A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(73)

“I’m looking for my fiancée,” he said in a quiet, calm voice. And waited.

Ghattas will have my head for revealing that.

Confusion crossed the faces of the younger women, and each stole a glance at him. Vera stared into the distance.

“We’re getting married in December.”

Satisfaction flashed on Vera’s face, and fury flew up Truman’s spine.

She knows what happened.

He took a long breath, determined to not reveal any emotion.

“We’ve determined that she was seen going into the command center the day before yesterday.” He paused, waiting for the two younger women to look at him. They did. “You knew her as Jessica. She was working undercover.”

His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he hoped revealing Mercy’s cover wasn’t an enormous mistake. It was time. We weren’t getting results.

Ghattas might disagree.

Shock registered, and the two younger women looked at each other. Vera held fast, her attention focused beyond Truman.

“Vera,” said the woman with brown hair. “Did you know Jessica was a spy?”

She wouldn’t meet the two women’s gazes.

“I’d say Vera was well aware of that fact,” answered Truman, studying the silent woman. Finally. We’re getting somewhere. “She didn’t share that secret with the two of you?”

They emphatically shook their heads.

“I wonder why the two of you weren’t told.”

“Yesterday Pete ordered that no one was to ever mention Jessica again,” said the redhead. “We were to act as if she was never here.” She frowned, holding Truman’s gaze. “Did you know she was sleeping with Chad?”

No wonder Pete left them in the dark.

“The relationship was part of her cover,” he explained.

“I can’t believe they expected her to have sex with someone,” the brunette said in disgust. She sent Truman a pitying look.

Truman prayed for strength. “Where did she go from the command center?”

“Last time I saw her was at breakfast two days ago,” said the redhead.

“Same,” agreed the brunette. “I saw Pete speak with her during breakfast. Everything seemed fine. I didn’t see her go to the command center.”

Vera’s eyes blazed as she finally met Truman’s gaze. “We deal with spies as necessary. Your little whore got what she had coming.”

Truman was crouched before Vera in a flash. “Keep talking,” he ordered, trying to control the drumming in his chest. “Where is she?”

“You FBI think you can tell us what to do.” She spit near his boots. He didn’t flinch, his gaze boring into her. “You’ll find her inside the new garage. Check door four.” She smirked.

The storage unit with the dried blood.

“That unit is empty,” Truman said with a calm he didn’t feel. “We found a beaten dead man in the first one. No one in the rest.”

Vera’s brows came together. “Pete locked her up in there after he found out she was a spy.”

His lungs stopped. She truly believed Mercy should be in that unit.

But she’s not.

The other two women were shaking their heads, desperation in their eyes. “We didn’t know about any storage unit,” said the brunette. “Pete told us Jessica left and not to mention her name again.”

“Pete told me her name was Mercy,” Vera said, drawing the words out with a smug look on her face.

A primal fire raged through Truman’s veins. He stayed motionless, staring at the bitch, his vision tunneling until her face was all he could see.

Her cover was blown.

“She’s in that unit,” Vera asserted. “Pete locked her up after he confronted her and then beat the crap out of her.”

The fire inside him started to roar.

“As I said,” Vera stated with a sneer. “We don’t like spies.”

Where is she now?





TWENTY-EIGHT

Yesterday

She would freeze to death.

Mercy curled up in a ball on the icy concrete floor. Frigid air blew in under the back wall of the unit, so she huddled in a corner near the door, the least cold place she could find. She had no concept of time and didn’t know how long she’d been left alone. It could have been an hour; it could have been a day.

She wanted sleep. Lots and lots of sleep. When she slept, she was no longer cold. She no longer ached.

They say when you freeze to death, you simply fall asleep.

She was okay with that.

Truman would be there. If she couldn’t have him here, she’d settle for him there—where there was no cold. No pain in her gut. No throbbing in her knee. No dried blood in her nose and hair.

Pete had added more blows as they dumped her, taking pleasure from each kick and punch after he’d attacked her in his office.

She didn’t yell for help. There was no point. This was Pete’s domain, and these were his people. No one defied Pete.

And she was the lesson for the people who did.

No one outside the compound knew she was in trouble.

Chad was dead; she was positive. There was no other way Pete could have discovered her name.

Chad didn’t know my name.