TWENTY-EIGHT
Mercy sat in the dark next to Truman, her eyes straining to see through the night. Truman had stopped near the vehicles parked farthest from the buildings, not wanting to stick out by parking alone. The ranch was silent. They’d cracked their windows, and the lack of noise made her want to crawl up the inside walls of the vehicle. Truman sat quietly, his focus and calm keeping her nerves from leaping out of her limbs.
No anxiety in him this evening.
She could see a half dozen lights on different buildings. The brightest was on the farmhouse in the distance. It was after 9:00 p.m., and no silhouettes moved in the shadows. Is everyone in bed already? Her gaze traveled over the small bunkhouses. Cade had told Kaylie that McDonald planned to house more than a hundred men.
The thought made her insides shudder.
“What’s that?” Truman whispered. “Over there. By the king cab truck.”
Mercy stared into the dark. Sure enough, she spotted the outline of a figure darting between the vehicles, working toward their end of the parking area. “It’s moving this way.”
Truman touched the handle of his door.
“Wait,” Mercy said almost silently. The figure passed between two trucks, a brief silhouette in the night. “It’s a woman!” she exclaimed under her breath. Disappointment filled her chest. She’d hoped it was Cade.
“You’re right.”
Hunched over, the woman dashed through the dark, using the vehicles as cover. As she drew closer, Mercy saw she carried a duffel bag and glanced over her shoulder several times. She’s scared.
“I’m going,” she said. “Don’t let the inside lights turn on when I open the door.”
“They’re off, and I’m going with you.”
“I’ll talk.”
“I’ve got you covered.”
Mercy opened her door as quietly as she could and breathed a sigh of relief as the Tahoe’s cab lights stayed off. The woman reached a nearby car, and Mercy heard the grate of a key sliding into the lock of the door. She took several steps toward the woman, stopping with twenty feet between them.
“Excuse me,” Mercy said as calmly as she could.
The woman whirled around, her hand pressed to her chest, her terror apparent in the dark.
Mercy raised her hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said kindly, as every piece of her focused on the position of the woman’s hands. She hasn’t reached for a weapon.
Yet.
“You scared the crap out of me,” the woman said. The dim light lit her blonde braid, and she was nearly as tall as Mercy. She squinted in the dark. “Who are you?” Her voice shook, and she reminded Mercy of a doe ready to bolt at the slightest hint of danger.
“I’m looking for a friend.” Don’t scare her away.
“This isn’t a place to find friends,” the blonde stated. “I definitely wouldn’t come here alone. Especially as a woman at night. You’re just looking for trouble.”
“I’m not alone.” Mercy tipped her head in Truman’s direction. “He’s helping me.”
The woman took a half step back as she spotted Truman’s tall shadow for the first time. She glanced at Mercy. “He’s safe?”
“Yes. Are you worried for your safety?”
“Not anymore. I’m out of here.”
“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.
McDonald tilted his head the slightest bit. “You told the FBI about us. You pretended not to know that agent who was here the other day when you’re dating her niece!”
Louder mutters.
“You managed to fool Chip and Mitch. Mitch even stuck up for you.”
Cade met Mitch’s gaze over Tom’s shoulder. Mitch looked at him with dead eyes. “I’d never met her before that day. Seriously.” He spoke directly to Mitch. The one man he wanted to convince. It was suddenly important to him that Mitch know he hadn’t stuck his neck out in vain.
McDonald shook his head. “Too late. I’m disappointed in you, Cade. I had high hopes that you could join us one day. You showed a lot of promise, but you let a woman lead you around by the dick.”
Cade spotted Owen Kilpatrick standing next to Mitch. His face was blank, his arms crossed over his chest, his stance stating he was as angry as the rest of the men.
“Who knows you’re here?” Tom asked.
“I told Kaylie I was coming here. I’m supposed to be at her house by seven.” At least his voice sounded normal.
“You’re not going to make your date,” Chip taunted.
McDonald held up a hand to silence Chip. “I don’t believe you,” he said to Cade. “You’re just saying that.”
