THIRTY-ONE
He’s still alive!
Truman silently jogged behind the two men, a sickening feeling in his stomach as they pulled Cade toward the woods. There were no other buildings in their path. Wherever they were taking the young man, it wasn’t to make him comfortable. Cade shouted and fought, but the men handled him with ease, ignoring his cries. Truman crept closer, trying to see if either man was armed.
“When he said the woman, he meant the FBI agent,” said the man on Cade’s right.
“But he didn’t say specifically that woman,” argued the other. “For all we know he was talking about that bitch Shelly. I’m telling you, when McDonald isn’t specific, it’s for a reason.”
“Well, I don’t want anything to do with Shelly. Nearly every guy in this place has been between her legs.”
“She’s not so bad.”
“I want a chance at that fed woman. She’s hot, just like her blind sister. Too bad that blind bitch done got herself pregnant. But we made sure she paid for that.”
“She had it coming,” added the second man.
These two threw the rocks and mud at Rose? Fury fueled Truman.
“Please don’t kill me.” Cade’s plea ripped at his heart. His shouting had been replaced with begging for his life.
“Sorry, kid. Boss’s orders.”
Fuck!
Both men had Cade’s upper arms firmly in both hands. Cade thrashed with every step, fighting them as they drew deeper into the woods. I’ve got to stop them. Truman glanced around, looking for any witnesses.
It’s now or never.
He took four running steps, sucked in a loud breath, and kicked the man on Cade’s right in the side of the knee with his metal-toed boot, putting all his weight and momentum behind the kick.
The man made a sound like a strangled dog and let go of Cade as he collapsed in agony. Truman whirled on the second man and delivered a blow to his nose, appreciating the crunch of the cartilage as it was crushed under his fist.
He spun back to the first man on the ground and shot a swift kick to his abdomen. The first man gave another suffering-dog noise and curled in on himself. Broken Nose was doubled over with his hands over his face, so Truman administered a brutal kick to that one’s knee, and then both men writhed in the dirt in pain. “That was for Rose.”
Cade had fallen to his knees and dived out of the way.
Panting hard, Truman quickly checked each swearing man for weapons. He removed two knives, thankful neither had a gun.
He knelt behind Cade and struggled to untie his hands. He considered cutting the rope but knew that in the dim light he’d only cut the young man. After a minute of fumbling, he loosened the knots. Leaving Cade to massage feeling back into his hands, Truman turned to the two men in pain.
“Sit back to back,” he ordered.
“Fuck off,” said the one who’d sounded like an injured dog.
Truman stepped on his hurt knee and the shrieks hurt his eardrums. “Shut up,” he ordered. “Or I’ll silence you myself.”
Broken Nose scooted over to press his back against the other man’s. Truman quickly bound their wrists together behind their backs with the rope from Cade’s hands. It wasn’t a foolproof job, but he figured the knee injuries would slow them down more than anything, and they were too far away for anyone to hear their shouts for help.
“Where’s the police?” Cade asked in a weak voice. He breathed hard through his mouth. The blood on his face looked black, and Truman realized he had one eye swollen shut.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Where’s the police?” Cade repeated.
“It’s just me,” said Truman.
Dear Lord. There’s no one else.
Mercy.
He turned away, stumbling a few steps, and dry heaved in the dark.
If Mercy breathed wrong, the entire room might explode.
Tempers were short and anger hung heavy in the air of the mess hall. Everywhere she looked, fury and impatience were written on the faces of McDonald’s followers. There was also an eagerness, a need to see something dreadful shining in their eyes, reminiscent of the look of rabid fans watching a car race, hoping to see a crash. The tension had escalated as Cade left the room, and now their focus had returned to her.
A situation near boiling. A millimeter away from a trigger pull.
She breathed slowly and evenly, her mind considering and rejecting plans to safely escape.
Owen held up his hands to the audience. “Quiet down!” A hush fell over the crowd, and the abrupt silence did little to calm Mercy’s nerves. Don’t let them see I’m scared.
She briefly met Owen’s gaze before he turned it on Tom McDonald. Something was different about her brother. When McDonald had called on him to defend Cade, there’d been a calm in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. A different attitude. And just now she swore she’d seen a need to stop McDonald in his gaze. Had he finally seen the light?
“Did you just order Cade’s murder?” he hissed at McDonald.
Anger flitted across the large man’s face. “You’re out of line, Kilpatrick.”
They stared at each other as the rapt audience watched, and Mercy worried for her brother’s life. Be careful!
Owen turned to the men. “Is this who you want for a leader? Someone who orders another man to be killed because he thinks he’s a threat? Did we ever hear any concrete evidence against Cade Pruitt?” Conviction rocked his words as he made eye contact with several McDonald men. “That was no trial! That was an injustice. Another murder ordered by a man with too much power.”
Restless murmurs sounded in the crowd.
Mercy saw eyes flicker and nervous feet shuffle.
“Stand down, Kilpatrick!” shouted a voice from the crowd. “We didn’t sign on to follow you. We’re with McDonald! The boy had it coming!”
Several voices chorused in agreement.
“Did Joshua Pence have it coming?” Owen asked.
Heads bobbed in agreement. “He didn’t follow orders,” said a man in the front row. “He could have brought the entire state’s police forces down on our heads.”
“Fucking pigs!” shouted a man from the back.
