The front door of the house opened, and Mercy held her breath.
Evan positioned himself, his arms on the hood of his vehicle, his handgun pointed at the door. The deputy who stayed behind was in the same position. “We’ll have you covered,” Evan told her. Mercy nodded, her gaze locked on the figure who’d stepped out with his hands up. Silas Dillon was short and round, with his gray hair in a ponytail and a beard halfway down his chest. He followed Mercy’s instructions perfectly. When he was in position on the ground, she walked down his driveway. She felt confident with Evan as her backup, but her nerves were on high alert. Too much confidence caused people to miss signs.
She glanced at the windows of the house. We didn’t ask if anyone else was in the home.
Her protective vest suddenly felt small and feeble.
He said he lived alone.
Not good enough.
Her gaze locked back on Silas, she moved closer, her heart pounding as she thought about the open windows of the home.
Silas watched her walk the entire way down his drive. As she drew closer, she smiled. “You did perfect, Silas.”
“Holy shit.” His eyes widened. “You’re fucking hot. Are you really an FBI agent?”
She bit her lip. “Yes. Now move one of your hands to the small of your back. I’m going to slip on the handcuffs.”
“You can cuff me anytime.” If his voice hadn’t been so pathetically whiny, she would have taken offense. Instead the situation was too ludicrous to be real.
She locked on a cuff. “Other hand now.” He obeyed, and she did the other.
“You into dom and sub roles?” he asked hopefully.
“No. I’m going to search your pockets now. You got needles or anything in them that can hurt me?”
He leered. “Only one big thing, and I promise not to hurt you too bad with it.”
She stopped, fighting an urge to whack him on the back of the head. “You always talk to women like this, Silas?”
“Depends.”
“Let me give you a tip. It’s not a turn-on. Ever. It’s creepy. Maybe talking like this is the reason you live alone.” She started to check his back pockets.
“I’ll finish that.” Evan squatted next to Silas. “You get to enjoy my hands instead.”
Silas glared. “I said I wanted her to arrest me.”
“She did. The cuffs are on. Now you belong to me.” Evan did a quick, thorough search and stood, leaving Silas facedown in the grass. “I canceled the SWAT callout. Nice job.”
“I didn’t have the patience to wait. My niece is in the fucking hospital, and we’ve got more trucks to check on.”
“I’ve got something to show you,” Evan said. He held out his phone, showing a picture of a red truck. Its front end was smashed against a large lava rock in the center of a field. “A deputy spotted it within minutes.”
The red color was too dark. Silas wasn’t at Bree’s. Disappointment radiated through her.
“Guess this is the wrong one,” Evan said regretfully. “We’ll keep working down the list of trucks. At least we got a drunk off the road.”
“Dammit.” Time was slipping away. “I thought we were so close.”
“Maybe the next one will be our lucky strike.” Evan nodded at the house. “Now go delete your number from this jerk’s phone before you start getting nightly calls.”
“Getting a new number will be worth it.” Mercy strode toward the house. “Have a deputy take him in,” she said over her shoulder. “We’ll go find the next truck.” She pulled out her phone.
As soon as I check on Kaylie.
THIRTY-TWO
Sandy took her turn at Bree’s bedside.
Oh, Bree. She looks worse.
“Any changes?” Sandy asked Lucas as they both stared at his mother. The bruising was now a rainbow of colors, and her scabs were turning black.
“The surgeon is pleased with her fingers,” Lucas said. “Circulation is established, but the nerves could take a full year to regrow . . . if they do.”
“I’m happy for that,” Sandy whispered, brushing the hair from Bree’s forehead. “But she’ll remember what happened every time she sees the scars.”
Lucas studied her for a moment. “Where are your scars, Sandy?” he asked gently.
Sandy couldn’t look him in the eye. “Mine are hidden.”
Not hidden from me. She saw them every time she changed her clothes. They were her private little secrets.
Not secret anymore.
Lionel was behind bars, and everyone knew she had been a battered wife. My scars are hard-earned medals for survival—not something to hide. She slid up her sleeve, exposing her upper arm and the twisted tissue.
She met Lucas’s gaze. “It was a compound fracture.”
The big man shuddered. She understood. Bones weren’t meant to be seen; even broken bones were supposed to stay below the muscles, not ram their jagged edges through the skin. She lowered the sleeve.
“I’m sorry, Sandy.”
“It’s history. I learned to deal with it long ago, and your mother helped me ease into a new life in Eagle’s Nest. I’ll always be grateful for that.”
Silence filled the small room.
“I’ll be back at one for my lunch,” Lucas finally said. His struggle to leave was apparent on his face. “I feel like I’m about to miss something.”
“I’ll call you immediately with any change.”
He gave her a careful hug. “I’m not breakable, Lucas,” she said with a wry smile.
“If you say so.”
The air squeezed out of her lungs as she got what Bree called a Lucas rib crusher.
He left, and Sandy pulled up a chair close to the bed and took Bree’s hand. The undamaged one. “Hey, lady. How’s it going? I fed and watered the horses, and then let them out. You should have seen Cyrus run. He’s getting antsy. He needs you to take him for a long ride.”
Bree didn’t respond.
“Abby is going to get fat. She won’t tear around the pasture like Cyrus does. She just eats. I’ll have to take her out on my own pretty soon.”
Come on, Bree. A squeeze. A blink. Something. “I’d much rather we went riding together.”
Sandy sighed in the silence and considered her friend’s injuries. Bree’s damaged hand was heavily wrapped, making it look like the bulbous end of a chicken leg. Will she be able to ride with damaged fingers?
She snorted, knowing that would never stop someone as horse crazy as Bree.
“We’ll head up the same trail we took last time. Remember? It was a gorgeous day. You showed me the rock that looks like a horse’s head gazing out over the valley.” She squeezed Bree’s hand. “We’ll go back real soon, you hear me?”
Bree’s eyes opened, and Sandy froze. Bree stared directly at Sandy with terror in her gaze, and her cracked lips moved. As Sandy’s heart attempted to hammer its way out of her chest, she leaned closer to the patient. “What did you say, Bree? I couldn’t hear you.”
Bree’s words sounded like rustling leaves, but Sandy finally made them out. “Killed . . . him . . . buried . . . buried. Bury me,” she whispered.
Sandy’s stomach dropped. “You’re not dying, Bree. And no one is dead.” She pressed Bree’s hand to her own chest. “You’re going to be just fine,” she ordered. “The doctor fixed your fingers, and your bruises will go away.”