It might as well have been a mile.
Twice I lost my weapon? This time it was her own fault.
A cold that wasn’t from the low temperature ached in her bones as she stared at the small hole in the snow where her weapon had sunk. If I lunge for it, I’ll be stuck.
If I do nothing . . .
At least he probably still believed she had the gun.
I still have a knife.
She settled for partially getting around the tree and sliding to a sitting position, her injured leg straight out in front of her, the other bent. She was still in Gabriel’s view, but now her side was toward him and she made a narrower target. She drew the knife and clenched it to her chest, swearing to never let go. The back of her head dug into the tree, and she wished she could disappear into its trunk. The chill of the snow seeped through her pants, and shivers racked her body. At least I wore my vest.
“I want the whoring witch. Tell Christian I’ll trade you for her.”
“Why Salome?”
“I tried to burn her out. That’s the only way to kill a witch, right?”
The crackle of the flames threatened to make her cry. “She’s not a witch.” Blood continued to flow from her leg, seeping into the snow beneath it. A red shadow lazily grew under the limb, expanding outward through the white. She unwrapped one frozen hand from the knife handle and put pressure on the hole. Blinding fireworks flashed in her eyes, and she fought not to faint.
“Her mother was one. She ruined our family.”
“I don’t think she did that by herself. It takes two, you know.” Her teeth chattered around the words.
“I’d been willing to let it go until I heard the judge was changing his will to leave all his money to her and her spawn.”
He calls his father “the judge”?
Movement off to the right, far behind Gabriel’s tree, caught her eye. Christian. Focusing on her friend took great effort and he blurred, vanishing and reappearing in her vision.
“Was it necessary to kill him?”
“He had to die before he made the changes legal. I need that money.”
“You killed your father for money,” Mercy uttered. “Such a good son.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.
“He had it coming! He had no right to abandon his family!”
“And you had the right to kill him for it?”
Silence.
Christian had moved closer, his rifle ready. Farther to his right, Mercy spotted a flash of color between the trees that had to be Salome.
Christian’s angle on his brother must be poor. I know he could make the shot from that distance.
Or does he not want to shoot?
“You don’t want to hurt anyone else, Gabriel.” A point from her negotiating workshop popped into her head. “Don’t make the situation worse than it is. I’ll tell them you backed off when you could have killed me. That’s worth something.”
“Shut up, you lying bitch! I need to end this!”
Distract him. “Why the pattern on the bodies, Gabriel? What were you trying to say?”
“A suitable death for the abomination and her brainwashed lover. I wanted that whoring daughter to know her mother’s powers couldn’t stop me.”
“And Rob Murray?”
Gabriel gave a coarse laugh. “That idiot walked up behind me when I was getting rid of the knife in Christian’s garage. I don’t think he thought it was important, but he might have figured it out later. He didn’t matter.”
Mercy flinched at the ice in his voice. His brain was cracked, rotting with anger and hate. Was it from decades of verbal barrages from his mother? “What did Michael Brody see?” she asked.
“Who? Oh. The reporter.”
Do I hear regret in his voice?
“I agreed to meet him in the park for an interview. He’d said on the phone that he’d found something interesting he wanted to discuss.” His tone intensified. “I think he found out about the loans from the judge.”
“And you shot him for that?” He must believe Michael is dead.
Silence.
“Brody lived,” she said. “You didn’t kill him. I’m sure you can work out a deal—”
“Do you think I’m stupid? I fucking study the law! They’ll hang me.” An element of hopelessness entered his voice. “I won’t go to prison.”
“It’s not too late—”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”
“They’ll go easier on you for not kill—” She lost her words as he stepped out from behind his tree, fully facing her, his gun at his side, barrel down, bleak acceptance in his gaze.
He wants me to shoot him.
I have no weapon.
She froze, unable to speak or move. Every coherent thought flew out of her brain as they locked eyes. She waited.
Gabriel stared at her for a long moment, and then his eyes lit up. “Where’s your gun, Special Agent Kilpatrick?”
He raised his weapon.
Mercy couldn’t breathe.
THIRTY-NINE
Truman followed the tire tracks down Mercy’s winding lane. Two vehicles had traveled the road before him.
Smoke, gasoline, and burning rubber assaulted his nose, and he slowed, his fear and anxiety about what lay ahead spiking.
He rounded a curve and saw the open back hatch of Christian’s black Lexus. He halted. The crackle of flames filled his ears. A large red gas can lay on its side behind the SUV.
Where’s my shooter now?
He swung his leg over the ATV and pulled out his rifle, then carefully made his way to the vehicle. No driver. Debris was scattered, clearly emptied from an overturned duffel bag in the snow. Rob said Christian carried gas and emergency supplies in all his vehicles. Protein bars, MREs, duct tape, a tarp. Truman spotted a large plastic bag with the remains of a liquid inside. He picked it up and sniffed. Gas.
He could rig a large bomb with gas and a plastic bag.
Truman moved forward, leading with his weapon until a smoking Hummer came into view. That is what he blew up with the makeshift bomb. Past it, Mercy’s cabin burned. Flames and smoke pouring out of the windows, fire poking through the roof.
Dear Lord.
Is Mercy inside? Kaylie?
No one could survive in that inferno.
His grip tightened on his weapon as he fought back nausea, his head spinning.
On his side of the destroyed Hummer, he spotted a few glass canning jars, screw lids, and two more gasoline cans. Ripped strips of fabric serpentined in the breeze from the fire.
Molotov cocktails. He’d made enough as a teen to recognize the components.
Who bombed the cabin?
He wanted to yell and see if anyone was in the structure. Anyone in there is long dead.