A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(76)

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, moving her hands to hold his face. She couldn’t stare at him enough. His face felt foreign yet familiar to her fingertips as they learned the new contours of his sunken cheeks.

“I thought I was too,” he admitted. He moved his hand to her shoulder and frantically rubbed it up and down her arm, his gaze still locked on her face. “I didn’t think I’d ever touch you again.”

His eyes were red and wet, and he continued to quake under her fingers.

“You’re not moving your left arm,” she noticed.

“I think it’s broken.”

The pain he must have suffered.

“Is the rest of you okay?” She pulled back and assessed him.

“Everything is okay now.”

“No, seriously, Truman. Are you hurt somewhere else?”

“I think I had a concussion, and I know I had a fever for a while . . . I’m a bit banged up, but my arm is the worst of it.”

“We’ll get you to a hospital.” She stood, determined to carry him out if she had to, and nearly bumped into a young man directly behind her. A small hound sat next to his feet and showed Mercy its teeth. Anna stood a few yards behind the young man, her weapon holstered, but her hand ready as she kept a careful watch on the teenager.

“Mercy,” said Truman. “This is Ollie. He saved my life.” His voice wavered. “I would be dead if he hadn’t gotten me out.” He straightened his spine and sat up, his eyes widening. “Ollie knows where to find the guys who took me. They are running a—”

“We know.” Mercy put a calming hand on his shoulder. “We’ve already arrested the three men back at the house. Joshua Forbes came in and told us where you might be. His father was one of the ringleaders.”

Truman slouched on the rock in relief. “Forbes. It seems so long ago that I pulled him over. One stupid traffic stop triggered this whole thing.” He covered his eyes with one hand and shuddered.

He’s been through hell.

“Is everyone else okay?” he asked. “My men . . .”

“Everyone is fine. Your parents and sister will be happy to hear you’ve been found.” She glanced at Lou, who had stepped away and was speaking on his radio. The message that Truman was fine should spread quickly.

“I worried what they might think,” he admitted, his dark eyes searching her face. “I worried what was going through your head too.”

“It was rough,” Mercy agreed, unwilling to share her bouts of guilt and doubt and depression. Truman had enough on his plate. She hugged him again, unable to get enough of the feel of his body. He’s safe.

“Can you drive one of those things?” Lou came back and gestured at one of the quads, raising a brow at Mercy.

“Yes.”

“Let’s get him loaded up, then, and you can ride out of here in luxury.” He glanced over at the dead body. “I’ll drive that one out, Anna can drive out the kid, and then everyone else can start walking.”

“I’m not a kid.” Ollie spoke for the first time. “And I’ll head back to my own place. I don’t need a ride.”

“No,” Truman said firmly. “You’re coming out. You and Shep will stay with me for a bit.”

Ollie looked at the ground. “That’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is. We already discussed this.” Truman was adamant.

Mercy watched the exchange, wondering what had happened between the two of them in the woods. Truman has taken him under his wing. “Ollie, is your family close by?” she asked him. The teenager looked exactly as he’d been described by Forbes’s men. A hermit who lived in the woods.

“His family is gone,” Truman told her. “He’s going to stay with me until he gets his feet underneath him. We’ve got plans for his future.”

Ollie looks less than convinced.

But he needs help.

“I hope Shep doesn’t mind cats,” she told Ollie. “Simon is the ruling queen of Truman’s house.”

The teen finally smiled.





THIRTY-SEVEN

Truman was relieved to be out of the woods. I’ll never enjoy camping again.

After a painful ride on the quad that had continuously jolted Truman’s broken arm, Mercy took him straight to the hospital. Ollie refused to let Truman out of his sight and tagged along, which meant Shep was there too. The ER staff banished the dog and Ollie outside while Mercy and Truman spent the next three hours in the emergency room. His parents and sister showed up, and more hugs and tears were exchanged. After an hour he sent his family back to their hotel with promises to see them the next day.

Mercy had sucked in a deep breath at the sight of the colorful bruises on his back and ribs, but there was nothing to be done but allow them to heal. He pissed in a cup and was told his kidneys were doing their job. His head was scanned and his arm was x-rayed. The head looked good, but the arm was broken, as expected. “You’re lucky,” the busy ER doctor said. “We don’t cast this sort of break. Usually a splint is all we do, and it looks like you had a pretty good makeshift one. Keep the arm still and elevate it when you can.”

He went home and showered for thirty minutes, letting the horror of the past week go down the drain. Then he ordered Ollie to shower and gave him a spare pair of pajamas. When the teen was sacked out in his guest room with Shep on the bed beside him, Truman finally allowed himself to go to bed.