Men of Mercy: The Complete Story

by Cross, Lindsay

  If only Brown weren’t an incompetent idiot. The man attempted to tell Marcus that he could finish the deal. That he wouldn’t make a mistake again. What Marcus didn’t tell the sheriff was that he wouldn’t get the opportunity. The deal brewing with the Pakistani was big on an international scale. Millions. His own-personal-island kind of deal.

  It would take him far, far from the pissant state of Mississippi.

  Lee Brown couldn’t handle it; he couldn’t even handle a group of pretend revolutionaries. If Marcus had his way, he’d put a bullet in Brown’s head right now, but he knew the sheriff might still prove useful at the local level while his plan was unfurling.

  No loose ends.

  Marcus picked up his pen, studying the gold engraving along its body, using the distraction to rein in the familiar explosion of rage ripping through his body. Control. Precision. Power.

  He would win. He always did. No matter if he had to do some of the dirty work himself.

  Marcus lifted his office phone to his ear and dialed his current girlfriend, a former Miss USA. “Colette, dear. How would you like to go on a date tonight?”

  “Of course, darling.” Her voice was cultured. Refined. The perfect accompaniment for his tastes.

  “Good. I will pick you up in an hour. I want to take you to a local bar, make nice with some of the locals.”

  “A bar? In Mercy?” Her disgust was evident.

  “Are you questioning my decision?” Marcus let his tone go soft. Lethal.

  Colette immediately stammered, “No. Of course not. I will be ready.”

  He disconnected the call and went to his master suite. He wanted to look his best, after all, this was the first time he’d seen his ex in over a year. He would show Evie what she’d been missing and then he would remind her of what would happen if she didn’t do as he commanded.

  * * *

  Hunter James sped out of the gas station parking lot and onto the highway, listening as Jared told him about his recon mission on the MRG. It was hard to keep from crushing the steering wheel in his palms. While he was away, his hometown had turned into a hotbed of militia groups.

  Why the fuck did their CO have to send them to Mercy? Any other team could have handled the undercover op. Well, any other Task Force anyway. But no other TF had the connections they did. Or the history.

  Hunter should never have told Captain Grey about his past with Evie before agreeing to this mission. But then, it wasn’t like the Captain had given him a choice. Either go home on assignment or go home. Permanently.

  Hunter took a right off the main highway onto Red Fork Road, which led out to his father’s property. TF-S had set up headquarters in one of Hank’s metal pole barns. Huge cypress trees lined the bayou sidelining the two-lane road, their roots jutting up out of the murky water like giant spider legs. Bugs splattered against the windshield like rain, only instead of rolling off the glass, they stuck, creating a thick, viscous film. He hit the windshield wipers, smearing the remains in yellow and white streaks of goo.

  The other half of TF-S was still in Pakistan searching for the terrorist. Searching for Shane in the hopes he might still be alive.

  Now Hunter was down four men—five, counting Shane—and on a mission to get close to an ex-girlfriend who’d turned to assisting terrorists.

  “Did you plant the bug?” Hunter handled the winding road along the bayou with ease, relying on muscle memory.

  “Yep, but not until after the meeting. That old man stayed in the meeting room all day. I couldn’t hear what the piece-of-shit sheriff had to say, but when they threw him out, it was easy enough to figure out he pissed them off.” Jared adjusted the black skullcap down lower on his forehead. A week’s worth of stubble covered his jaw. The thin scar running from his right eyebrow down into his beard made him look like a modern day pirate.

  C.W. Videl, Evie’s grandpa, was turning out to be one giant-ass thorn in their side. He basically lived in the apartment above the bar, which also doubled as the MRG’s meeting room. That left their team almost zero opportunity to get inside and get the intel.

  “No shit.” Hunter floored the pedal on the last straight stretch before the farm and turned onto a gravel road that disappeared into the woods.

  After a minute, the trees thinned and then disappeared as they neared the tan metal building. After Hunter parked, he and Jared got out and headed to the door, where Hunter held a hand up to the state-of-the-art scanner. The deadbolt unlocked with a loud click, providing them access to their new headquarters.

