The Truth (Butler Ranch Book 5)

by Heather Slade

  With her arm still around his waist, Quinn turned and looked at the front of the house.

  “Do you remember it?” Mercer whispered, so afraid to break the spell between them.

  She nodded. “I used to have a bike that I’d ride around here.” Quinn pointed to the circular driveway made of Mexican pavers. Pots that had probably once held beautiful flowers, sat empty, and were placed on the edge of the drive and along the walkway.

  “At first it had training wheels, and then…” Quinn started to tremble.

  “What is it, precious?”

  “He took them off and said he’d hold onto me. He promised not to let go until he was certain I was riding on my own.”

  “Who?”

  “I have no idea,” Quinn whispered so softly Mercer could barely hear her.

  “Do you want to go inside?” he asked, and she nodded.

  They walked slowly through the main entrance and into a room with massive, dark wood beams on the ceiling, and a fireplace that matched the color of the home’s exterior at the opposite end of the room.

  Dark leather chairs and sofas sat on the tile floors and Mexican rugs. They walked from that room into the kitchen, the dining room, out a double door that led to an outdoor patio bigger than the first floor of the house itself.

  As they explored, Quinn’s pace steadily increased. When they got to the stairs, she took them two at a time, racing ahead of Mercer. He watched as she went to the end of the hallway, and stood in the last doorway she came to. She turned and looked at him.

  “This was my room,” she said.

  Before he could join her, she’d entered the room, and he found her sitting on the edge of the still-made bed. Like her apartment, beautiful artwork adorned the walls. There were paintings of horses in meadows and of the sea.

  Mercer walked over to the window and waved at Razor who was getting in the SUV.

  “Where’s he going?” Quinn asked, walking to the door that opened to the balcony. “I was never allowed out here,” he heard her murmur.

  “He’s leaving,” Mercer answered.

  “Why?”

  “So we can be alone. Are you okay with that?”

  Quinn nodded and walked back over to the bed. “I don’t feel like talking right now,” she told him.

  “We don’t have to.” It was close to midnight, and after the day they’d both had, he could only imagine she was more exhausted than he was.

  She toed off each of her shoes, and then pulled back the comforter and sheets of the bed. Mercer stood where he was, by the window, waiting. She undressed slowly, her eyes on his, until she stood before him completely bare.

  “I don’t know what to do, Quinn,” he practically cried.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow.” She held her hand out to him.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “I need to sleep, Mercer. I can’t sleep when I’m not with you.”

  He put one foot in front of the other, gauging her mood as he made his way to her. She climbed into the bed and scooted over to the other side. “The sheets are so cold,” she said.

  “Would you like me to close the windows?” he asked.

  Quinn shook her head. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s leave them open.”

  Mercer pulled his shirt over his head and toed off his shoes, like she had. He hesitated before unfastening his belt. Reaching behind him, he put his gun on the table near her bed, and watched her watch him. When she nodded, he continued and slid his pants to the floor.

  When he joined her in the bed, she scooted over and rested her head on his chest. It was only a matter of minutes before her breathing evened out, and he knew she was asleep. Only then did he allow himself to drift off too.

  16

  When Mercer woke, it was still dark outside, and Quinn wasn’t in bed next to him. He was as shocked as he was concerned that he’d slept soundly enough for her to get out of bed without waking him.

  He saw her then, sitting in a chair near the window.

  “Everything okay, precious?” he asked.

  “I remember him,” she said quietly. “Just bits and pieces, though, like the training wheels.”

  “What else have you remembered?”

  “My mother crying a lot.”

  That made Mercer’s heart hurt.

  “He wasn’t here very much. I’m not sure how or why I know that, but I do.”

  “If it’s Doc you remember, he was still active duty then, so he would’ve been gone a lot.”

  “Tell me more about them.” She stood, walked back over to the bed, and cuddled next to him.

  “I can’t, and when I say that, it’s because I don’t know anything at all about that part of Doc’s life. What I do know, I’ve only learned recently, and most of it took place before you were born.”

  “Thank you for being honest with me about it.”

  He could only see her face by the light of the moon, so he couldn’t tell whether she was angry or sad, or neither.

  “I’m sorry. I’d say what for, but there’s so much I regret.”

  Quinn shrugged and rested her head on his chest. “I don’t know how you could’ve handled anything differently.”

  “I wish…”

  “Me too,” she said when he didn’t finish his thought out loud.

  What he wished was that she was still in New York, that the only thing that stood between them was the argument, if he could call what happened before he left that.

  He wished she knew nothing about her mother’s rape, or that her father was anyone other than Angus Sullivan. And as much as he loved having her in his arms, he wished he could put her on a plane home later today.

  “Can you go back to sleep?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so. Can you?”

  “Not if you’re awake. What time is it?” Mercer sat up and looked at his phone. It was almost five, which meant the sun would be coming up soon. “I have an idea. There’s somewhere I want to take you.”

