Truman’s mind spun. “You saw this?”
“I wasn’t there the night he ordered Pence’s death, but I heard the story consistently from other men who were. They said Pence and McDonald had a huge blowup over Pence taking things into his own hands. Supposedly Pence thought McDonald would be happy with the death of some cops, but he’d jumped the gun.” He stopped and lowered his tone. “Striking back at the police wasn’t to come until later. McDonald wanted to be more established first.”
Truman pressed his palms against his eyes and bent at the waist, trying to fathom what Owen had just revealed.
McDonald was building a community to rule itself and kill cops.
Pence had killed the deputies on impulse, and McDonald had ordered his death. This was the type of community McDonald was putting together. One where he was king and took orders from no one. He was surrounding himself with a growing army of angry men who secretly hoped to be kings themselves one day and couldn’t see that McDonald offered only a dictatorship.
A society formed by fear, paranoia, and isolation, not formed from freedom. “Why the fire at Pence’s death?” Truman whispered.
Owen shrugged. “There’d been a lot of fires. McDonald figured you’d group them all together. Maybe even blame Pence for all of them.”
I nearly did.
“How can you even be in the same room with him?” Truman asked, his mind spinning. “Most men would give him a wide berth . . . especially after hearing he ordered the murder of Joshua Pence.”
Owen blew out a deep breath. “I was angry. Fuck, I was bitter and furious and looking to strike back after Levi’s death. My brother shouldn’t be dead.” His words shot through the air, forced out with anger and hate.
“I agree it shouldn’t have happened.”
“You were easy to blame,” Owen said slowly. “Mercy was easy to blame. I was brought up to be wary of the government and law enforcement, and when my brother died, I needed someone to take responsibility. It was easier to hate the establishment than admit that Levi might have done something stupid.”
“Levi was intentionally shot. Yes, Levi’s actions up to that point weren’t honorable, but he didn’t pull the trigger. There’s only one person to blame for that. Craig Rafferty.”
“It’s very unsatisfying to blame a dead man.” Owen was broken, his voice barely a whisper.
He can’t get past Levi’s death.
“I hear sirens,” Owen said in a tone of hope just as the far-off sounds reached Truman’s ears.
“Yes!” Relief flooded Truman, and his breathing came easier. He checked for reception on his phone again, desperate to let the county deputies know what was happening inside the compound. No luck. “Dammit!”
The sirens stopped. Owen and Truman stared at each other in the dark, waiting for them to restart.
Perhaps they’re coming in silently.
Rapid gunfire sounded. Even though it was far away, both men crouched and hunkered behind their trees.
“They stopped the law enforcement out on the road,” Owen hissed. “I’m sure Tom sent out a crew to make certain no one gets into the compound.”
Sounds of intermittent gunfire continued, cracking through the night. And then it stopped.
Truman held his breath. Who won? Did more officers just die?
He wanted to vomit.
“Your help isn’t coming,” Owen whispered.
“We don’t know that.” Truman’s heart was somewhere around his feet. What are we going to do? The silence of the night air crushed his hope.
Shouts sounded from the direction of the mess hall. Both men spun to face it as Truman’s heart rate spiked.
“You need to stay hidden,” Owen stated. “If they spot you, I don’t want to think about what they’d do, but I can go in and stall them. Maybe I can get her out somehow.” Owen started toward the hall. “McDonald is probably wondering where I am anyway. Try to get closer to the farmhouse. That’s the best place to get a cell signal.”
Truman grabbed his arm. “Be careful!”
Owen stopped and glanced back at Truman. “I should be fine. For some reason McDonald values my opinion.”
Truman tightened his grip, needing to get the words out before Owen vanished. “Mercy loves you, you know. She’s pissed as hell at how you’ve treated her, but she wants her brother back in her life more than anything.”
Owen froze. His throat moved, and he opened his mouth. It took two tries to form hoarse words. “I know.”
Truman let go of his arm and watched Owen vanish into the darkness. Does he really understand? Does he see Mercy’s pain?
More shouts sounded from the mess hall, and Truman was alone in the cold night.
Do I have any backup?
“It’s time for a trial!” McDonald shouted.
Cade blinked his one good eye in the bright light of the mess hall. Two men had untied his ankles, hauled him off the floor of the pantry, and dragged him onto a bench seat at the front of the room. His feet had been too numb to cooperate. The men of the ranch shouted their pleasure at McDonald’s words.
Immediate sweat ran down his back.
They’re bloodthirsty. And looking at me.
His eye was swollen shut, and he breathed heavily through his mouth, wondering how bad he looked. His nose ached unbearably, but at least the pain in his sides had diminished to simple discomfort. He turned his head to scan the room with his good eye.
What the hell?
On a bench ten feet away was Kaylie’s aunt. She sat up straight, staring directly at him, her face expressionless. Her hands were fastened behind her back the same as his. She wore boots, dark jeans, and a half-zip sweatshirt, looking like any other woman he might see on the streets of Eagle’s Nest, not like an FBI agent. He glanced at the crowd and felt a stab of fear at the way some of the men were staring at her.
His parents had taught him to respect everyone, and it wasn’t respect he saw in the men’s eyes.
He turned his good eye back to her. She hadn’t moved a hair. If she’d been anyone else, he would have thought she was petrified. But the calm in her eyes told him she was in full control.
“I like ’em tall and lean,” shouted one man from the audience. Mercy gave the crowd a brief glance and rolled her eyes, triggering bouts of laughter and more comments.
“She’s not interested in you!”
“Which one you talkin’ about?”
Louder laughter.
Cade ignored the crass comment as terror ripped through his heart.
“Settle down!” McDonald ordered. “Everyone take a seat! Now!”
The men in the room jumped to obey, pushing and shoving to get the seats closer to the front of the room. Cade looked at Mercy again. The two of them sat on identical benches, facing the crowd. McDonald stood between them.
Which one of us is on trial?
McDonald turned and smiled at him, his eyes nearly disappearing in the folds above his cheeks.
It’s me.