. By the time she pulled back, they were both breathless. “I know this sounds crazy, but I love you Vann Highrider.”
He smiled then, turning what was left of her insides to goo. “I love you too, suyeta. And I’m proud of you.”
“You are?” she asked, cupping his cheeks, stroking his face, unable to get enough of him.
“Today, you saved yourself. You proved you are as strong, capable and brave as I always knew you were. Do you believe it now too?’
She sniffled and smiled through her tears. “Maybe, I don’t know. I need time to process.”
“I’m sorry about the things I said yesterday, suyeta,” he confessed, between kisses.
“Me too.” She nuzzled into the side of his neck.
He put his arm around her shoulder and snuggled her into his side as he started the engine. “You’re not sorry you came here and met me, right?”
“No.” She sighed, content, warm and happy at last. “I could never be sorry about that.”
“Good.” He kissed the top of her head then signaled and pulled out onto the highway to drive the short distance to the compound. “Now, let’s get you inside and call the authorities.”