Men of Mercy: The Complete Story

by Cross, Lindsay

  The stubborn man reached for her again, trying to pull her into another hug, and Hayden tapped into her inner strength and locked her arms into steel bands.

  “I’m sorry for…for…” He reached for her face, but she recognized what he was about to do. He was going to brush the hair off her cheek, and that was a gesture reserved for intimacy.

  “You don't get to hug me anymore. Just like you don't get to call late at night and ask me where I am.” She spat the words out like acid, but it gave her no joy when his features hardened into an impenetrable mask.

  His arms straightened at his sides, the hands balling into fists, and it emphasized the patchwork of scars covering his skin. Hayden had to tamp down the urge to grab his hand and smooth every single one of them.

  “Sorry,” he said. “You're right. Just came by to talk with your dad, he’s on his way over right now.” Hoyt spun on his heel and headed straight to the living room, his black tactical pants snugged up to his perfect ass with every step.

  Hayden's gaze slid back to her poor, burnt cookies. A part of her was tempted to throw them at his back, but even in the midst of her emotional storm, logic prevailed.

  She grabbed the tray and tossed the cookies out back. One of the stray dogs that wandered into the yard would eat them up. Maybe.

  “I don’t think anything’s gonna eat those.” Jared stood off to the side, hands crossed over his wide chest. “I heard what you said to my brother, about the professor. I’m sorry, you okay?”

  Hayden nodded and then turned and walked back inside. She tried to focus on anything other than her instantaneous reaction to Hoyt's touch or the fact that he’d snuggled up to her like his favorite pillow. It had felt so natural. So why had he given up on them?

  She couldn’t think about that now. A fresh sob welled and she barely caught it before it blasted through the house. She heard the truck pull up outside. She went to the front door and pulled it open, staring out as her dad and Maxine got out of the truck. Besides, she wanted to stay as far from Hoyt Crowe as possible. If he didn't stop giving her concerned glances, she was going to punch him. Where had his concern been months ago?

  She'd been the one to find him all bloody, wrist slashed. The image haunted her. If anyone deserved concern it was him, but not from her. No matter how much her heart bled for him, he’d made it clear that he didn’t want her to worry for him.

  There was no telling what he’d been doing and Hunter and Ranger had refused to tell her. Whatever it was, he definitely hadn’t been wasting all of his time thinking about her.

  He glanced at her again and her ability to keep her mouth shut disappeared. “What are you looking at?”

  Hoyt flinched and Jared gave a bark of laughter. Hayden, feeling petulant and pissed, crossed her arms and glared at both of them.

  “Looks like the little kitten has claws.” Jared took a seat on the couch next to his brother.

  Hayden gave them her back and zeroed in on her dad. All she had to do was hold it together until he got inside. Ten seconds tops.

  “Hayden—” No one said her name quite like Hoyt did, but she couldn’t hear it, couldn’t bear it. She stepped outside onto the front porch, effectively cutting off whatever line of bull crap Hoyt was about to spill.

  Her lip trembled as Hank got closer. She needed her dad to tell him to leave. Hank took the couple of steps up onto the front porch, holding Maxine’s hand the whole time. They looked so happy, almost radiant.

  Maxine held up her left hand, palm facing down. Sunlight glinted off the diamond on her finger. “Surprise!”

  Hayden started to shake.

  “Hayden, I've asked Maxine to marry me.” Her dad’s expression was excited and hopeful, and his staple outfit of a denim shirt and jeans was so achingly familiar. If circumstances were different, Hayden could hug both of them, maybe even jump up and down a bit. They both deserved love. Maxi, who'd lost her husband in the line of fire, and Hank, who'd never been married. But only one thought ran through her head: I’m not his number one girl anymore.

  They were all leaving her, moving on without her. Hayden stumbled back, her heart splitting down the middle, the sob building in her chest ripped out with razors attached.

  She turned to run and slammed straight into Hoyt. He steadied her, his hands like hot coals on her arms.

