I’m not waiting to find Cade.
He’d promised himself he’d never hesitate again. He knew better than to rush every situation, but he’d heard enough from the woman to know Cade’s situation was deadly serious. As Mercy strapped on the vest, he called the dispatcher and asked her to inform the Deschutes County sheriff that they were going inside.
“Jeff said Eddie and another agent are headed out here,” reported Mercy as she tightened the Velcro straps. “They’re in touch with the Deschutes County deputies that are en route.”
“Let’s go.” Truman wove through the parked vehicles toward the light above the door on the mess hall, and wondered what they’d find inside. The entire ranch was eerily quiet. There was no indication that a mob stood ready to tear apart a young man.
Did she exaggerate?
“Truman,” Mercy whispered urgently. “Get down!”
He immediately spotted the figure and ducked behind the bed of a truck next to Mercy. Moving silently, he stretched to peer around the truck. Tom McDonald’s recognizable bulk moved across the compound. His steps were stiff, and he walked with a noticeable waddle. He was alone. Truman watched for a long moment, searching the darkness for McDonald’s ever-present guards.
Truman pulled back into the protection of the truck’s shadow. “I didn’t see his entourage.”
“I didn’t either. He’s headed toward the farmhouse.”
Their gazes met in the dim light. “Follow him,” Truman stated as Mercy nodded. They changed direction and moved after the man. They kept to the shadows, constantly checking over their shoulders for McDonald’s guards. Truman doubted Cade was in the farmhouse, but surely McDonald wouldn’t authorize any punishment of Cade without his direct supervision. McDonald struck him as the type to keep a firm thumb on top of every command.
If we can stop McDonald, we can stop him from telling his men what to do.
What if we’re too late?
Truman refused to consider that possibility, positive that their best course of action was to cut off any communication between the leader and his men. According to what they’d learned from the escaping woman, McDonald had to be stopped. Period.
No hesitating.
He and Mercy watched McDonald lumber up the steps to the farmhouse and disappear inside.
“Think his guards are already in there?” she whispered.
“No, I suspect they’re watching over Cade.” I hope. “We’ll move in assuming that there are other people in there.” Standard operating procedure.
Weapons ready, they did a quick circle around the tiny house, peeking in windows and noting exits. The brightest light in the house was in a rear room Truman figured was the kitchen. Ancient half curtains blocked them from seeing in, their red rickrack trim reminding him of the curtains in his grandmother’s old home. Reconnaissance finished, they silently worked their way up the stairs to the front door. Truman opened it, thankful for the bare light bulb that lit the interior, and together he and Mercy covered the hidden corners of the room before moving in.
Walking in tandem with their shoulders touching to keep in sync, he and Mercy rapidly cleared the lower level of the house, leaving the well-lit room at the back for last. Truman nodded at Mercy and held his breath as they entered the kitchen simultaneously. Tom McDonald sat at the table eating a bowl of stew, and he froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Mercy trained her weapon on McDonald while Truman checked the corners. McDonald had stew in his beard. He slowly lowered the spoon to the table and lay his hands flat on either side of his bowl, his gaze darting between Truman and Mercy.
“Well, look who it is,” said McDonald, drawing out his words. “I don’t suppose you’re here to share my stew.”
Truman stepped behind him and checked him for weapons, removing a revolver from his belt and then handcuffing him. It took two sets of handcuffs linked together to bring McDonald’s arms in place behind his back. Truman rattled off a statement about temporarily securing McDonald for the safety of the officers, and McDonald shot him a black look over his shoulder.
He silently watched McDonald while Mercy took the stairs to the upper level of the house. He traced her movements by the sound of her footsteps overhead. Each hushed shout of “Clear!” as she moved from room to room steadied his breathing. She was back within less than a minute.
“Where’s Cade Pruitt?” asked Mercy.
McDonald took a long moment to size her up. “Not sure who you’re talking about. I have a lot of men working for me.”
Truman resisted an urge to whack him in the head to jolt his memory.
Mercy gave a smile that made Truman’s skin crawl. “Is he still alive?” she asked sweetly. “Or has he met the same fate as Joshua Pence?”
McDonald stared calmly at her. “Again . . . not sure what you’re getting at.”
“In five minutes this ranch will be crawling with FBI agents and Deschutes County deputies,” she said with the same smile. “How about you do some work on restoring your memory before they arrive?”
He leaned back in his chair and gave a lazy smile, a man in no hurry.
Truman sighed.
“I believe you’re trespassing,” offered McDonald. “Neither of you have jurisdiction to be here. I’ve declared this property to no longer be part of the United States. Therefore you’re subject to our laws, and both of you are breaking them.”
Mercy rolled her eyes.
“I warned you,” McDonald said. “I’m not liable for what might happen to the two of you. You’ve trespassed on my land, taken away my weapon, and handcuffed me against my will. The two of you are the reason why this country is taking a stand against the police.”
“We’ve been informed that Cade Pruitt’s life is in danger on this property,” stated Truman.
“That’s no business of mine,” said McDonald. “Or yours.”
A soft noise sounded from outside the kitchen’s back door, and Mercy’s head jerked at the sound. She nodded at Truman, her weapon still trained on McDonald. Truman visualized the space they’d reconnoitered moments before. A few concrete steps led to the door. No debris or fencing for someone to hide behind. It was a wide-open area at the back of the house. The only cover for an assailant would be the corner of the house. Truman moved to the side of the door and shouted, “Eagle’s Nest Police Department! Who is outside?”
Silence.
No sounds of footsteps leaving.
He shouted again.
“I’m going to check,” he told Mercy. She nodded and moved to back him up.
Weapon leading, he opened the door and did a rapid two-step and swing of his arms to check the entire area. No one is out here. He jumped off the steps to the left and placed his back against the house as Mercy covered him and the right side from the top of the stair. He took a few steps to the left, welcoming the calm that’d taken over his limbs. Even his heartbeat felt steady. No fear.
“Oooof!”
He whirled around in time to see Mercy collapse and be dragged back into the home, her feet trailing. The door slammed behind her. “Mercy!”
His vision tunneling, Truman rushed for the steps but was grabbed from behind around the waist, his weapon arm pinned, and thrown to the ground. Noooo! The man’s bulk landed on top of him, knocking the air from his lungs. A burst of energy lit up his brain and instinct took over. Fight back!