Mercy winced, feeling the room’s anger refocus on her. She kept her head up, watching Owen and judging the temper of the crowd. They were a hair’s breadth away from erupting.
“Did Jack Howell have it coming?” Owen asked. He pointed at one of the men. “You dealt with the Realtor in the past. Did he deserve to be shot in the head at McDonald’s whim?”
Mercy caught her breath. That’s what happened to the Realtor?
The room went silent, confusion crossing several faces.
McDonald gestured at Owen. “Get him out of here!” McDonald’s face was the dark red of new bricks, and sweat beaded his temples. His chest heaved with each breath. “You’re lying, Kilpatrick!”
A few men stepped forward to follow McDonald’s orders, but hesitated to grab her brother.
“He shot Jack Howell right in front of me,” Owen continued. “And then ordered me to take care of the body. I can see by your faces that you didn’t—”
“Shut up!” McDonald roared. “Howell got sloppy and was about to ruin all our plans.” He looked to the group. “Was I to let one man put asunder all that we’ve worked for?” His face darkened to a deeper shade. “Get Kilpatrick out of here before he does the same thing!”
Determination crossed the faces of the men who’d come forward to handle Owen. Two men grabbed his arms, and another removed her brother’s gun, shoving it in the back of his jeans. “I’m not tearing this group apart,” Owen yelled, attempting to jerk his arms away. “You’re letting McDonald do it for you.” His guards held firm and looked to McDonald for their next orders.
“No! This isn’t right! He could do the same to any of us!” shouted a man Mercy recognized from her first visit to the ranch. “He’s written off Cade and now Owen because they dared to have a different opinion!”
“That’s not what we want in a leader,” argued a second voice. Several men nodded emphatically.
The mob turned on one another, slowly dividing into two groups as they argued. Mercy held her breath, eyeing the high number of weapons on hips.
This could turn ugly very fast.
And then it did.
A man tried to pull away one of Owen’s guards and got a fist in the jaw for his effort. Owen landed a blow on the mouth of his guard and the room erupted. Shoving, hitting, pulling, shouting. Mercy slowly stood and, with her wrists still bound, backed toward a door.
A hand grabbed her arm.
McDonald. His face was no longer red; it was gray, and sweat ran down both sides of his face. He looked ready to vomit.
“I’ll get you out,” he said in an unsteady voice, shocking her with his offer. “This way.” He headed for the same door, towing her behind him. Mercy stumbled, trying to reverse direction.
I’m not going anywhere with him.
He held tight to her arm. “Mercy! This way!”
“Forget it,” she grunted as she tried to jerk out of his grip. Her arm came loose and she planted her feet to regain her balance, planning to kick him in the groin.
An elbow from the brawl behind her nailed her in the back and she lurched forward. Back into McDonald’s grasp.
Noooo!
He grabbed her upper arms and shook them, making her look at him. “Listen to me!”
“Like hell!” She twisted, trying to wrench out of his tight hold.
He swayed and grabbed at his chest with one hand and then fell to a knee, panting for breath, nearly pulling her to the floor. He looked up at her, his eyes terrified and his face radiating pain. Mercy suddenly understood.
“He’s having a heart attack!” she yelled, scanning for anyone who would help. The melee was in full force, and her shout was swallowed up in the sounds of the fighting. McDonald yanked heavily on her arm as he fell completely to the floor, and she was forced to her knees beside him. “He needs CPR!”
Someone bent over beside her. The familiar man who’d just protested about Cade and Owen.
“Give him CPR!” she ordered. McDonald was gasping for breath, clawing at his chest with one hand, terror in his eyes. His hand had her upper arm in a death grip.
“I don’t know how!” The man fished in McDonald’s pocket and dug out the key to her cuffs, his hands shaking.
She bent close to McDonald, trying to give the helper easier access to her hands.
“You look like your mother,” McDonald croaked, as the other man fumbled with her cuffs.
Mercy froze and met the dying man’s eyes. “What?”
“I would never have let them do anything to you,” he said in a hoarse voice, his eyes red and earnest. “My heart broke at the path you chose, but I’d hoped you’d come around.”
Her arms fell to her sides as the cuffs came off. She pressed her fingers against the folds of flesh in McDonald’s neck, searching for his pulse. She found a rapid fluttering beat, but he fought to breathe.
His heart is still beating, so I don’t do compressions. He’s still breathing, so I don’t do rescue breaths.
Or do I?
Panic scrambled her brain.
“I wouldn’t have let them hurt you,” he repeated, holding her gaze. “Niece.”
Niece? She searched his face, but it was unfamiliar. “Who are you?” she whispered.
Disappointment filled his eyes. “I’d hoped you’d know me. Did they let my memory go so easily?”
Confusion racked her. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m your uncle Aaron.”
The sounds of the fights around her faded as a loud buzz clogged her ears. My mother’s younger brother? The Mount St. Helens eruption victim? The high school portrait of a smiling teenager shot through her brain.
He looked nothing like the old picture. But she saw her other uncles around his eyes.
“You’re dead,” she whispered.
He gave a weak smile. “Only on paper.”
Explosions and flashes of light filled the room, and Mercy covered her ears as she squeezed her eyes shut.
Flashbangs.
“THIS IS THE DESCHUTES COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE,” was announced on a bullhorn.
The cavalry made it.