Agony ripped through his brain, ordering him to give up. Not until I see she’s gone.
He scoured the area, and a spot of blue in the woods caught his eye. Truman darted off the drive and into the forest, jogging through the snow.
Gabriel Lake stood alone, wearing a blue coat, aiming a pistol at a tree.
It was Gabriel, not Christian.
Truman was close enough to see his delighted smile, but the unhinged look in Gabriel’s eye brought Truman to a halt, rattled by the animosity that was rolling off the man.
He’s evil.
A subtle movement on the ground made his heart speed up. Mercy was sitting below the tree.
She’s alive.
His knees shook in relief and he struggled to stay on his feet.
But then Mercy turned her face away from Gabriel, as if she couldn’t watch. Truman’s relief evaporated in shock as he realized that Gabriel was about to shoot her.
Why doesn’t she run?
She met Truman’s gaze and her eyes were a bottomless pit of regret.
She’s given up.
Time slowed as Truman raised his rifle, his entire world hanging by a thread.
I clench the knife Mercy gave me as I push through the snow, my gaze locked on her sitting at the base of the pine.
Christian hisses at me. “Stay back.” He has a rifle, and I’ve let him lead the way, but the sight of Mercy in the snow, her back to a tree and terror on her face, pushes me forward. The scents of burning boards and plastics interfere with my nose, but I’m not blind. A fading red shock is consuming her.
Gabriel’s back is to us, and he suddenly steps out from behind his tree.
Her time is up.
Gabriel raises his gun. Christian does the same.
I can’t trust that Christian will fire. I plant my feet and hurl the knife, a prayer on my lips that I won’t miss.
FORTY
Mercy saw part of Gabriel’s head disappear in a red haze, and the sound of gunshots bounced off the trees. She screamed as his body twisted and dropped to the ground, the gun still in his hand and his blood sprayed across the snow.
Mercy stared at the limp body, dimly aware of figures rushing at her from several angles. He’d fallen face-up, the handle of her knife sticking out of his chest.
Did I do that?
No. I gave that knife to Salome.
Gabriel had fired a shot before he fell. Am I hit again? She studied her chest and arms. No holes. A knife was still clutched in her grip.
Christian dropped to his knees beside her, and Salome was a split second behind him. “Are you okay?” they both shouted at her.
She pushed away their searching hands. They were touching her leg, pulling at her pants, and shaking her shoulders. But she ignored them, straining to see where Truman had been a brief moment before. Gabriel’s shot hadn’t hit her, but Truman had also been in his line of fire.
Truman?
“Mercy, can you hear me?” Christian grabbed her head and turned her face to him, cutting off her search for Truman.
She snarled, swinging her knife in his direction. He whipped his hands away, tumbling backward into the snow. “Where’s Truman?” she screamed as she flung her body to the right, not caring about the burning pain in her leg, fighting to see where Truman had been standing. “Where’s Truman?” she shrieked again.
“Right here.”
Suddenly he was with her, gathering her into his arms. Hyperventilating, she buried her face in his neck. He’s okay. The fragile hold she’d had on her emotions crumbled, and she sagged against him. More than anything she simply wanted to sleep with his arms around her. He pulled back and shook her. “Stay awake,” he commanded, his eyes deadly serious.
“Get pressure on that,” he ordered Christian. “Help me get my coat on her,” he told Salome. Everyone was silent as they frantically followed his directions.
Too silent.
“It’s bad,” she stated. Truman wouldn’t meet her gaze as he zipped her into his coat.
“You got him,” she whispered to Truman. “I thought he’d hit you.”
“I didn’t shoot him. Someone else shot first.”
Mercy swiveled to look at Christian, and her heart broke at the bleak expression on his face. He wouldn’t look up, focused on her leg. Salome met her gaze and laid a hand on Christian’s shoulder. “You had no choice,” she told him.
He was pale, and wet tracks covered his cheeks. He killed his brother. For me.
Mercy’s lungs wouldn’t work. “Christian . . .”
Christian gave her a sickly smile as he tightened the wrap on her thigh. “I guess I had it in me after all.”
“That’s not funny.” The weight of what he had done made Mercy’s brain want to shut down.
“He would have killed you,” Christian stated.
Salome nodded in agreement. “And he wouldn’t have stopped with just you.”
“You got him too,” Mercy told her, remembering the knife handle in Gabriel’s chest.
The woman shrugged. She would kill to protect her daughter.
Mercy abruptly jerked straight up. “The girls!” She dug for her radio, her fingers uncoordinated. I’m freezing. Lack of blood to keep me warm. The realization didn’t bother her. I’m not important. The girls and Truman are important.
Truman took the radio, and she was relieved to hear Kaylie’s voice as Truman told her to come back in.
Mercy closed her eyes. My people are safe. She was dimly aware of Truman shaking her again, ordering her to open her eyes, but she was too tired. I’m just going to nap for a little bit.
“Damn you, Mercy! Open your eyes!”
She smiled, her lids too heavy to cooperate.
It feels good to have people who care.
FORTY-ONE
One week later
One week out of surgery and Truman wanted to strangle Mercy. She was the worst patient ever. After two days she’d stopped her pain medication even though she still had pain in her leg. Now she wanted to drive up to her cabin. He had told Mercy he wouldn’t drive her, so she’d sworn she’d drive herself.
Driving was still out of the question, whether she was on painkillers or not.
After she scared the crap out of him by passing out that day, Truman and Christian had loaded her into the back of the Lexus, and Truman had stayed in back next to her, unwilling to leave her side. Kaylie and Morrigan had cried on the drive, terrified Mercy would die, and with extreme calm Salome did her best to comfort them.
Truman had kept his fingers at her neck during the entire slow drive out of the forest. As long as there was a pulse under his fingertips, he promised himself he wouldn’t panic.
But damn, it’d gotten slower and slower.
They’d driven about ten miles when they’d spotted the responding county sheriff and ambulance. On Truman’s suggestion Christian had blocked the two-lane highway as the vehicles came toward them, worried they’d not stop.