  To the right, Ranger was stooped over one of a series of long folding tables covered in every available geotropic map of the area and the Mississippi River. To the left, Hoyt sat at a bank of three computers, not the typical wall of monitors he was used to, but enough he could work his technical magic.

  Ranger straightened his posture, his short blond hair gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. “That didn’t take long.”

  Hoyt spun around in his rolling chair, his own blond hair curly and long, his constant playboy grin in place. “Which means he didn’t get shit.”

  Hunter strode to the center table and rapped his knuckles on it. Ranger, Hoyt, and Jared immediately took their seats at the half-empty meeting table. One empty chair loomed larger than the rest. Shane Carter should have been sitting there.

  The other four would be filled with the rest of TF-S, as soon as they located Al Seriq, and hopefully Shane.

  What was left of his unit was present and accounted for, so Hunter took his seat at the head of the table. “Hoyt, call the Captain.”

  Hoyt, slid his rolling chair back over to his computer station and clicked a bunch of keys. Captain Grey’s face appeared on the wall of monitors a few seconds later. A man they all respected, not because of his title, but because he deserved it. Captain Grey was the best interrogator in the Task Force teams—in the entire military, as far as Hunter was concerned.

  “Report.” His flat grey eyes matched the steel grey in his beard. Task Force members operated like SEALs in regard to their appearance. They grew their beards and hair as needed to blend in with their environment. A beard, along with sunglasses and a hat, could disguise your whole face, allowing even the more well-known members of the group to move about in anonymity.

  “We don’t know anything yet. I couldn’t plant the listening device until after the meeting.” Jared said. Jared and Hoyt Crow looked about as similar as a desert dweller and a Swede. Their light blue eyes were the only outward sign they were brothers.

  “So we don't know anything more now than we did two weeks ago,” Captain Grey said. Two weeks of knowing Marcus had the weapons and the MRG was being tapped to transport. Knowing but having no idea when or where or how. “Hunter. Ranger. You have history here. What’s your take?”

  Ranger’s gaze slid to Hunter’s before bouncing back to the commander. His brother’s thoughts were clear as a billboard—Time to man up and move in on your ex.

  “Marcus is the youngest mayor in Mississippi’s history, but only because his father greased the wheels along the way. He collected enough intel to blackmail all the more prominent locals into controlling the votes. He’ll do anything and hurt anyone to come out on top. But he has never operated alone.” Hunter completely ignored his brother’s look and left out any mention of Evie.

  “Which tells me nothing more than I already know.” The Captain fell silent. Classic technique to get your counterpart to spill first.

  Jared cleared his throat and gave Hunter an apologetic look. A look completely ruined by the death-bringer getup. “We haven’t used the girl yet. She will know the info.”

  Hunter knew that was how the mission would end up, him getting in with Evie to get the intel. But knowing and doing were two totally different monsters. The first he could handle, the second made his gut clench.

  “I agree. We’ve played with our dicks long enough. Either we move soon or we lose the weapons and the evidence to put this asshole away for life.” Jared
said.

  Fucking hell. If Hunter had possessed any doubt about Captain Grey’s intentions to use him, he’d just lost them.

  “Hunter, it’s time. Evangeline Videl is our best resource. If you can turn her to give up Carvant, we can hopefully complete this mission with little risk.” The Captain ordered.

  Evangeline Videl.

  Every muscle in Hunter’s body clenched. His jaws locked down. If he could step back from his own body, he knew he’d be able to see his own instinctive physical reactions to her name. Evie. He’d hallucinated about her after being shot. Now every member of his team knew he was still hung up on his hometown sweetie. And that she’d betrayed him with Marcus fucking Carvant.

  If the look on Captain Grey’s face counted for anything, so did he.

  Hunter dragged a hand through his buzz-cut hair. “Evie helped Marcus move his political career forward. Her dad was sheriff of Mercy for years, so he had an established reputation. Her position in the community was solid. His connection to her ensured his election.” The words were as bitter now as they had been then. When he’d caught them together. Hunter shook off the memory.