“Check my phone,” Cade stated. They need to think someone will come looking for me. “You’ll see I called her in the last hour.”
Rob pulled the phone out of his pocket and pressed it against Cade’s right thumb to unlock the screen. He poked around for a few seconds. “He’s right. There’s a call to her.”
McDonald pressed his lips together as he regarded Cade. “We’ll settle his fate later. Put him in the pantry. Tie his feet too.”
Rob knocked Cade’s feet out from under him, and he fell to the floor, catching his weight on his left shoulder and knocking the breath out of his lungs. The group of men pressed closer, and scuffed boots moved threateningly close to his face. His feet were lifted; someone produced a rope and bound his ankles together.
That’s when the kicking started. Boot tips to his face, chest, and back. Cade rolled to his side and tried to bring his head to his knees, protecting his chest and belly. He vomited the soda, and the blows continued until McDonald ordered them to stop.
They’d dragged him into a small room off the kitchen and slammed the door. He heard McDonald order someone to clean up the mess.
Cade slowed his breaths, inhaling as gently as possible to stop his ribs from sending lightning jolts of pain to his brain. He searched for something optimistic about his situation.
I’m not dead.
Kaylie knows where I am. But would she tell anyone? Or would she go to bed upset that he’d blown off their dinner?
If it had been one of his buddies he’d told, he’d probably wait a week before mentioning he hadn’t heard from Cade lately. And didn’t a person need to be missing for two days before the police took any action?
I’m not dead.
Voices sounded from the mess hall. The men were protesting something McDonald had said. Cade awkwardly scooted closer to the entry and placed his ear against the wide crack under the door.
“I don’t care that it upsets you. I can’t shoot him,” said McDonald. “His girlfriend knows he was coming here, and if they find his body with a bullet hole, where do you think they’ll focus their attention?”
Cade shuddered at the casual tone. McDonald spoke about killing him as if he were debating whether to throw out an old head of lettuce.
“I know he betrayed us,” McDonald said. “I wish I hadn’t hired him, but we needed to get the bunkhouses done as quickly as possible. From here on out, all labor will come from our circle. No more outside help. We will trust and rely on ourselves. The way I wanted it to be in the first place. Our need to expand the facilities will no longer affect my decisions.”
“We’ll get it done!” “We don’t need anyone else!” “No more outsiders!”
Cade’s neck ached from the uncomfortable position, but it was a small pain compared with his others. And small in relation to the utter burning fear in his stomach.
“Stage an accident,” suggested a voice from the crowd. Other voices seconded his idea.
“I like the idea,” said McDonald.
Proposals for car accidents, fires, and hunting accidents were put forward. Cade couldn’t make out all the words of the discussion on the best way to kill him, but he heard enough. He rolled onto his stomach, resting his neck.
“Are you guys crazy?” said one clear voice. “He’s just a kid.”
That was Mitch.
Relief at the knowledge that he had one friend in the group made tears burn in both his eyes. Snot ran from his injured nose, and he wiped it carefully against the floor.
The muttered tones and angry voices that followed told Cade that Mitch was in the minority.
“We handle our own problems,” announced McDonald. “We don’t wait for the narrow-minded police and backed-up courts to spend our taxes as they dawdle over making decisions. The kid broke my trust and has put a lot of people in danger. That needs to be punished.” He paused. “Do you have a problem with my decision, Mitch?”
Silence.
Cade held his breath.
“All I’m asking for is mercy,” said Mitch. “A little leniency. You said he’s shown a lot of potential, Tom. I agree you should go ahead and punish him . . . he’s got that coming, but I don’t think he deserves death.”
Thank you, Mitch.
“This is why I’m the leader, Mitch. I don’t let emotions mess with the need to take action. I’ve decided on the best way to handle the kid, but your input has been noted, and we’ll debate his sentence a little later.”
Murmurs of agreement reached Cade.
He’s humoring Mitch and trying to show the other men they have a voice in his decisions.
They don’t.
“Whether he lives or dies will be decided tonight.”