Finding Mercy
The Next Generation
Riley Edwards
Finding Mercy
The Next Generation
Book 3
Riley Edwards
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Riley Edwards
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design: Lori Jackson Designs
Written by: Riley Edwards
Published by: Rebels Romance
Edited by: Eve Arroyo
Finding Mercy
First edition – February 2019
Copyright © 2019 Riley Edwards
All rights reserved
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Riley Edwards Newsletter
Riley’s Rebels
Also by Riley Edwards
About the Author
To my family - my team – my tribe.
This is for you.
Prologue
“It’s time, Jay.”
Panic rose at Kayla’s words, and the lump in my throat threatened to choke me. I couldn’t swallow past the fear. Selfishly, I wasn’t ready. The finality of the situation was more than I could comprehend.
“Just . . .” I didn’t know what I was trying to say.
Just hold on?
Just let go?
“You’ve given up enough for me. It’s time to let me go.”
“Don’t say that, Kayla. You know I’d give up everything if I could save you.”
“And you have. You’ve given up the last seven years of your life taking care of me. It’s time for you to move on. Live. Be happy. Find someone to love.”
Love? What the hell did I know about love? I didn’t know the first thing about loving someone. I’d failed in every way possible. My wife’s frail body in my arms was proof. She’d wasted away right in front of me. I’d helplessly watched as cancer had ravished her body. Stolen years from her. Love? Yeah, fuck love.
“Kayla.”
“Promise me, Jason. You’ll never know how grateful I am that you’ve stuck by me. Because of you, I had seven extra years. I’m just sorry it was at your expense.”
“I love you, Kayla. I don’t regret anything.”
What I felt for Kayla was as close to love as I’d ever feel.
“I love you, too, Jason.” Her voice was starting to fade.
“I’m right here, Kay Kay. I won’t leave your side.” I couldn’t stop the tears as they streamed down my cheeks. “It’s okay to let go. I promise everything will be okay.”
“Thank you, Jay.” She sounded sleepy, her voice raspy. “Love . . .”
“I love you, too.”
Sweat beaded on my forehead as I jolted awake in a cold and empty bed.
I’d lied to Kayla in her final moments of her life. I’d promised her everything would be okay, but it wasn’t. Every night I’ve dreamt of that promise, reliving the worst day of my life over and over again. It was what I deserved.
A husband barely out of high school and a widower by twenty-eight—ain’t life grand?
Not bothering to straighten the crumpled comforter, I headed to the shower to scrub away the lingering effects of my dream. The sweat and tears were easy to wash down the drain. The guilt and regret were etched so deep nothing would ever clean the stains away.
With my skin damn near raw from my shower, I went through the motions of starting my day. I was like a fucking robot. I was numb. So many times I’d considered selling the house but I couldn’t. I was trapped behind the wood and bricks. Locked inside with Kayla’s ghost.
Remembering I had to grab files from my home office, I darted into the room to grab them before I headed to work. I picked up the envelope with the documents I needed, and my heart constricted.
A separation agreement sat on the desktop taunting me, reminding me, mocking the memory of my wife. Kayla’s pretty handwriting flowing across the page. She’d signed it. This stupid fucking piece of paper was supposed to be her way out. She was supposed to finally find happiness. Get her happily ever after. The one she could never find with me.
I was a shit husband. A shit human being.
No. Nothing was ever going to be okay again.
1
“What has you so pissed off?” Special Agent Mercy James asked when she stopped in front of my desk.
“Nothing.” I tried to hide my irritation.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me the way you’re pounding on your keyboard.”
I knew she was trying to lighten the atmosphere, but I wasn’t in the mood. I hated this month. The day was fast approaching, and I hated that, too. Two years. Two shitty years since I’d last seen Kayla. Two years since I’d held her in my arms and she’d drawn her last breath. No, I wasn’t in the mood to joke around about why I was abusing my keyboard.
Before I could close the email, Mercy saw it. The yearly cancer survivor benefit. Only, the person who had indeed survived cancer once had lost the second battle. Someone needed to update their goddamn files. That was what I was in the middle of doing when Mercy disrupted me. I was drafting a strongly worded email about their record keeping.
“Sorry.” Mercy softened her voice, and that pissed me off more than her trying to be funny. I’d worked with her for a long time. She and all the other DEA agents knew about my dead wife. They’d all had a front row seat to my grief.
