A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(53)

She felt as if she was marching to her execution.

Maybe I am.

Chad was gone. She was on her own.

The plastic bricks she’d seen in the second van flashed in her memory.

Explosives.

What will they blow up?

She fought to clear her head. Panic was of no use. Focus. She tripped on the first step at the command center and would have landed on her face if Sean hadn’t kept a death grip on her arm. He opened the door and thrust her through. Stumbling, she caught her balance and found the other three lieutenants, Vera, and Beckett in the room outside Pete’s office. The eyes of all five judged her. Mercy automatically looked to Vera, hoping for a break in the woman’s tough shell. Vera’s expression was stone. Mercy would find no ally there.

As if I didn’t know that.

“He’s waiting for her,” Beckett rumbled. The large man’s arms were crossed on his chest, anger blazing from his icy eyes.

Vera opened Pete’s door and stepped back, condemnation radiating from every pore. Sean pushed her forward into the room, where Pete sat on the edge of his desk, facing her. Judge and jury.

The door shut, and she glanced back. Sean had left.

She was alone with Pete.



“What happened to your nose?” Pete asked.

“It met Sean’s fist.” Mercy kept her expression neutral. Pete was doing the same.

“I didn’t order that.”

“Did you order the cuffs?”

“No.” A brow lifted. “I take it you didn’t come willingly?”

“Sean scared me. He silently came up from behind and grabbed my arm. My instincts kicked in, and I fought back.” She tipped her head toward him, her gaze earnest. “With Chad gone, I’m on edge. I’ve never lived in a place where I’m completely surrounded by men I don’t know.”

“My men wouldn’t do anything.”

Mercy said nothing.

“I don’t allow it,” he emphasized.

“You can’t police them every second,” she said softly.

“This wasn’t how this interview was supposed to start, Agent Kilpatrick.”

A shrill noise erupted inside her head.

The sound of terror.

The room spun, and she felt as if she were falling, but her feet were planted firmly on the ground. Her hands turned to ice as sweat dampened her neck and lower back.

He knows who I am.

“What does the FBI know about us?” he asked calmly. “What information have you passed on?” He pushed off the edge of his desk and slowly paced around her. “How are you communicating?”

Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest, and she could barely hear his words over the clamor in her skull. He stopped directly behind her, and his breath moved her hair along her jaw, making her skin crawl. She briefly closed her eyes, fighting a shudder. He’s too close.

“I don’t know why you’re even here,” he said quietly into her ear. “I thought the ATF was monitoring us. There’d been no mention of the FBI. Until now.”

How did he find out who I am?

She stood silent. He continued his walk and stopped two feet away in front of her, his eyes staring daggers into hers.

“Once I knew your name, you were easy to research online.” He smiled, keeping his focus steady. “How’s the leg? Your shooting was all over the web earlier in the year.”

Her healed thigh twinged in response.

“Digging a little deeper gave me insights into your world. A niece . . . a fiancé . . .”

Blackness swamped her peripheral vision, and the office faded away. Anger replaced her terror, and all her senses homed in on Pete’s face.

If he touches my family . . .

The cuffs bit into her wrists as her hands strained to get loose.

“I like to know about the families of my people. Information is power.” He tilted his head to one side, reminding her of a bird. “A little whisper here and a quiet word there. My men perform best when reminded that no one is outside of my influence. I may sit up here in these hills, but my reach has no limits.”

He waited for her to speak. Mercy counted her breaths, trying to slow her racing lungs and heart. Her priority at this moment was to stay alive. Pete wanted information. He wouldn’t kill her until he had it.

“The government has no business spying on its people. This country was built on freedom. Our leaders seek ways to quash and keep us silent while they stomp on our rights.” He stepped back and sat on the edge of his desk again, his arms crossed, his eyes hard. “We have the right to bear arms, but the government can’t keep their noses out of it. Their weapons data collecting process is illegal.” He snorted. “The ATF doesn’t follow its own rules, which say they are to eliminate certain identifying information from some weapons sales after a set time period.” He paused. “Guess who is hoarding information on gun owners when they’re not supposed to? It’s up to us to destroy their illegal record keeping if they won’t do it themselves. Those records belong to the people, not the government.”

Mercy tried to keep up with his twisted logic, wondering where he believed these illegal records were being kept. Records weren’t solely stored in file cabinets in a back room anymore; most records had digital backups.