Men of Mercy: The Complete Story

by Cross, Lindsay

  Hunter eased her to the couch and went to the back porch, found the cell phone and placed it on the counter. He could get this to Hoyt later. Then Hunter would know everything about the sheriff. What he ate. What he drank. Where he pissed.

  He went back to the kitchen and grabbed two shot glasses and a full bottle of Jack before returning to the living room.

  Evie hunched on the faded blue couch, her shoulders slumped, her head cradled in her hands. Her posture screamed defeat.

  "Here, take this." Hunter handed Evie a full shot glass, put the bottle on the floor, and sat beside her. There was wariness in her gaze again, but he intended to fix that fast. "Go on. Down it. It will help soothe your nerves."

  She looked at him like he'd turned into a cockroach. "You think a drink will make me forget seeing my dad murdered?"

  "Not one drink. More like ten. I'm going for past normal drunk and into permanent liver damage."

  "Maybe death by liver would be preferable to death by sheriff." Evie downed the whole glass and Hunter hurried to refill it.

  "Maybe if you talked to me, let me help you, you wouldn't have to contemplate death by anything." Hunter sat his shot glass on the end table behind him, knocking over a picture in the process.

  He picked up the old frame and studied the photo, surprised to see his own father smiling back at him. It was a younger, blonder version of Hank James, but he still had intense blue eyes capable of piercing steel. Evie's dad, Tom Videl, stood on the other side. Both men had an arm wrapped around a very young and very attractive Maxine.

  "Can you believe how young they were?" Evie said.

  "I didn't know Hank hung out with your parents."

  "Yeah, from what C.W. has told me, they all used to be real close.”

  "What happened?"

  "I–I don't know. I tried to ask C.W. but he never answers my questions straight. Half the time I have no idea what he's talking about. I think he was one of those vets who should have been diagnosed with PTSD." Evie placed a hand on his shoulder and studied the picture.

  Hunter stiffened, that small touch igniting his need for her. "I don't think they knew much about PTSD back then." Her fingers curled, sinking deeper into his skin, and his desire ratcheted up another hundred degrees. The image of her fingers wrapped around his cock took hostage of all other thoughts.

  He carefully placed the photo back on the table. "Your grandpa is one tough man. I talked to him tonight."

  "Why?"

  Hunter met her gaze dead on. “I asked his permission to date you.”

  Evie paled and leaned away, but he caught her hand. He needed to touch her. He didn’t know why.

  He needed to be with her. But he had to remember why he was here. He had to get her trust.

  So he could betray her.

  Sourness coated his tongue at the thought. The idea that had seemed so easy just a month ago now made his body scream in revolt.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did. And he didn’t kill me.” Hunter said.

  "Jesus."

  “I’m asking you to fill me in. I know some bad shit is going down and I think you may be caught in the middle.” Hunter watched the expressions flicker across her face. Knew she wanted to run. He wasn’t going to let her.

  “I don’t know what you think is happening, but you’re wrong. C.W. is crazy, I told you that. Things are just business as usual.” She was hedging, her smile fake and brittle.

  “I’ll tell you what I think. I think that sheriff is dirty and I think he’s trying to get you to do something you don't want to do. I think you need my help. I think your dad would want you to ask for it.”

  Her smile cracked. “That’s low.”

  Hunter refilled her shot glass and tilted it toward her lips. "Here, this will help. Swallowing the truth is harder than believing the lies."

  Evie kept her gaze glued to his and tilted the glass back. Number three. She couldn't weigh over a buck ten at most. Her tolerance should top out after shot number five. Lesson number one from Mr. J- get your enemy wasted and pump them for information. Except Evie sure as shit didn't feel like an enemy.

  Hunter poured another and passed the glass back to her. Evie tucked a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear before accepting the glass. Then she bit her lip and Hunter groaned. She had the sexiest mouth he'd ever seen. Ever imagined. And right now, he wanted to do things to those lips that would make the devil blush.

  Evie dropped her brows. "You okay?"