  “Hayden? It's going to be okay.”

  She ripped free, her thoughts twisting and tangling around her. It wouldn't be okay, nothing was okay.

  Chapter 15

  Hoyt stood in the living room, surrounded by rustic log walls and hard wood floors, helplessly watching Hayden fall apart and knowing he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop her.

  Hank's ice blue gaze landed on Hoyt, his eyes narrowing with each second. “What did you do to her?”

  Hoyt flinched. His skin started to itch, the scars crawling over his body. Hank was right, he had no right to be here. Hank had been generous enough to let him and Jared live in one of his houses; the last thing he needed to do was mess around with his daughter.

  He needed to be outside…Needed air.

  But more than that, he needed to comfort her.

  Before he realized it, he’d taken a step in her direction.

  Hank cut him off, getting in his face and crowding his already nonexistent personal bubble. “What did you do to hurt my daughter this time?”

  Hurt her? Never. So why couldn't he say that out loud?

  Because you did hurt her.

  “It's not him. Her psychology professor was murdered last night. She's upset about that.” Jared said from his perch in the middle of the couch. Hoyt cast him a grateful glance over his shoulder.

  Hank's narrow gaze studied Jared for a minute. The tight lines around his mouth deepened as he took a step back. “Which one?”

  Hank held out a hand and Maxine's heels clicked across the hardwood. She was all low cut shirts and too-tight jeans to Hank’s relaxed denim and boots. But somehow the pair fit.

  Hoyt found his voice. “Professor Latham. Me and Merc found him last night. One in the head.”

  “Latham? He's harmless, who'd want to hurt him?”

  Hoyt’s gaze slid to Hayden. She’d sat down in the big leather recliner in front of the wall of windows and wrapped her arms around her waist.

  “You two better tell me what the hell is going on.” Hank pulled Maxi tighter to his side.

  “Go on, sit down.” Hoyt held out an arm indicating they take a seat, careful to keep a good foot of distance between them.

  Maxi pursed her red lips and walked to the love seat separating the couch and recliner. Hank posted up by the door, arms crossed. Hoyt went back to his end of the couch.

  The room was similar to the rest of Hunter’s new log cabin. Lots of wood and dark earthy tones, almost like a man cave. Except for all the pictures of Hunter, Ranger, and Hayden hanging on the walls. His fireplace mantle proudly boasted a photo of Hunter and Evie on their wedding day, surrounded by their family. A smaller picture, off to the end, was of Hayden in a maroon cap and gown, a huge smile stretched across her lips as she held up her diploma.

  Hoyt stared hard at that smile, something about it drawing his attention. He'd seen her smile lots of times, though, so why couldn't he tear his gaze away from that image?

  And then it hit him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her smile like that. Even last night, her laughter hadn’t transformed her whole face with joy.

  “Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?” Hank stalked into the center of the room.

  Hoyt forced himself to block out Hayden and concentrate on her father.

  “Hank, come sit by me. These boys look like they want to tell us something.” Maxi patted the cushion next to her, twisting her new ring around her finger. Hank wavered and then crossed to sit next to her.

  “Spit it out.”

  Hoyt turned to his brother, who just shrugged and kept his mouth shut.

  Really? Hoyt was already in hot shit
with Hank.

  Still no response from Jared.

  Fuck. Hoyt leaned forward and braced his elbows on his legs, studying the intricate pattern of the tattoos starting at his lower biceps. He'd gotten the tattoos after leaving the VA. The ink was all black. He'd had to grit his teeth through the feeling of the needle piercing his flesh, but not because of pain. Because of the memories.

  But he'd faced that fear every day, just like he would face Hank right now. “The terrorist cell we've been tracking knows our identities. Which means he knows your identity. And if he hurts our families, he'll hurt us.”

  “Mother of God.” Maxine collapsed back on the couch, her teased up dark brown hair smooshing against the cushion.

  “How? Your files are all sealed.” Hank's face paled and the lines around his mouth spread to his eyes.