“Why are you sorry?”
She didn’t deserve my attitude. I was being a dick and I knew it. Mercy meant well, but, damn, enough already. I was tired of the I’m sorrys and empty platitudes. No one knew what to say to someone who’d lost a loved one, because there was nothing to say. It was what it was. Death was final. Nothing makes the ache and pain vanish. It flat out fucking sucked, and there was nothing else to say but that.
“Damn, Mercy, I’m being an asshole. Sorry about that. The anniversary of Kayla’s death is next week, and I’m on edge and taking it out on you. I hope you can forgive me.”
Her brows drew together, and a familiar look of pain crossed her face before she masked it. The old Jason would’ve inquired. But the new fucked-up Jason was happy when she smiled and brushed my douchebaggery away.
“I get it.”
By her previous look I’d say she did, but, again, I ignored the look and the pang of remorse for not asking if
she was okay.
“What brings you down here?” I asked, changing the subject.
Mercy worked upstairs as a diversion investigator. The diversion control department dealt with legitimate pharmaceuticals that made their way to the streets for illicit use. She’d transferred down to Georgia from Virginia about five years ago. She was one of the best in her division.
“I wanted to ask your opinion on the Polytech High School case. I left the report on your desk a few days ago.”
I grabbed the manila folder off my desk and handed it to her, she sat in one of the two chairs in my office and opened the file.
“I agree with the local PD, they have a problem and would benefit from a narc being put in place,” I answered.
“I’d like you to work with me on the case.”
“Why?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. It wasn’t unusual for my task force to work with the diversion team, but my team mainly stuck to the trafficking and transportation of narcotics.
“Two reasons. One because I need someone with your instincts, and two, because I think this goes beyond a bunch of kids stealing their parents’ prescription meds and selling them to their friends.”
“You think one of the parents is in on it?”
“I’m not sure what I think, but with two overdoses in six months, three more hospitalizations, and five from the surrounding schools, all with the same chemical makeup, tells me this is spreading. That means I need all the help I can get.”
I sat back in my chair and studied Mercy. This should’ve been a no brainer for me. High school kids were passing around benzos like they were Tic Tacs. I joined the DEA to save lives, especially those most vulnerable. Something I couldn’t put my finger on was nagging the back of my mind, telling me to stay far away from this case. Or was it Mercy and her pretty smile I needed to stay away from?
“Tell me when we’re starting and I’ll be there.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, and Mercy’s lips tipped up, I had my answer. It wasn’t the case that had all the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing, it was her. She was dangerous.
She stood and reached her hand over my desk. I was trying to ignore how her small hand fit in mine when she took mine in a firm grip and shook. I was really trying to overlook the way her soft skin felt against mine. But the thing I was most trying to evade was the fact that I was feeling anything at all.
“Great. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
I even watched as she left my office.
2
When I was a kid my dad used to tell me that one day my lack of self-preservation was going to get me into trouble. When I was ten, he was talking about me learning how to do wheelies on my bicycle. When I was sixteen, he was talking about me jumping off the roof of our house into the pool below. And when I was twenty, it was because I’d decided to go into law enforcement.
However, if he were alive, I think this would be the time he’d say, you’ve gone too far. This torture I was putting myself through had nothing to do with my need for an adrenaline rush. Or me being a daredevil. No, I’d been tormenting myself over the last three months by working with Jason Walker. It had started the day I’d asked him to join my team and investigate pharmaceuticals and other drugs running through some of our local schools. Over the last few months I’d worked with him five, sometimes six days a week. He’s even moved most of his files upstairs to my office. Now, each morning, whether Jason had arrived or not, I had the pleasure of smelling his cologne. I’d barely stopped myself from asking him which brand he used so I could spray it on my pillow and smell him as I slept.
I’d noticed Jason the day I walked into the Georgia office five years ago. And it mostly had nothing to do with how good looking he was and more to do with his light-up-the-room smile. That’s not to say he wasn’t downright hot, because he was, but it was his friendliness and laughter that had drawn me to him. Then I noticed his wedding ring and I promptly started to avoid him. Of course he was married, all the good ones normally were. We’d worked a few cases over the years, and I quickly got over my insta-lust crush. A gold band was my number one attraction killer. I didn’t look twice at a married man. Not now, not ever. And Jason might as well still have been married. Sure, his wife had passed away, and he’d taken off his ring about a year ago, but there was no doubt the memory of her still kept him warm at night.