  Hunter nodded and downed his first shot. The liquid fire seared a path down to his stomach, but it did nothing to tame the heat in his dick. "Yeah, just remembered something." Like how sweet her mouth looked wrapped around his cock.

  She didn't say anything, but her look clearly said she didn't believe him.

  "Evie, I can help you. I take out scum every day. Usually in other countries, sure, but assholes are assholes, no matter what their nationality."

  Evie touched her neck, flinched, and downed the liquor in her glass. Shot number four.

  She tilted her head to the side, giving him an eyeful of the swelling on her face. The small bit of dried blood at the corner of her mouth. The cold control he'd managed to maintain for so long vanished.

  Then he saw her neck.

  Brown's fingerprints stood out against her golden skin. The need to kill rose sharp and fast. Hunter accepted it. He let the beast loose from its cage. He didn't yell or roar. He didn't jump up and pace. He harnessed the killer inside him, letting him sink into his pores. Familiar. Comfortable. Necessary.

  Evie refilled her own glass this time. Hunter couldn't move. Couldn't think past peeling Brown's fingernails back with his hunting knife.

  "Can you stop staring at me, please?" Evie said.

  "Are you going to tell me about Brown?"

  Evie cleared her throat and leaned back against the couch cushions. Her nightgown pulled high, exposing her thighs. Her knees parted, just a couple of inches.

  Hunter had to sit on his free hand to hold it down. The last thing he needed was to sink into her hot flesh and totally forget the mission. No matter how much the thought drove him insane.

  "It’s not really Brown. I mean, he's involved. But Marcus is the one. Brown is his lackey."

  Hunter ripped his focus from daydreams about her panties to her confession.

  Evie blushed and pulled her gown down. He might as well be sixteen and horny, not a covert killer on a mission, because damn if her rosy cheeks didn't make him think about how rosy her ass would look after a spanking. He downed his whiskey, but the burn didn't take the edge off. His cock was so swollen he was sure his zipper would leave an imprint on it.

  Evie downed shot number five.

  This consumption countdown better yield rewards bigger than a freaking NASA launch, ‘cause he was about to explode. He grabbed her arm. Marcus. Brown. Evie was the only connection. He needed more information from her. "So what did he want?"

  Evie lurched up from the couch and tilted sideways, and Hunter grabbed her just in time to keep her from falling into the coffee table. He hooked an arm around her small waist and dove backward, landing in a heap on the couch.

  Her on the bottom.

  Him on top.

  He ground his hips between her legs, unable to resist the temptation spread before him.

  "Hunter..." Evie arched into him. Once again, only the thin layer of her nightgown separated their skin. Damn nightgown.

  "Evie, be still." Her reaction to him was obliterating his control.

  Evie froze.

  Point one for Team Hunter. Now he needed to get her to hold still so he could interrogate her without screwing her brains out. Or his.

  He grabbed her wrists and lifted them over her head, pinning them to the couch cushion. He couldn't help the little grind forward. Fuck she was so perfect. Just right for him.

  No. No. No. He couldn’t let himself forget what was going on. She was far from perfect. She was suspected of being involved in inter
national terrorism. And he was here to take her down and find out all she knew.

  "Better. Now as long as you stay there you will be safe. If you move, I can't make any promises..."

  Evie wriggled her hips away, her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes dark.

  "I've been thinking about you for a long time. Holding you. Touching you like this. I don't know how much longer I can keep myself in check."

  "What do you want?" He enjoyed the desperation in her voice. She wanted him too.

  "I want the truth. I want to know why your father was murdered. I want to know why that asshat who calls himself sheriff was here assaulting you." He tried to keep calm but his rage boiled too close to the surface.

  "You're only home a little while. You don't need to get involved in my messed up life. I can handle it."

  "Really, Evie? Is this how you handle things? By letting some asshole beat you in your own home?" Hunter's voice went quiet. Dark. Deadly, but he didn't blow up, didn't get lost in the haze of rage. He was calm. Cold. As cold as the blade he'd use to slice Brown's neck.

