A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(91)

Guilt floods me with pain and roars in my head, eviscerating my soul.

“NOOOOOOO!” I shriek. The rifle drops as I cover my ears, trying to get rid of the roar. I scream again.

I didn’t want to do it!

In my mind’s eye, I see my father screaming after he killed the Verbeeks. Is this roaring in my head what he heard?

Lightning illuminates the sky, and I see movement to my left by the fence.

A man.

I grab my rifle and drop to my belly, aiming into the darkness. I focus, clearing my head, waiting for another flash of lightning.

It doesn’t come.

Where is he?

If I shoot, I show him where I am.

Lightning answers my prayers. The man has traveled fifty feet along the fence, moving past the house. He is hunched over, hiding behind the fence.

I have no doubt he is hunting me.

I smile. I know this property like the back of my hand. I’ve studied it and walked it. Even in the dark, I can find my way.

Bring it on.

I get up and dart after him.



Did he see me?

Truman jogged along the outside of the fence, cursing the lightning, but also begging for more to light his path. He’d already stumbled three times, the third time catching himself with his left hand. Fire shot up his arm, and he bit his tongue against crying out. That was exactly the type of movement he wasn’t supposed to use his healing arm for.

He wanted Ryan to see him; he wanted Ryan to follow.

Anything to get him away from the house so that Mercy could get Britta out and leave.

I’ll have to fire at some point so she knows we’ve moved away from the house.

Apprehension filled him at the thought of shooting. He was shaky, still off balance, and his head had started to throb. I’m not recovered enough for this.

He’d probably have one opportunity. After that Ryan would know exactly where he was.

I have to make it count.

The shot had to either take Ryan down or be used as a last resort to signal Mercy.

Rushing water sounded behind him, growing louder and closer as he moved farther from the house. There hadn’t been water on the satellite image. But there’d been a dirt farm road.

Not a road. A dry riverbed.

“Who’s playing the hero?” came Ryan’s voice through the rain.

Truman turned toward the voice, straining to see him and trying to judge the distance. Twenty feet? Thirty?

“I know this land,” Ryan called out. “I don’t need light to find you.”

The large creek was now close on his right. Truman knew Ryan was on the other side of the wooden fence, which gave him a false sense of protection. A few horizontal rails made for lousy cover, but he stayed silent and crouched lower behind them as he stumbled, his legs shaking from the effort.

Now I’m the prey. Weakened prey.

The sensation of being hunted weighed heavily on his shoulders, making his stomach churn. The strength and focus needed to take an accurate shot at Ryan had dwindled unnervingly. It was no longer an option.

Keep leading him away from the house.

He mentally repeated the mantra, ignoring the pain in his arm and head. He needed to get the man as far away as possible. And try to cover his own ass.

Lightning flashed, and Truman dropped awkwardly to the ground, twisting to protect his arm.

He saw me.

The crack of Ryan’s gunshot was simultaneous with the thought.

Truman had landed on his right shoulder and now rolled to his back to get his weapon arm free.

His left leg dangled in open air. There was no ground beneath it, and he felt the dirt collapse under the left side of his back.

I’m falling.

Terror gripped him as he flung out his arms to catch himself. There was no foliage to grab.

Gravity pulled him over the edge and into the rushing water.



At the sound of Ryan’s primal male scream, Mercy crawled to the closest window and peeked out into the dark.

What happened to him?

Lightning revealed Ryan on his knees about fifty feet from the house, his hands over his ears. Suddenly he turned his head toward the fence that ran along the property.

Mercy caught her breath. She’d seen what had caught Ryan’s eye.

Truman was running along the other side of the fence.

She’d know him anywhere. The microscopic split second had been enough to tell her he’d not listened to her order to stay away.

He’s running away from the house. And Ryan just followed.

“That damned idiot.” Anger flushed her face. “He’s leading Ryan away.”

He’ll get himself killed.

She knew how weak Truman was. She also knew that it would be impossible for her to move Britta. The woman couldn’t walk, and Mercy couldn’t carry her. Truman’s heroic maneuvers would be for nothing.

Unless I get to Ryan first.

Mercy darted back to the bathroom and saw the faint light of the flashlight under the door. “It’s me.” She pushed the door open, grabbed the Glock she’d seen earlier, and knelt next to Britta. “Take this.” She pressed the weapon into Britta’s shaking hand. “I’m going outside.”

“No.” Her voice was almost inaudible.

“Truman’s out there. I won’t be alone.” Mercy ran a hand over Zara’s soft ears and then squeezed Britta’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Our backup should be here any moment. Don’t shoot any of them,” she joked half-heartedly.