“I can’t believe you called the cops.”
“What you’re doing, this vigilante justice, is wrong.”
“Then why didn’t you turn me in when you figured out I’d killed Victor?” Anna demanded.
“Shut up.”
“You knew. I sensed the change in you yesterday. You realized I’d done it. So why the sudden bout of conscience?”
“Shut. The. Hell. Up.”
“The Gunny I’ve known for years, the soldier I fought side by side with for a decade, never would’ve done this. We protect our own first. Remember that?”
My hands were dripping sweat. I tightened my grip, and the gun wobbled. “I’m not the same person I was, Anna. Neither are you. So put down the goddamn gun.”
“No way. If any of these country bumpkins shoot at me, chances are good they’ll hit the civilian. And it’s all about protecting this lowlife scum, isn’t it?”
I fought the shame and panic that I’d fail my training. That I couldn’t pull the trigger. She knew it. She used my fear against me.
“You’re the one person here who could make the shot, Mercy. One click.”
“Give it up, Anna.”
“You could kill me. Even with compromised vision you could take me out. Even though we’re friends you could do it.”
I ground down on my molars so hard I swore that chips of my teeth sliced my tongue.
“Take the shot.”
“Stop talking. Stop moving.”
“Why won’t you shoot me? Afraid to show everyone your true self? Mercy, the merciless killer?”
“I’m warning you. Stand down.”
Anna kept blabbering. “Show them how a sniper snuffs out a life without a second thought.”
“Last warning.”
“Really? But you are having second thoughts, aren’t you?”
Yes. Make her shut up. Make this stop.
“You can’t kill me, can you?”
Yes, yes, I can.
“I remember a time when your cold-blooded efficiency scared even me, Mercy.”
You can put an end to this.
“Those days are long gone. You won’t do it.”
“You sure?” The fog of indecision lifted. My purpose clicked.
Site.
Adjust.
Aim.
Breathe.
Fire.
“Yep. You’ve lost your edge. You’ve gone soft. Sentimental. Useless.”
I fired. Twice. One in the chest. One in the face.
Chunks of blood, bone, and brains splattered across the hostage’s face. He screamed as he and Anna crumpled to the ground.
I didn’t bother to check to see if I’d made the kill shot.
Law enforcement shouts of “Move in. Go, go, go!” filled my ears.
How many times had I heard those orders after I’d cleared the obstacle in my crosshairs?
Too many.
But I was glad I’d called the sheriff’s department.
I let my chin fall to my chest; my gun sagged by my side. I backed up. Ten, twenty, thirty steps. I didn’t care if I fell on my ass. I needed distance. In mind and body.
Numbness spread. I welcomed it. But it wouldn’t last. It never did. My subconscious would play this scene over and over, mixing it into the soup of combat nightmares for a little spice and variety.
You fell right into her trap. You could’ve wounded her. Instead, you took the shot and killed her.
I did my job.
More shouts, more footsteps. Tan uniforms blew past.
But one uniform stopped directly in front of me.
Dawson.
Rough fingers nudged my chin up. I didn’t want to look in his eyes, afraid of what I’d see, so I squeezed mine shut. Tears leaked past my defenses anyway.
“Mercy.”
“Don’t say it.”
“What?”
“Anything,” I whispered.
Silence.
My knees buckled, spots swirled behind my lids, and my gun hit the ground.
Dawson clamped his fingers around my biceps and held me upright. Not speaking. Not really touching me. Just keeping me from collapsing.
When the light-headedness didn’t dissipate, I breathed slowly. Steadily. Trying to level the adrenaline in my system. Trying to keep it together.
“Sheriff?” someone shouted.
Duty called. Dawson had more important things to do than babysit me. “Thank you. I’m fine now.” I attempted to retreat, but he held fast.
“You’re far from fine. Let me take you home.”
“That’s okay. You’ve got work to do.”
“I’ll delegate.”
“Dawson-”
“Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Goddammit. That was not a request.”
I opened my eyes.
Something dark and fierce stared back at me. “I am not leaving you alone.”
My gaze flickered to the action by the barn.
But Dawson’s right hand slid up and curled around my jaw, holding my damp face in place, keeping my physical focus on him. “Nothin’ you need to see over there.”
“But-”
“Listen to me. There’s nothin’ you need to see. I’m getting you out of here right now.”
“Last time I shot someone you threw me in jail. Is that where you’re taking me?”
“You’ll never let me forget that, will you?” he murmured.
“Probably not.”
“No. I’m not taking you to jail.”
“But what about taking my statement?”
“I’ll get it later.”
Why was Dawson being so goddamn nice to me? I’d just killed a woman. Not any woman. A friend. A good friend. A friend who’d pulled my ass out of the fire more times than I could count. And I shot her. I just pulled the trigger and ended her life.
How many more pieces of your soul can you lose before it’s gone completely?
“Hey, Sergeant Major. Come back to me.”
I looked in Dawson’s eyes since he was about an inch away from me. I flinched. Shuddered. The coldness was overtaking me.
His thumbs skated over my cheekbones. “Let me help you, Mercy. Please.”
“How?”
The determination in his eyes didn’t waver. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.”
At least he hadn’t lied and given me platitudes about everything being all right. We both knew it wouldn’t be.
Someone approached from behind, but Dawson never looked away from me. “What is it, Deputy Moore?”
“The ambulance is en route for the hostage.”
“Good.”
“What do you want me to do next?”
“Secure the scene. We’re leaving, and you’re in charge, Deputy.”
“Ah. Sure, boss. But I’ve never-”
“Then it’s past time you learned. Besides, this is linked to the FBI’s case, specifically Agent Turnbull’s case, and he’ll be here any second to take over. Defer to him.”
“This is the feds’ case?”
“Yes. And I’ve never been so glad to say that in my life.”
Dawson’s hand fell from my face. He came alongside me, blocking my view, draping his arm over my shoulder. I leaned on him. At another time in my life I would’ve been resentful, prideful, mindful of appearing weak. Right now I didn’t care. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and hide.
TWENTY-FIVE
Three weeks later…
Being cooped up in the house made me antsy. Six guns and six hundred rounds of ammunition should’ve been enough to blow my blues away. But it wasn’t.
The first week following Anna’s death had been a blur. Dawson dealt with Agent Turnbull. He dealt with the county prosecutor. He dealt with media and speculation. Then he dealt with me.
Dawson hadn’t let me retreat to the cabin, which would’ve been my preference. He hadn’t let me crawl into a bottle, which had been my intention. I appreciated that he didn’t push me to talk. He didn’t hover, but he didn’t leave. Dawson was just there for me in a way no man had ever been. Not even my father.
I was tired of keeping him at arm’s length. Denying us both a chance for something real. Something permanent. Something good.