  "Stop it, Hunter. Just stop." Evie's voice shook. Her body shook. She bucked and he stood, nowhere near monster enough to hold down a terrified woman.

  "Stop what, Evie? Trying to put together this crazy puzzle? How about I tell you what I think?" Hunter snatched the bottle from the floor and took a swig straight from it.

  "I think Marcus ordered Brown to kill your father to cover his operation. And now, whatever he was covering up is coming out of hiding and he needs help to move it. Probably guns. Could be drugs. And he’s planning on making you his pawn to do the dirty work so he can keep his hands clean."

  Evie fumbled behind her and clutched the window frame. "How did you figure that out?"

  "I guess you've been in it so long you can't see the forest for the trees. But I can see the trees. See 'em real good. And I see you either standing next to Marcus or crushed under him."

  Chapter 15

  "So what is it, Evie? You a drug runner or a weapons dealer?"

  "A what?" What was he saying? Her? She could hardly wrap her head around it. All she could think about was that video. It would haunt her in her sleep, she knew that.

  "You heard me. Drugs or guns? I can smell shit when I step in it."

  Guns. Downriver. Mexico. How long would Marcus give her?

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, her phone pinged in the kitchen. Evie ran to read the message. Tomorrow. Five p.m. Coldwater Paper Mill dock. Bring your boat.

  She didn't recognize the number, but she recognized an order for what it was. He’d already made his threat.

  C.W. had gifted her with his remade Vietnam-era Mark II gun ship to evade taxes. He'd sold it to her for a dollar and each year she paid her six cents to the government.

  "Was that Brown?"

  Evie jumped. Hunter stood right behind her, but she hadn't heard him move from the couch.

  "No." Not a lie. Not exactly. God, the desire to tell Hunter everything, to plead for his help, filled her. After everything he’d been through, his injury, losing his friend…how could she ask him to risk his life for her?

  She couldn’t. She would take care of her problem, and she would do it alone.

  "Who was it then?"

  "Who the hell are you to interrogate me? It's none of your business who sends me texts." Evie managed to pull off the affronted act even though she was quaking like a terrified little girl inside.

  "I'm the guy who saved your life. And it's looking like this won't be the only time I’ll need to step in." Hunter turned her around, his hands heavy on her shoulders.

  Evie yanked free of his grip. "Aren't you forgetting one teeny tiny fact? You left me. And you show up expecting me to just bow down before you?"

  "Is your second job moving illegal weapons?”

  His question came so fast and blunt it caught her off guard.

  "The closest I've come to a gun was the one my ex-fiancé pointed at my head." Hunter jerked back, and she relished the shock on his face. "I'm not moving anything. I own a bar. I sell alcohol. That's it." She needed to keep it close to the truth, at least until she figured out what the freaking hell she could do to get out of this mess. No need to tell him about their little money laundering operation.

  "Yeah, and I've been traveling across the world to serve as a tour guide for missionaries," Hunter said.

  Evie wanted to punch him. Then she wanted to wrap her hands around his neck and kiss that smart-ass expression right off his face. But no way would she give him a second chance to stomp on her heart.

  "Sounds like you also do a little extra on the side."

  "Sounds like you have quite an imagination."

  "Evie, after tonight, my imagination couldn't come close. Why won't you let me help you?"

  Because if she let him in he would only break her heart. Destroy her. Completely. If she’d learned one thing lately, it was this: She could only depend on herself. "I don't need your help. I told you. I can handle it."

  She wanted to tell him she'd fallen for Marcus's good-boy pretense. Got engaged to him without thought. Without reservation. But that wasn't true. Evie had used Marcus to get over Hunter.

  It was her fault. She’d ignored her parents. Her instincts. Her father. Instead of testing the waters, she'd jumped in headfirst and pulled her family down with her.

  * * *

  "Show me then. Show me how you can handle a real man," Hunter dared her. Got in her face.

  "Forget it. Forget everything and go home, Hunter."