  They put the same clothes on they’d worn the day before. Mercer tucked his gun in his waistband, and they went downstairs. “Do you want some tea or anything?” he asked, wondering too if she’d ask about the gun.

  Quinn yawned. “I don’t think I’m awake enough yet.”

  “We don’t have to go. You can go back to sleep.”

  Quinn studied him, and he thought he saw the glimpse of a smile. “You sound like me now. Let’s go.”

  Mercer opened the garage and realized he only had the bike, and no second helmet. Near the other end of the building was a vehicle, but it was covered, so he had no idea what it was, if there was a key anywhere, or even if it ran. He could probably rent a car, but not at this hour, and where he wanted to take her was too far to walk.

  “What’s that?” Quinn was walking toward the car he’d noticed.

  Mercer followed, and when they got close, he pulled the cover off of one side of the front part of the car. He could tell it was a Porsche, but he had no idea what model. The pale yellow paint looked to be in perfect condition. Quinn pulled from the other side and exposed the black convertible top.

  “There’s a key in it,” she said, looking through the driver’s side window.

  “Let’s see if it runs,” said Mercer, not optimistic that it would. He pulled the cover the rest of the way off, and found the button to open the garage.

  He climbed inside and saw that it had a manual transmission. If it hadn’t, and he was successful in getting it started, he would’ve asked Quinn if she wanted to drive.

  She got in the passenger side and opened the small glove box in front of her. She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him.

  “I can’t look,” she whispered.

  Mercer pulled out his phone and shined it on what he discovered was the registration. It had expired a year ago in June, which meant it had been registered a year prior to that, and the name of the owner was Kade Butler. He looked at Quinn, who had seen the same thing he had.

 
; “That means he was here.”

  “More than likely.”

  Mercer put his foot on the clutch, turned the key, and the car started right up. He put it in reverse, backed it out, and shifted into first.

  “What is that?” she asked, pointing to the gear shift.

  “It’s a manual transmission. I’ll teach you how to drive it later.”

  “Oh,” she said, looking away from him.

  Mercer put the car back in neutral. “If you want me to.”

  She didn’t look at him or answer.

  “I know I’m pretending that everything is the same between us, but it’s because I don’t know what else to do, Quinn.”

  “I know,” she said, but still didn’t look at him. “Let’s just go, okay?”

  Mercer drove the short distance from the house, over the highway, and down a road where he knew there used to be three public parking places. The sun still hadn’t come up, so he doubted many people would be there yet. Sure enough, when they rounded a bend, all three spots were empty.

  “It might be chilly.” He looked in the jump seat and found a rolled-up Mexican blanket. He walked to her side of the car, and when she got out, he put it around her shoulders.

  “You don’t get cold,” she murmured.

  He smiled. “Not in the summer.”

  “Why not?”

  Mercer shrugged. “I don’t know. Too much time spent in places like Afghanistan where it’s so unbearably hot. Although, my dad was like that, too.”

  Her hooded eyes drooped, and he put his hands on her shoulders. “Listen, I don’t know who Doc was to you biologically. I’m sorry to be blunt, but it’s the truth. What I do know is that he cared enough about you to not just keep you safe, but to make sure you had the best life he could give you.”

  “What happened to him, Mercer?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Quinn looked into his eyes. “Is he dead?”

  He looked away from her. “I pray he isn’t.”

  “But you think he is.”

  “He was reported killed in action.” He answered her questions, refusing to let his conscience convince him he shouldn’t. He couldn’t tell her everything, but whatever he believed wouldn’t put her or Doc in more jeopardy than they already were, she deserved to know.

  “I see.”

  “Let’s go,” he said, putting his hand on the small of her back and leading her out on the sand.

  “We used to surf here,” he told her.

  “Who?”

  “Me and Doc. He was a good man, Quinn. One of the best I’ve ever known outside of my own father, Paps, and Razor.”

  “Tell me more about him,” she said, sitting down on the sand.

  When Mercer sat next to her, she brought the blanket around his shoulders too.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. She might think he was thanking her for making sure he was warm, but he wasn’t. He was thanking her for still caring about him.

  He told her that the first time he’d met Doc was at Stanford, and about the first time he’d brought him to this beach. He told her about many things they’d done over the years that weren’t connected to their missions. He wished he could tell her more about Doc and her mother, but maybe someday he could convince Razor or Paps to.

  “Razor told me Kade loved my mother,” she said, as though she were reading his mind.

  “What else did he tell you?”

  “Not very much, Eighty-eight.” She smiled and so did he.

  “That was Doc too.”

  “I know. Razor told me when he made me guess what it meant.”

  Mercer laughed because she was still smiling. It sounded as though she and Razor got on okay. He wanted to ask how she’d felt when she found out he was someone other than the Tabon Sharp she knew, but he didn’t.