  “He didn't need our files. He hired the man who created them in the first place.”

  Hank joined Maxi against the back of the couch, both of them looking shell-shocked. The same way TF-S had looked when Col. Grey had shared the news with them yesterday.

  “So you're telling me some terrorist from overseas is coming here to hunt us down?” Hank threaded his fingers through Maxine's and glanced over at Hayden, who still hadn’t looked up.

  “No. They’re already here. We had a little run in with some of them last night.”

  “That why you got that big gash on your temple?” Hank asked.

  “Yeah. We played chicken with a light pole. The light pole won,” Hoyt said.

  “And what's this got to do with Latham?” Hayden spoke up for the first time, her shell-shock fading into cold determination.

  Hoyt stood and paced over to the fireplace. “We took out two terrorists last night. One of them had a student visa on him. It was signed by John Latham. When we went to question the professor about it, he was already dead.”

  “What about the other one?” Hank asked.

  Hoyt watched Hayden as he spoke. “Latham sponsored him also. We found evidence of his ties to the terrorists last night in Latham’s house.”

  “No. That’s not right.” Hayden shot to her feet. “Latham would never do that. I can’t listen to this right now.”

  “You were with the other suspect last night.” Hoyt tried to bite back the bitterness and failed. Every time he thought about him touching her…

  Hank shot to his feet, his face turning a deep red. “What?”

  “Who?” If possible, Hayden paled even more.

  “Malik.”

  Hank stepped between the two and held out his hands. “Are you telling me my daughter was with a possible killer last night?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you question him?”

  Because if I got close to him last night, I would have beaten the hell out of him. “He left before we got the chance to talk to him.”

  Maxi seemed to pull herself together and sat up straighter. “What do you mean? Don't you have some fancy military satellite to track terror suspects? Or a tracking device or something?”

  “What do you need us to do?” Hank lowered back down next to Maxi and took her hand again. His gaze was hard, but why wouldn’t it be?

  Jared finally decided to open his mouth. “We're bringing in a second team. We need to establish a perimeter around the property. We’ll be safer if everyone can remain here, where they can guard you while we identify and track down the remaining sleeper cells.”

  “Would you listen, I’m telling you you’re wrong about Latham,” Hayden tried to butt in.

  “I can show them the weakest points vulnerable to breach. I know my property better than anyone. I’ve got barb wire fencing around the entire hundred acres, but I haven’t checked all of it in a while. We may need to repair some sections.”

  “Good. We also brought some new equipment in to help out. Thermal cameras. Motion detectors.”

  “I can't stay here all the time,” Maxi said. “I have a bar to run. And what about C.W.? Do I have to get him to come here?”

  “I'll escort you to work,” Hank said. “Been a few years since I've had to pull guard duty, but I can still shoot straight. And yes, C.W. should come stay with us until this is all over.” Hank tugged Maxi close, stroking her arm with his hand. The tough-as-nails woman seemed to melt under his touch.

  Hoyt tensed. They didn't understand the seriousness of the threat. “And how are you going to know who to shoot at?”

  “Anybody who poses a threat.”

  “Sleeper cells don't pose threats until it's too late,” Hoyt countered. Yes, Hank James was a war veteran himself, but from a different time and a different era. Terrorists didn't care about the rules of war. They didn't care about harming innocents. They didn't care about anything.

  Except causing the most carnage possible.

  “Your fancy term sleeper cell isn't anything new. Hate to break it to you, boy, but I was fighting sneaky bastards when you were still in diapers. So why don't you sit back and let me do what I know how to do?”

  The damn man was going to get himself killed—and Maxine. Leaving Hayden orphaned, again. He couldn’t let that happen.

  His palms went wet with sweat and he wiped them down his jeans. “What about Hayden?”

  Hank paused, but it was obvious he was not going to relent. If anything, he seemed more confident than ever. “She won't be alone. You will be with her.”

  Hoyt's heart skittered. “Me?”