The thing about him was, he was no longer open and friendly. Sometimes he could be a downright dick. Yet, somehow that attracted me to him more. Because I knew his piss-poor attitude came from pain. My dad had also called me a “fixer,” though I’d long ago gotten over the need to mend the broken people in my life. I’d learned the hard way there was no fixing a person when they were hellbent on self-destruction.
“Mercy?” Jason’s rumbly voice pulled me from my thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”
“No. Sorry, I was thinking.”
Jason sat down and rolled his chair in front of my desk and leaned back. “Something I can help with? Did the local PD send over the reports you requested?”
Thank God, he thought it was the case that had me so deep in thought. So far, I’d done a damn good job keeping my attraction to him under wraps. The last thing I wanted was him knowing, or worse, feeling uncomfortable around me.
“Yeah, they did. The three students the narc had recommended for a background check came up with nothing. Their parents are clean, too.”
The undercover narcotics officer was good. He’d blended in well and made friends quickly.
“Did you read his report?”
“I did. Pretty impressive, he’s been out to parties every weekend since he started.”
“Yeah, well, it helps he looks like he’s sixteen, and I’m sure every girl at that school is drooling over him.”
“So, you like ’em young, huh?” Jason chuckled. “Good to know.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I think I may have actually stopped breathing. The sound was rusty and a whole lot out of practice but it was definitely a laugh. I didn’t think I’d heard the sound in two years.
“Hell no. Especially not ten years younger than me. It doesn’t matter how hot the kid is, I’d have to duct tape his mouth after about ten minutes.”
“Duct tape, huh? Sounds kinky.”
Jason was still smiling and my heart was still pounding.
“I don’t know about kinky, but the last thing I want to hear about is the latest boy band that’s on tour.”
“No NSYNC, then?”
“For the love of all things holy, tell me you didn’t listen to NSYNC.”
“That would be a hell no.” Jason looked down at his watch before he asked, “You ready to go? I thought we could grab a bite to eat before we head to the football game.”
“Shit. I forgot about the game. I didn’t bring a change of clothes.” Tonight, we were supposed to be going to the Polytech football game. The undercover narc, Keith, said there’d been a lot of talk about kids scoring at the games. He requested extra eyes and ears so some of us were going to the game posing at spectators. “I can meet you there.”
“Or we can stop by your place and go from there.”
“As long as you don’t mind.” Is what I said. However, inside, I was having a tiny come apart thinking about the huge mess I’d left in my kitchen this morning. I’d been too tired to clean up last night and I’d overslept this morning, meaning there were still last night’s takeout wrappers on my counter and dishes in the sink.
“Actually, this works out better. We can take one car to the game.”
“Sure.”
I stood and gathered my things wondering if it was rude to ask him to wait in his car so he didn’t see the disaster that was my house. Not that it should matter. It wasn’t like this was a date or something. We were going to a high school football game for a case. It was an assignment for fucks sake, why was I acting like an idiot? Oh, I kn
ew why, because I’ve had an on again off again crush on Jason for five years. More off than on due to the whole married thing, but, and there was always a but, I couldn’t deny the crush was back. Which was stupid because he was one-hundred percent unavailable.
“After you.” He motioned for me to precede him out of my office.
He held open the doors for me as we exited, and he walked me to my car, checking the lot as we walked through and even the back seat of my car after I beeped the fob, illuminating the interior. I wanted to laugh. I carried the same shield and gun he did, yet he still waited for me to get into my car, lock the door, and start it before he walked away to get into his vehicle.
I spent the next ten minutes on the drive to my house wishing I lived farther away. There had to be some 1-800 emergency, on call, maid service somewhere that could go to someone’s house at a moment’s notice to check and make sure you hadn’t left a pair of panties on your living room floor. Not that I had panties lying around, at least I hoped I didn’t.
All too soon we pulled into my neighborhood, and I prayed Jason wasn’t some sort of neat freak. I pulled into my garage and checked my rearview mirror as I turned off the ignition. Sure as shit, he’d gotten out of his car and was walking into my garage.
On an exhale I opened my door.
Here goes nothing.
Finding Mercy: The Next Generation Page 1