  "You want me to forget what he just did to you?"

  "Yes, I do." Evie punctuated each word. "Yes, I want you to forget. It shouldn't be too hard. You've done it before. And it seemed real easy for you back then."

  "Forget? You think I forgot about you? I couldn't get you out of my head."

  Evie's could feel her eyes going from saucer-wide to paper thin in a split second. "Really? You thought about me all the time, but you never called? Never tried to contact me?" She made a sound, some distorted version of laughter.

  "I wasn't going to beg. You know that. I tried to forgive you, but I sure as shit wasn't going to be the first one to come crawling back." Hunter's muscles tensed. Swelled. He tightened his hands into fists at his sides.

  "Forgive me?" Evie's voice rose higher, almost shrieking. "You're the one who left. You're the one who walked out. Not me."

  "Goddammit! What did you expect me to do?" He grabbed her and lifted her up before he realized what he was doing. Her feet dangled in the air, her eyes level with his.

  He could see the fright in her gaze and regretted his outburst, but then she kicked him. Hard. In the knee, right below his gunshot wound.

  "I expected you to stay."

  Hunter let go, his fingers opening on reflex to grab his injured leg. He'd been wrong. She wasn't some fearful little girl. She should work for fucking ISA as their director of torture.

  Her feet hit the floor and her hands landed on her hips in a perfect representation of an angry female in charge. All she needed was a bullwhip and a pair of metal clamps for electrocution.

  Hunter rubbed his wound, trying to get the fresh agony down to a dull throb.

  Where was the guilt he’d expected to see in her eyes? She had the audacity to yell at him when she was the one who had cheated?

  “You expected me to stay after you kissed Marcus? That’s right. I followed you that night. I wanted to make up. But you ran straight to that bastard.”

  The guilt he’d been expecting filled her gaze, for a second, and then her expression hardened. “You think I kissed him? You idiot. He kissed me. If you’d stayed around long enough, you would have seen me slap his face.”

  “Sure, okay. If that’s true, why were you with him in the first place?” He wasn’t stupid. She would say anything to cover her ass.

  “I wasn’t. I went to our spot to calm down. I knew you needed some space. He was waiting. Like he knew I would be there,” Evie said.


  “I am not an idiot. I know you wanted him. Or his money. You got engaged to him right after I left.” He was yelling at her. Acting like a crazy, jealous, love-sick boyfriend. It was like all those years had just melted away.

  “You are an idiot, Hunter James. I never wanted him. I wanted you. But you left.” Tears threatened her eyes.

  Fuck. This whole night had gone wrong.

  Hunter threw up his hands and stormed out the front door. Her voice taunted him.

  "Go ahead. Run away. That's all you’re good at anyway." Evie's voice followed him outside.

  Hunter raced down the drive, across the gravel road, down a dock as old as her house, and stopped at the water's edge. He was breathing hard, his chest expanding and contracting with all the force of an air compressor.

  The rain had stopped, but the moon was still hidden by clouds. Darkness surrounded him, except for the dim yellow light on the electric pole in her front yard. He crouched and sunk his fingertips into the Mississippi. As if her waters could somehow wash away the emotions tearing up his insides.

  But the river kept rushing past, her current strong, unbroken and nearly to the top of the dock. All that planning overseas. The cold calculation to systematically break down Evie's barriers, destroy her resistance, and infiltrate her organization. All of it was disintegrating.

  He hadn't planned on the heat in her gaze. He hadn't planned on the electric current from her touch. He hadn’t planned on the niggle of doubt about her guilt eating at his resolve.

  The recon and reports just weren’t adding up with what was really happening. If Evie was in Marcus’ pocket, why would he have her beaten?

  Hunter stood and wiped his hand on his jeans, his dog tags rattling against his chest. To win this battle, he needed to forget what the intel said. The Evie he’d thought he expected to find here didn’t exist. He was no longer sure of anything. But he knew he wanted her no matter what.

  And this need, this longing wouldn't change until he figured it out. Until he gained her trust.