A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(96)

“Hello, Mercy.” His voice came from a distance, but she heard every syllable.

Instant sweat coated her spine at Gabriel’s words. She pivoted in all directions, trying to pinpoint his location. He wasn’t to be seen.

“That’s a lot of blood.”

There he is. He stood thirty feet away, between her and the barn, his body behind a pine as wide as hers.

She lifted her pistol in his direction, trying to line up the sights, but the gun weighed fifty pounds and her arms shook with the effort. Her frozen fingers could barely move. I’ll never make a head shot.

He laughed, not even bothering to protect his head.

Furious, she fired six times, sending the bark of his tree flying through the air.

She slightly lowered her arms, the shots ringing in her ears.

“You missed.” This time he kept his head behind the tree.

“What do you want, Gabriel?” She tried to get behind her own tree, but her leg refused to cooperate, pain rocketing up and down her nerves. Her right knee tried to bend backward and she flailed, grabbing at the trunk, the impact knocking her pistol from her numb hand. It sank into the snow an easy five feet away.

It might as well have been a mile.

Twice I lost my weapon? This time it was her own fault.

A cold that wasn’t from the low temperature ached in her bones as she stared at the small hole in the snow where her weapon had sunk. If I lunge for it, I’ll be stuck.

If I do nothing . . .

At least he probably still believed she had the gun.

I still have a knife.

She settled for partially getting around the tree and sliding to a sitting position, her injured leg straight out in front of her, the other bent. She was still in Gabriel’s view, but now her side was toward him and she made a narrower target. She drew the knife and clenched it to her chest, swearing to never let go. The back of her head dug into the tree, and she wished she could disappear into its trunk. The chill of the snow seeped through her pants, and shivers racked her body. At least I wore my vest.

“I want the whoring witch. Tell Christian I’ll trade you for her.”

“Why Salome?”

“I tried to burn her out. That’s the only way to kill a witch, right?”

The crackle of the flames threatened to make her cry. “She’s not a witch.” Blood continued to flow from her leg, seeping into the snow beneath it. A red shadow lazily grew under the limb, expanding outward through the white. She unwrapped one frozen hand from the knife handle and put pressure on the hole. Blinding fireworks flashed in her eyes, and she fought not to faint.

“Her mother was one. She ruined our family.”

“I don’t think she did that by herself. It takes two, you know.” Her teeth chattered around the words.

“I’d been willing to let it go until I heard the judge was changing his will to leave all his money to her and her spawn.”

He calls his father “the judge”?

Movement off to the right, far behind Gabriel’s tree, caught her eye. Christian. Focusing on her friend took great effort and he blurred, vanishing and reappearing in her vision.

“Was it necessary to kill him?”

“He had to die before he made the changes legal. I need that money.”

“You killed your father for money,” Mercy uttered. “Such a good son.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

“He had it coming! He had no right to abandon his family!”

“And you had the right to kill him for it?”

Silence.

Christian had moved closer, his rifle ready. Farther to his right, Mercy spotted a flash of color between the trees that had to be Salome.

Christian’s angle on his brother must be poor. I know he could make the shot from that distance.

Or does he not want to shoot?

“You don’t want to hurt anyone else, Gabriel.” A point from her negotiating workshop popped into her head. “Don’t make the situation worse than it is. I’ll tell them you backed off when you could have killed me. That’s worth something.”

“Shut up, you lying bitch! I need to end this!”

Distract him. “Why the pattern on the bodies, Gabriel? What were you trying to say?”

“A suitable death for the abomination and her brainwashed lover. I wanted that whoring daughter to know her mother’s powers couldn’t stop me.”

“And Rob Murray?”

Gabriel gave a coarse laugh. “That idiot walked up behind me when I was getting rid of the knife in Christian’s garage. I don’t think he thought it was important, but he might have figured it out later. He didn’t matter.”

Mercy flinched at the ice in his voice. His brain was cracked, rotting with anger and hate. Was it from decades of verbal barrages from his mother? “What did Michael Brody see?” she asked.

“Who? Oh. The reporter.”

Do I hear regret in his voice?

“I agreed to meet him in the park for an interview. He’d said on the phone that he’d found something interesting he wanted to discuss.” His tone intensified. “I think he found out about the loans from the judge.”

“And you shot him for that?” He must believe Michael is dead.

Silence.

“Brody lived,” she said. “You didn’t kill him. I’m sure you can work out a deal—”