“I’m thinking out loud.”
Truman slowly drove around the last bend to the McDonald property and spotted a few building lights. “We need to wait for our backup. I was ready to knock on doors and ask about Cade, but now I don’t think that’s the best course of action.”
“Absolutely not. Park at the edge and we’ll sit tight until they get here. I have no desire to confront some wannabe militia members in the dark.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Mercy sat in the dark next to Truman, her eyes straining to see through the night. Truman had stopped near the vehicles parked farthest from the buildings, not wanting to stick out by parking alone. The ranch was silent. They’d cracked their windows, and the lack of noise made her want to crawl up the inside walls of the vehicle. Truman sat quietly, his focus and calm keeping her nerves from leaping out of her limbs.
No anxiety in him this evening.
She could see a half dozen lights on different buildings. The brightest was on the farmhouse in the distance. It was after 9:00 p.m., and no silhouettes moved in the shadows. Is everyone in bed already? Her gaze traveled over the small bunkhouses. Cade had told Kaylie that McDonald planned to house more than a hundred men.
The thought made her insides shudder.
“What’s that?” Truman whispered. “Over there. By the king cab truck.”
Mercy stared into the dark. Sure enough, she spotted the outline of a figure darting between the vehicles, working toward their end of the parking area. “It’s moving this way.”
Truman touched the handle of his door.
“Wait,” Mercy said almost silently. The figure passed between two trucks, a brief silhouette in the night. “It’s a woman!” she exclaimed under her breath. Disappointment filled her chest. She’d hoped it was Cade.
“You’re right.”
Hunched over, the woman dashed through the dark, using the vehicles as cover. As she drew closer, Mercy saw she carried a duffel bag and glanced over her shoulder several times. She’s scared.
“I’m going,” she said. “Don’t let the inside lights turn on when I open the door.”
“They’re off, and I’m going with you.”
“I’ll talk.”
“I’ve got you covered.”
Mercy opened her door as quietly as she could and breathed a sigh of relief as the Tahoe’s cab lights stayed off. The woman reached a nearby car, and Mercy heard the grate of a key sliding into the lock of the door. She took several steps toward the woman, stopping with twenty feet between them.
“Excuse me,” Mercy said as calmly as she could.
The woman whirled around, her hand pressed to her chest, her terror apparent in the dark.
Mercy raised her hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said kindly, as every piece of her focused on the position of the woman’s hands. She hasn’t reached for a weapon.
Yet.
“You scared the crap out of me,” the woman said. The dim light lit her blonde braid, and she was nearly as tall as Mercy. She squinted in the dark. “Who are you?” Her voice shook, and she reminded Mercy of a doe ready to bolt at the slightest hint of danger.
“I’m looking for a friend.” Don’t scare her away.
“This isn’t a place to find friends,” the blonde stated. “I definitely wouldn’t come here alone. Especially as a woman at night. You’re just looking for trouble.”
“I’m not alone.” Mercy tipped her head in Truman’s direction. “He’s helping me.”
The woman took a half step back as she spotted Truman’s tall shadow for the first time. She glanced at Mercy. “He’s safe?”
“Yes. Are you worried for your safety?”
“Not anymore. I’m out of here.”
“Why are you leaving?” Truman asked.
“I’m done working for this guy.” She opened the passenger door, quickly tossed her bag inside, and shut it, keeping the noise to a minimum. She moved like a bird, rapid and fluttery.
“McDonald?” Mercy asked. “What did you do for him?”
“Cook. Clean. Whatever was needed. I thought McDonald was okay at first . . . but now I have my doubts. He’s good at presenting an honest front, but behind the scenes he’s ruthless. He’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants.” Her voice lowered and she glanced behind her. “People have died. People who crossed him. But he claims he had nothing to do with it.”
Joshua Pence?
“And the guys he attracts are also a problem. They think I’m here for more than labor.” Her voice was steady but full of anger, her pale profile proud. “I’m not putting up with it anymore.”
“Do you have somewhere to go?” Mercy asked.
“Yep. I’ll go crawling back to my sister’s house. She told me not to accept this position, and she was right.” She strode around the front of her car to the driver’s side.
“Do you know Cade Pruitt?” Mercy took several steps closer, unwilling to let her leave just yet.
The woman froze and turned around. “Why?”
“He’s the friend we’re looking for.”
In the dark, Mercy saw the blonde’s gaze go from her to Truman and back. “He screwed up.” Her voice wavered, and Mercy worried she’d bolt.
“What does that mean?” Fear bloomed in Mercy as she remembered how Cade had told Kaylie that Joshua Pence screwed up.
“I was going to call the police once I left.” She stood still, a motionless bird in the split second before it rocketed into the sky.
Truman stepped next to Mercy. “Why? What happened to him?”
The woman took a half step in their direction, her eyes black holes in her pale face, and whispered, “They’ve got him locked up. They said he ratted them out to the FBI.”
Mercy caught her breath.
“All the men are furious. I don’t want to know what they’ll do to him, but I’ve heard how Tom McDonald takes care of people who go against him.” Her head dipped in Mercy’s direction. “I’m really sorry about your friend, but it’s too late to help him. The only thing you can do is call the police and hope they’ll respond all the way out here.”
“Has he been hurt?” Truman asked.
“He’s still breathing. For now.”
“The police are on their way,” Mercy said. She showed the woman her ID. “I’m with the FBI. We’re waiting for our backup.”
“I don’t know whether to be relieved or scared for you,” the woman said, backing away again. Her hands shook.
“Why would you be scared for us?” asked Truman.
“Because that crowd sees the police as the enemy . . . and that kid isn’t going to survive the night.”
Cade could see out of only one eye. Not that it mattered in the pitch dark.
The rough wooden floor was gritty under his cheek, and both hands were numb from his having his arms tied behind his back. He was tired of lying on his stomach, but he was also grateful that they’d stopped kicking him. The darkness was his closest friend, hiding his tears and allowing him to take inventory of his injuries.
His ribs hurt every time he breathed, and he’d puked up the soda he’d drunk on the way to the ranch. He breathed through his mouth, his nose smashed and clogged with drying blood.