A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(82)

I risk a look in his direction. He’s still a ways back but substantially closer to the road, and my terror jerks the steering wheel.

My car turns and the front right wheel sinks, nearly putting me through the windshield as the car buries its grille in the snow. I stomp on the gas; the tires spin and the motor revs shrilly. We don’t move. I shift the gearshift between my legs into reverse and press the gas again. The car jumps back six inches, stops, and the tires spin again.

I’ve never wished harder for a gun in my life.

“Mama?”

“Stay down. Don’t move.” My mind races. Do we run? I see no other alternative. I won’t sit here and wait to be shot. I lunge back into the passenger seat and fling open the door, rolling out into the snow. Scrambling on my hands and knees, I open Morrigan’s door and pull her into the deep fluff.

“We’re going to run that way,” I said, pointing away from the car. “Don’t look back.” I don’t want her to look at him.

My daughter nods, and her eyes are wet, but she starts to run and I follow, placing my body between her and Gabriel.

She is slow. Too slow. I glance over my shoulder and he has nearly reached my car.

“Go, Morrigan. Keep going,” I pant. I can feel a target on my back.

He’ll have to go through me to get my daughter.

The rumble of an engine sounds to our left and Christian’s old Hummer speeds toward us, snow flying from his tires. I pull Morrigan behind a tree, clutching her tight to me. I risk a peek around the trunk and estimate we’re fifty feet from the car. Christian stops next to my Subaru while Gabriel runs in the opposite direction. Coward.

Christian jumps down from his seat, his gaze locked on Brent’s bloody form. He looks to me and I point at the running figure, unable to speak, let alone shout for him to hear me. As he turns, I see the rifle in his hands.

My blood runs cold. I made a wrong assumption about my father. Did I make one about Christian too? Have I traded one killer for another?

He rests his elbows on the hood, sighting the rifle after the escaping figure. I collapse on the safe side of the tree and close my eyes. It’s not Christian. I wait for the shot, but it doesn’t come. I look around the tree again and see Christian staring at the retreating figure. Why didn’t he shoot? He looks back at me.

“Are you okay?” he shouts.

I have no energy to answer. I nod. He slowly treks through the snow to us, his rifle over his shoulder.

My skin crawls as I look at the gun. My uncertainty returns. Morrigan squirms in my death grip. “Let me go, Mama! Christian!” He raises a hand to acknowledge her, his steps steadily bringing him closer.

Is he coming to kill us? Terrified of what I might smell, I shakily inhale through my nose.

Warm scents of earth reach me. Salt from the ocean. His usual scents.

I weep in relief. There is also a sour fear and anger, but it is not directed at us.

He crouches next to us in the snow and Morrigan lunges at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. I ache to do the same, but I can’t move. All my stamina is gone. His eyes are serious as he studies me. “What happened to Brent?”

“Gabriel shot him,” I whisper. “We were next.”

He is silent, a struggle in his gaze. He pulls off his gloves, melts some snow in his bare hands, and then applies the moisture to my face, using his glove as a cloth. Brent’s blood. I look at my jacket. It is black, but spots shine where the blood—and worse—landed.

He continues to wash my face. “I’m so sorry, Salome.”

“Did you see him?”

“I did. I saw him through the scope.” He paused. “I couldn’t fire.”

“I understand. He’s your brother. But we have to keep going. I can’t stop.”

“I won’t let him find you.”

“He already did.”

He takes my hand and holds it against his heart. “I didn’t know. I truly didn’t know it was him. I would have never brought you here if I’d known.”

“Why did he do it? Why kill your father . . .”

“I don’t know.”

Odors of lies float between us, and my heart sinks.



We leave Brent where he died.

“I’ll come back for him,” promises Christian. “But I need to get you two to safety first. Nothing more can happen to him.”

I hear his unspoken words. But much, much more can happen to you and Morrigan.

I know Christian has an idea why Gabriel hunted me, but he is silent. We drive. We don’t stop at his glorious home. We leave it far behind us. Hopefully Gabriel has been left far behind too.

The Hummer drives on the snow as if it were dry pavement. “We’ve got to go to the police,” he tells me.

“No! We can’t.”

“Why on earth not? How am I supposed to explain the dead man on my property with half his head gone?” he shouts at me. Fear fills the vehicle. His and Morrigan’s. I look back to my daughter, who is watching and listening, her eyes wide.

I glare daggers at him. “The police might be compromised.”

“How? How can that happen? This isn’t a movie.” His knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel.

“I told you about my father—”

“Yes, you told me he was a kill—enforcer for some crime organization.” He spots Morrigan’s face in the rearview mirror and softens his tone.