  Hank leaned back on the couch, relaxed. “Who else?”

  “I thought you didn't want me anywhere near your daughter.”

  “Hello, you two can’t tell me what to do. And I am sure as hell not staying with him.” Hayden pointed at Hoyt.

  “Yes, young lady, you are. I know you don’t want to be near him, but he can protect you, and right now I’m more concerned with your life than your feelings.”

  “She’s right. Why the hell would you want me guarding her?”

  Hank was on his feet in an instant, crowding into Hoyt's personal space again. “Because I know you'll get yourself killed before you let anything happen to my daughter.”

  Hoyt shook his head and took a step back. His shoulder hit the mantle, and when he spun around, he was faced with that picture of Hayden. Hayden before Hoyt, when she was still light-hearted and carefree. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

  “I know exactly what I'm talking about. I know that if my daughter is in danger, you'll be the man to protect her.”

  Hank could order his sons around all he wanted, but not Hoyt Crowe. “You'll have to find someone else for the job.”

  “And just who else would you trust around Hayden twenty-four hours a day?”

  The thought of another guy being alone with Hayden. and being around her constantly sent rage, white-hot and instantaneous, scorching across Hoyt's shoulders. “No one.”

  “Good. I'll clean up the spare bedroom for you.”

  Chapter 16

  Hayden stumbled out of bed, grabbed her alarm clock and stared at the blinking green light with puffy, swollen eyes. Three p.m. - Holy crap, she’d napped the whole day.

  The last she remembered, the Mississippi sun had painted her fluffy white bedspread and the entire box of extra-soft Kleenexes that were scrunched up on it a bright orange. The fresh sting of tears pricked her eyes.

  No. Do not think about the professor. She had to get herself under some semblance of control and go apologize to her dad and Maxine. Her behavior earlier had been reprehensible. She was happy for her dad and the look of hurt on Hank's face was seared into her memory.

  Followed immediately by the last time she'd seen the professor. He'd hugged her and she'd imprinted his smell of old spice.

  Stop…Stop…Stop.

  Hayden flung the empty Kleenex box into the small flower-painted waste basket by her bed and marched to the antique matching white dresser against the opposite wall. She pulled out a pair of yoga pants and a matching
loose tank and slipped into the bathroom.

  A little while later, she emerged from an extra-hot shower. She compiled a to-do list in her head as she combed out her hair in front of the mirror.

  Apologize to Hank and Maxi.

  Track down Malik.

  Find out where and when the professor was going to be buried.

  Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

  Hayden gave the comb a ruthless tug, ripping through a tangle. Pain pierced her scalp and she hissed in a breath.

  She had to slow down, take a deep breath. Remember what she'd learned in clinicals.

  Hayden carefully returned the comb to the top drawer on the left of her sink and picked up her make-up brush. Slow and easy, she counted each move, focusing on each minute task.

  Apply her base, then powder. Blush and eye shadow followed. Everything precise and perfect. By the time she got to the mascara, she was almost sure she could apply it without ruining it the very next second with more tears.

  Hayden unscrewed the top off her Maybelline long-wear and lifted the brush to her face. Her hand shook. She gritted her teeth and kept going, determined to use routine to regain control of herself. After finishing her left eyelashes, she moved on to the right.

  She started at her lash line and swept up. She found herself thinking about the Dior make-up blog she sometimes read. The artist had said to pick out your make up for the day depending on your mood, like you would your clothes.

  She was supposed to consider different things: Like was she getting ready for work? An interview? A hot date?

  Like with Hoyt?

  Her hand slipped and she painted a thick black scar from the corner of her eye down past her cheek. Crap. Now she just looked like a sick clown with a bright red nose no amount of make-up could cover. No man would come close to her like this.

  Her eyes locked onto her reflection. Was this what Hoyt saw when he looked in the mirror? A huge ugly scar and nothing else?

  She knew he’d broken it off because he was ashamed of his looks, but she’d never really looked at that part of him. And that’s all he focused on.