“Sean!” Eden exclaimed in relief at the familiar face. “I’m so glad—” Eden cut off her words with a gasp. Mercy swore she heard cogs grind in Eden’s brain as she processed that a man she knew had shot another in the head.
“Hello, Eden,” he said with a laugh, pointing the rifle at her.
The teenager’s mouth hung open.
Fighting an instinct to flee, Mercy said nothing, desperately searching for options.
There were none.
Although the temperature was freezing, sweat gathered on her upper lip.
The rifle swung back to Mercy. “Did you know you’re hanging out with an FBI agent, Eden?” he asked.
Pete told him.
“Yes.” Eden’s voice shook, but Mercy was proud of her for staying calm.
“Let’s go inside,” Sean said, indicating with the gun for them to rise. “And do everything I say. No fucking around. You run, you die. Either from my bullet in your back or from the cold.”
Eden pushed slowly to her feet, but Mercy couldn’t stand. Her adrenaline had vanished, leaving her weaker than before.
“Get up,” he snapped.
“She’s hurt,” Eden shot back as she bent to help.
“Yeah, I know. I heard about Pete’s punishment, and it’s been obvious over the last several hours.”
He followed us?
Mercy managed to get to her feet, facing Sean and leaning heavily on Eden, trying not to gasp for air as pain raced up her leg. Surprise lit his eyes as he studied her face.
“Wow. Pete was more pissed off than I realized. You look like hell.”
Self-conscious, Mercy looked away at his intense stare, and her gaze fell on the body in the snow. Her stomach curdled at the spray pattern of blood and brains. “Why him?”
“Nelson? Pete will appreciate that I got rid of the asshole. Now, inside!”
With Eden’s help, Mercy walked toward the door. A minute ago the open door had been a beacon promising warmth. Now it was a door to a prison.
What will he do with us?
She shuddered, and her hands clenched at the thought of returning to Pete. He’d kill her this time. I can’t let that happen.
The air inside the small cabin was heavenly on her icy cheeks. A woodstove in the corner churned out ample heat. The main room contained a small table, a chair, a bed, a rough sink with a single dripping faucet, and many shelves of canned and packaged food. A glimpse into a second tiny room revealed bins and food-grade buckets stacked to the ceiling.
Nelson was prepared for the winter.
He was Mercy’s kind of person.
He had been her kind of person.
She thrust the image of his shattered head out of her mind.
Sean gave Eden cuffs to lock Mercy to the bed frame. Her face pale, Eden secured Mercy’s wrists as Sean closely watched, snapping at her when she fumbled with the awkward cuffs. He held a pistol at her head, his rifle swapped for the gun.
Mercy shot a glance at the rifle leaning against the wall.
He saw her look and smirked. “Don’t get any ideas.”
Mercy sat on the floor and leaned against the mattress, assessing the bed. The frame was made of rough wood and bolted to the wall. She tugged at it and determined it wouldn’t budge.
Sean checked Eden’s work and then rapidly tied the teen to the other end of the bed with rope.
Once he was satisfied with the knots, he sat heavily in the chair and rubbed his face, exhaustion showing in the droop of his shoulders.
“What are you—” Eden began.
“Shut up,” he said coldly. “I don’t want to hear a word from either one of you.” He rose out of his chair and paced the length of the room several times, deep in thought, an intent look on his face as he mumbled under his breath. Mercy watched, wondering if he hadn’t thought ahead before shooting Nelson and taking the women hostage. Again his movements reminded her of a law enforcement officer’s. Or a soldier’s.
Eden leaned her head against the bed and silently mouthed to Mercy, “Now what?”
Mercy raised one shoulder and gave a slight shake of her head, feeling her brain and thoughts slow down. Her own exhaustion swelled and spread, taking over every limb. Now that she’d sat down, her body insisted on rest. She twisted to lie on the floor, her hands elevated by the cuffs, and closed her eyes, no longer caring what went on around her. She was warm, and both of them were alive.
For now.
She slept.
THIRTY-ONE
It took two more days to get a search canine on the scene.
The delay had worn Truman’s patience down to nothing. A car accident just outside Ukiah had halted the first dog who had been called out—the dog was fine, but his handler had a broken leg. After that, locating an available federal K9 team had been more difficult than expected. An ATF dog and handler were finally flown in from Seattle.
Two days lost.
Two days with Mercy somewhere.
Every agent and Truman were livid at the delay.
Another mystery had been raised by Noah Trotter’s mother. Her sixteen-year-old daughter had not been with the women who’d left the compound or found inside with the members who’d remained.
In the interviews, everyone stated Eden Trotter was part of their group and seemed confused as to why she was missing, although no one could specifically remember seeing her the day of the raid. The teenager was added to the search.
***
Truman and several agents spent the two days widening the physical search for Mercy and the teenage girl beyond the compound. It was hard, frustrating work. The snow was over a foot deep. Every time Truman’s foot hit something hidden under the thick white blanket, his heart stopped. He pushed himself, rarely taking breaks, eating only when Eddie shoved food in his hand. Needing sleep made him angry at himself for needing time to recharge.
As they searched, the bodies at the gate were removed, and the remaining members taken to the county jail for questioning. Federal crime scene teams covered the compound, bringing in heaters to melt the snow in places to see what was hidden beneath. They collected evidence as SSA Ghattas and Agent Aguirre dealt with angry FBI and ATF upper chains of command. And the media.
Truman ignored the conversations about who was at fault; he didn’t care.
He had one objective. Find Mercy.
The ATF dog finally arrived, and Truman, Agent Gorman, and a few other ATF and FBI agents followed the canine and handler on their search. The snow didn’t slow down the Labrador retriever. Truman had questioned how the dog could smell things below the snow.
“Airborne particles still exist that he can pick up with his nose,” the ATF handler explained. “His primary job is to find explosives, but he does search and rescue and also cadaver work too.”
The dog had led them to several cabins, the mess hall, and the kitchen. When they followed the dog to the command center, the dog had signaled inside Pete’s office, surprising the handler. “That’s his explosives sign.”
The agents ripped the room apart. Under the flooring of the command center, they discovered the stolen guns from the ATF robbery and more blocks of C-4. After inventorying the weapons, they determined that out of more than three hundred stolen weapons, about fifty were missing, possibly sold for the cash.
Selling weapons wasn’t America’s Preserve only source of income. During their interviews, many of the arrested members stated they’d handed over their savings to help fund the compound. A lockbox holding nearly $20,000 was also found with the weapons under the floor.