  Still raw. Still painful.

  “Do you think you can turn her?” Captain Grey said.

  The Evie he remembered was sweet. Innocent. Loving. Kind. But that was the pretend Evie. The one who cared about animals and volunteered at the Methodist church. The one who had stolen his heart.

  The real Evie used people to get what she wanted.

  Power. Money. Position.

  “Based on experience,” Hunter swallowed past the foreign lump forming in his throat, “A hundred grand would be a strong motivator for someone like her. But I can do it. I will do it.”

  Captain Grey nodded, taking Hunter at his word. His instincts were almost as notorious as the Captain’s interrogation skills.

  “Hunter, Ranger, I know you grew up with these people, but the MRG is the enemy. We will operate with the assumption they know where the weapons are and what they’re for. Hoyt, I want you on twenty-four hour surveillance. Jared, I want you on Carvant. He doesn’t take a shit without me knowing. Hunter and Ranger, you’ll work it from the MRG side. Use whatever means you have to get in and get the weapons. The last thing this nation can afford is for Al Seriq to get his hands on that many A-Rs.”

  “Roger,” Hunter answered.

  Captain Grey clicked off the monitors and the screens filled with grainy images of Al Seriq and his followers. Hoyt clicked away at his keyboards until images of the Videl family lined the bottom screens. Maxine. C.W. Evangeline.

  Evie. His lungs locked. Dammit. But Hunter had enough training to control his reactions. His thoughts. His actions. Remember the end game. Remember Al Seriq. Remember Shane.

  Even so, the picture on the bottom right monitor seemed to fill his every pore. A candid shot of Evie, surrounded by people, laughing. Her long, blonde hair loose and straight. Her blue eyes sparkling. She looked so innocent.

  Hunter clenched his fist in the loose material of his black tactical pants. The memory of Evie in Marcus’s arms, his mouth covering her lips, slammed through the barrier Hunter had erected all those years ago.

  Innocent, his ass. Evangeline Videl was as innocent as a black widow on the prowl.

  Only now, it wasn’t a young man’s heart at stake, it was the entire United States.

  Chapter 4

  Evie crossed her arms in front of her chest and bulldozed through the throng of over-heated dancers crowding the dance floor of her bar, her empty serving tray held tight to her side. The Wharf sat perched over the Mississippi River, whose waters were now swollen to capacity thanks to weeks’ worth of unrelenting rain. But the threat of a flood was no deterrent on a weekend night for the residents of Mercy, Mississippi.

  One couple spun left, the next spun right, and she countered each, moving like a puzzle piece searching for its place.

  Evie almost started to move with the sway and rhythm of the music, but then the dancers tightened around her, cinching an invisible noose around her throat, cutting off her oxygen. Suddenly she remembered to feel out of place, remembered her choking fear of tight spaces.

  Tiny, a six-foot, two-hundred-pound biker, staggered into her path and jabbed her in the side, knocking her off center. Evie crashed into a couple two-stepping before his meaty paw wrapped around her arm and righted her.

  "Watch it." The stout liquor on his breath could have flattened a brick wall. She tried to suck in some air, but the stench made her gag. Tiny stumbled forward, heading for the back porch, but the space he created was quickly filled by three more couples. Evie’s heart set off on a race to see how fast it could make her pass out. Her lungs locked. The familiar talons of claustrophobia wrapped around her shoulders, sinking its claws deep.

  Evie lifted her nose high, sucked in a combination of oxygen and cigarette smoke, and came down choking. Shit. Dumb idea. Breathe. Just breathe. Newborn babies could breathe. Freaking chickens could breathe, and they were the dumbest animals on the planet. But Evangeline Videl, wimp extraordinaire, could not get enough air.

  Bright multi-colored lights danced before her eyes. Escape. The exit sign flashed bright red on the other side of the bar, taunting her. What good would that do her? She was co-owner of The Wharf and head bartender. She couldn’t leave. She needed to get behind the bar. Her shield. Her protection.

