“Why are you leaving?” Truman asked.
“I’m done working for this guy.” She opened the passenger door, quickly tossed her bag inside, and shut it, keeping the noise to a minimum. She moved like a bird, rapid and fluttery.
“McDonald?” Mercy asked. “What did you do for him?”
“Cook. Clean. Whatever was needed. I thought McDonald was okay at first . . . but now I have my doubts. He’s good at presenting an honest front, but behind the scenes he’s ruthless. He’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants.” Her voice lowered and she glanced behind her. “People have died. People who crossed him. But he claims he had nothing to do with it.”
Joshua Pence?
“And the guys he attracts are also a problem. They think I’m here for more than labor.” Her voice was steady but full of anger, her pale profile proud. “I’m not putting up with it anymore.”
“Do you have somewhere to go?” Mercy asked.
“Yep. I’ll go crawling back to my sister’s house. She told me not to accept this position, and she was right.” She strode around the front of her car to the driver’s side.
“Do you know Cade Pruitt?” Mercy took several steps closer, unwilling to let her leave just yet.
The woman froze and turned around. “Why?”
“He’s the friend we’re looking for.”
In the dark, Mercy saw the blonde’s gaze go from her to Truman and back. “He screwed up.” Her voice wavered, and Mercy worried she’d bolt.
“What does that mean?” Fear bloomed in Mercy as she remembered how Cade had told Kaylie that Joshua Pence screwed up.
“I was going to call the police once I left.” She stood still, a motionless bird in the split second before it rocketed into the sky.
Truman stepped next to Mercy. “Why? What happened to him?”
The woman took a half step in their direction, her eyes black holes in her pale face, and whispered, “They’ve got him locked up. They said he ratted them out to the FBI.”
Mercy caught her breath.
“All the men are furious. I don’t want to know what they’ll do to him, but I’ve heard how Tom McDonald takes care of people who go against him.” Her head dipped in Mercy’s direction. “I’m really sorry about your friend, but it’s too late to help him. The only thing you can do is call the police and hope they’ll respond all the way out here.”
“Has he been hurt?” Truman asked.
“He’s still breathing. For now.”
“The police are on their way,” Mercy said. She showed the woman her ID. “I’m with the FBI. We’re waiting for our backup.”
“I don’t know whether to be relieved or scared for you,” the woman said, backing away again. Her hands shook.
“Why would you be scared for us?” asked Truman.
“Because that crowd sees the police as the enemy . . . and that kid isn’t going to survive the night.”
Cade could see out of only one eye. Not that it mattered in the pitch dark.
The rough wooden floor was gritty under his cheek, and both hands were numb from his having his arms tied behind his back. He was tired of lying on his stomach, but he was also grateful that they’d stopped kicking him. The darkness was his closest friend, hiding his tears and allowing him to take inventory of his injuries.
His ribs hurt every time he breathed, and he’d puked up the soda he’d drunk on the way to the ranch. He breathed through his mouth, his nose smashed and clogged with drying blood.
Kaylie will think I stood her up.
He had bigger things to worry about, but his thoughts kept straying to Kaylie, concerned with her feelings.
I need to focus on getting out of here.
He knew they wouldn’t let him leave alive.
Earlier, Chip had been the first one to spot him on the ranch. Cade had parked in the dark and casually walked in the shadows to the shed, determined to prove to himself that the dynamite hadn’t disappeared. It had to be somewhere in that shed. What he hadn’t expected to find was Chip and one of his buddies, Rob, going through the supplies in the shed. They’d looked up in surprise as Cade came around a corner. Playing it cool, he’d greeted the men, planning to come up with some story about searching for his backup tool belt. Instead Chip drew a gun.
Cade’s words had dried up in his mouth as he stared at the end of the barrel.
“Scared, smart boy?” Chip had sneered. “The boss man told everyone to keep an eye out for you. He’s pissed as all hell that you ratted us out to the police and feds.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cade had stuttered as icy fear threaded through his limbs. He slowly raised his hands, praying Chip wouldn’t shoot.
“We know about your girlfriend,” Chip stated. “We know she’s the niece of that FBI agent who harassed us the other day.”
“I haven’t told her anything! I don’t have anything to tell her!” Cade said earnestly, using his gaze to plead with the two men. Chip’s finger was on the trigger of the pistol, and the look in his eyes was just left of crazy.
He wants to shoot me. Just to enjoy it.
“Tell it to the boss,” said Chip. He directed Rob to tie Cade’s hands behind his back, and then Chip poked him in the ribs with the gun as they walked through the dark to the mess hall. Cade couldn’t see the ground and stumbled several times, hoping Chip didn’t accidentally trip and shoot him through the heart.
They made it to the mess hall, where some sort of meeting had just taken place. About forty men milled around, looking ready to wrap up their night until Cade had been pushed through the front door. Every face turned in his direction. After a moment of surprise, a small cheer went up from the crowd. Cries of “You got him!” and “Fuck that bastard!” met his ears.
His knees turned to water at the frenzied looks on their faces. Angry, bitter eyes glittered at him. Cade blinked. These were his fellow workers and acquaintances. Men who made a living with their hands and embraced an honest day’s labor. They dressed like him in boots and Wranglers. Men he’d never dreamed would turn on him.
Seeing their hate and anger rocked him to his core. It was a mob.
Is this what happened to Joshua Pence?
Tom McDonald emerged from behind the group, and Cade’s gaze latched on to his face in hope. His boss had told him how much he admired his work; Cade had seen the respect in his eyes. He’ll straighten this out. But McDonald’s current expression was of a subdued rage. Cade couldn’t look away as the man stepped closer through the crowd, his huge bulk driving men to step aside to make room.
He stopped in front of Cade.
The room had gone quiet. Eager faces looked from Tom to him and back again, repressed energy bubbling under their surfaces, thirsting for blood.
Cade tried to swallow, but his dry throat wouldn’t follow directions. On either side of him, Chip and Rob each gripped one of his arms, presenting him to their leader. Chip’s fingers dug into the underside of his upper arm, and Cade wondered if he could feel his sweat.
“What brings you here so late on your day off, Cade?”
Cade couldn’t speak.
“Snooping for the FBI?”
He vehemently shook his head. “No,” he croaked. “I’ve never talked to the FBI.”
Mutters of “Bullshit” filled the room. Boots shuffled, men adjusted their stances. Eyes continued to stare at him, their heat boring into his skull.