  “There are so many things I want to ask you.”

  “I know, and maybe someday I’ll be able to give you answers.”

  “Mercer, tell me what happened to the man who raped my mother.”

  “Quinn—”

  “It’s my question.”

  The one he promised he’d answer truthfully, to the best of his ability. He’d told her then to make it a good one, and she had. If he answered, she’d know the worst of what he couldn’t tell her.

  —:—

  Her insides were screaming at her to tell him to forget it, but Quinn couldn’t. She had to know. “Is he the reason I’m in danger?” she asked.

  “He is the danger, precious.”

  She knew it without him saying it. “Is he here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he go to jail?” The police report she’d read only gave details about the rape itself, not what had happened to the man afterwards.

  Mercer didn’t answer.

  “I saw his name.”

  “Don’t speak it, Quinn.”

  His statement surprised her, but she got it. That man would be one of the evil souls Mercer would deliver to the underworld if given the opportunity.

  “I’m worried about my mother.”

  “She’s in a safe place.”

  The tears she’d thought she’d cried out in the last couple of days, rolled down her cheeks. She bent her legs and rested her head on the arms she’d folded and rested on her knees. The questions she’d been able to quiet enough to sleep last night, screamed inside her head. Did her mother hate her? Was it that she couldn’t stand the sight of her? Did she look like him?

  When her tears turned into sobs, Mercer pulled at her arms and put his around her. She buried her face in his neck and cried harder than she remembered ever crying before.

  “God, Mercer. I don’t know who I am,” she cried. “Is that why no one wants me?”

  He shifted so he could grip her chin with his fingers, and forced her to look up at him. “You’re wrong, precious. That isn’t how it is. You’re wanted, and you’re loved.”

  “But my mother—” she cried, choking on her own words.

  “You’re here, with me, because of your mother. You have a college education, and you’ve had a decent, carefree life to this point. It’s because of her. Don’t ever doubt that everything your mother ever did for you was out of love.”

  Her sobbing subsided, and she took several deep breaths. “I wish I could see it that way.”

  “I think you will. Eventually.”

  “Razor told me to quit feeling sorry for myself. He said that you, someone named Paps, and other people I would never know, put your own lives at risk in order to protect mine.”

  Mercer nodded.

  “Have you risked your life for me, Mercer?”

  “I have, and I’ll continue to until the day I die.”

  Another cry took her breath. “I’m so sorry,” she said before she couldn’t say anything else.

  “Don’t be sorry, precious. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Mercer soothed her.

  “Can we go back to the house?”

  “Of course we can.” Mercer stood and offered her his hand.

  When they got to the car, there were several others, with surfboards strapped to the top, vying for their parking spot.

  “Must be a good place to surf,” she said.

  “One of the best in the world.” He opened her door and waited for her to get in.

  She looked up and saw his eyes dart between the waiting vehicles. His right hand not far from where she’d seen him tuck his gun.

  “So many things make sense to me now,” she said when he got in the car. “I remember when we walked to the Indian restaurant. I asked you if you were a spy.”

  “I told you to trust your instincts, Quinn.” The way he smiled at her was part of why she did.

  Yesterday she couldn’t imagine ever speaking to him again, and now, less than twenty-four hours later, she knew that no matter what he did, she’d still love him, which meant she’d also forgive him.

  “I want you to tell me as much as you can, Mercer. If something is going on, I want you to
tell me. If you have to leave, or if something happens to my mother, or even if I’m doing something I shouldn’t be, something that makes your job harder, I want you to tell me.”

  He started the engine and backed the car out, but pulled over once he was out of the way and someone else could take the spot. “There will be reasons I can’t always do that, Quinn.”

  “As much as you can,” she repeated.

  —:—

  “Are you ready for some tea? Hungry?” he asked right before they drove through the small downtown section of Montecito.

  “I’m starving. I didn’t even get to eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich last night.”

  “My guess is that has something to do with Razor.”

  “He’d make a good big brother,” she said and then added under her breath, “He wouldn’t let me get away with anything.”

  Mercer smiled. “He’s a good man, too.”

  “Yeah,” she murmured, looking out the window. “I can’t believe how much I remember about this place. I haven’t been back here for almost fourteen years. Oh, wow!” she exclaimed when he pulled up in front of Jeannine’s Bake Shop. “They have the best apple pancakes.”

  “I’m partial to the lobster benedict.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Seven-year-old girls don’t eat lobster benedict, Mercer.”

  Quinn ate every last bite of her pancakes and had part of Mercer’s breakfast too.

  “Feel better?” he asked on the way back to the car.

  She shivered.

  “Get in the car,” Mercer told her, and quickly shut the door behind her. He surveyed the street, the surrounding buildings, the car itself, and nothing caught his eye, but the fact she’d shivered when it was almost ninety degrees outside alarmed him.