  She forced one leg forward, then another, only to be blocked by more dancers.

  She wasn't going to make it. Her rainbow-colored floaters started to fade to black. Then a soft hand encircled her wrist and maneuvered her out of the crush. Evie looked up to see Cheri pushing patrons aside, her bright red hair swishing behind her. "Move it or lose it. We got drinks to serve."

  Evie clung to Cheri like a toddler holding on to her momma. She hadn't shaken the fear yet, but she was grateful to be following in the path of a real-life bulldozer. Showing weakness wasn't necessarily a death sentence here, but it could just as easily become a permanent description. And everyone who spent time at this place had seen evidence of it in Evie.

  Cheri slammed the half-door of the bar behind them and let loose. "Shit, girl, you gotta figure somethin' out, ‘cause whatever you're doing ain't working.”

  "Hey, are you going to fix me another drink sometime today?" Both women turned to look at the overweight ass in need of a shave sitting across from them at the bar.

  "We got a full house, Bill. You see all those people out there? You ain't the only one in here tonight. Now if you know of a better place to drink on a Friday night, you're welcome to it." Cheri gave redheads their fierce reputation.

  She turned those flashing gold eyes of hers back to Evie. "Look, you need to..."

  "I know. I'm working on it." Evie gave her friend her best impression of an I'm-going-to-make-it smile. Cheri's frown clearly indicated what she thought of her posturing.

  But Cheri did the best-friend thing and patted her on the arm. "Okay. Why don't you let me handle the floor and you handle the bar?"

  Bless her heart. Restraining the urge to hug her, Evie nodded. Cheri strode back out into the crowd, her rolling hips hinting at hostility.

  Bill's gaze snapped from Cheri's retreating backside to Evie's face. He lifted his head and opened his mouth, but Evie held up a hand. Cheri was right. The Wharf was the only bar in fifty miles. If he was that hard up, let him drive. She needed a minute to stuff her irrational emotions back into their titanium-plated lock box.

  She gripped the cool edge of the stainless-steel sink and took a deep breath. She took in the familiar scenery, looking for comfort like an alcoholic looked for a bottle.

  Stuffed deer heads dotted the walls. A few squirrels and raccoons were mounted on shiny wooden plaques. A black bear stood tall in the far corner, a beer nestled nicely between its outstretched paws and an unlit cigarette dangling from its lips. PETA would say it was inhumane, but she didn't have to worry. PETA didn't come to places like Mercy, Mississippi. No one did if they could
help it.

  If only she could get the hell out of The Wharf and go home. She could crawl under the covers and go back to sleep. She could lock her doors and keep out everyone and everything…maybe even her past.

  She banged a fist on the inside of the sink, the pain in her hand matching the tightness in her chest. Damn Marcus Carvant for making her like this. Afraid of people. Afraid of life. Of herself.

  Evie splashed cold water on her face to snap herself out of the pity party of her life. Pouting wouldn’t pay the bills. She dried her face on the hand towel, super-glued on a smile, and turned to the first customer she saw.

  "Can I help you?" Evie asked.

  "Marcus, you were engaged to this creature?" a beauty-queen brunette said, twining a pale arm around the man at her side.

  "Now, Colette, you know I've always had a heart for charity."

  Evie's smile froze like instant concrete, rough and uneven. Thor could have dropped down from Asgaard, hammer in hand, and failed to put a dent in her expression.

  Marcus Carvant, her tormenter, her abuser, her ex, approached, resplendent in a crisp button-up, his slim fingers trailing up and down the arm of his companion. So smug with his sideways grin and raised blond brows. His cold grey eyes. It had taken her over a year to figure out smiles didn't always mean happiness.

  He was a predator.

  Not one of those hulking, obvious predators. More like a water moccasin hanging from a tree limb above your boat. Waiting until just the right moment to plop down, leaving you with no means of escape. All you could do was watch the snake coil and prepare to strike.

  Her hands trembled, and she reached down to grab a beer from the cooler. She needed to figure a way to get him out of here.