“Mac’s here.”
Those two words didn’t sound profound. Didn’t sound like they should carry so much dread, yet they did.
Chapter 6
I’ve spent the past fifteen years as a corrections officer at Petesville Super Max. Of all the inmates, Killion was always the politest, friendliest, and most engaging. He seemed like the kind of guy you’d invite over for a beer and to watch the game.
—Joshua Beckers, corrections officer (retired)
Cain had survived some serious shit in his life. And yet standing here—in front of Mercy Ledger—he felt like a fucking coward.
“Cain?” Mercy’s tone drowned in an emotion that sounded an awful lot like fear.
He couldn’t look at her.
She’d been a trouper this time when she’d awakened, but that didn’t mean the next time she wouldn’t be scared shitless again. Her short-term memory was garbage. She probably wouldn’t remember this, and he didn’t know how long the meds would remain in her system. They could still be in there, still be sedating her from the full impact of being in the same room with him.
He’d been delusional to think she’d feel anything except fear toward him. The best thing was for him to adios, amigos before full-frontal awareness hit.
He forced himself to walk across the cabin and open the door. He lost momentum just before he stepped outside. The urge to look at her, to say something, nearly overcame his good sense. The door shut behind him. The familiar thunk of wood meeting wood was a period, the end of him and Mercy. He would never see her again.
Unless he revived his old stalking routine.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
No. No. No.
The idea of watching her appealed to him so much that he recognized the danger in it. He wouldn’t do that. He would pretend she didn’t exist.
Mac stood at the back of his car—trunk up, rummaging around inside.
Cain strode across the gravel drive toward him. The crunch and crack of rock underneath his boots echoed in the quiet. Overhead, clouds the color of sad days had settled just over the treetops, and he could feel the moisture in the air—the prelude to a downpour.
He rounded Mac’s trunk. Mac held his service revolver in his hand, not in the ready-aim-fire position, but just holding it like he would a sack of groceries.
“Here’s the rundown.” Cain sucked in a breath. “Liz asked me to take her. It was a stupid-ass idea, but I didn’t see any alternatives. If you had seen her, you would’ve done it too. Right now, she’s over the worst of the withdrawals. But her short-term memory is gone from the shock treatments. She’s more lucid than she has been, but she’s still a bit off balance.” Off balance—he was being intentionally vague. No way was he telling Mac about her so-called ability. Didn’t want the guy to think that she actually deserved to be in the Center, but he wanted to lay the groundwork of blaming the meds and shocks in case she mentioned it.
Mac settled his service pistol in the portable gun safe, shut the lid, and then checked to make certain it was locked. “Not taking a weapon around her until I can gauge her mental state.”
Part of Cain wanted to argue that she wasn’t dangerous and didn’t need such considerations, but she had been in the Center, medicated, and shocked. If anyone had a right to be a bit nutso, it was her.
“Last time she woke up, she thought I was…” Still couldn’t say the name. Mac gave a nod—he knew. Hell, everyone with eyeballs knew. “She ran from me. I found her in the middle of the road…” He couldn’t bring himself to say crawling away from me. That was just too damned shameful to utter out loud.
“You’re not him.” Mac’s tone brimmed with sympathy. Fucking sympathy.
Give him anger. Give him fear. Give him fuzzy-assed unicorns that shit glitter and gold—just don’t give him sympathy. Sympathy sucked a giant sack.
Mac put his hand on Cain’s shoulder, a fatherly gesture meant to offer silent comfort and solidarity. And it did. But only to a point. Didn’t change Cain’s need to get the fuck away from her before she got scared of him again.
Mac looked beyond him to the cabin. “So two days ago, Liz asked you to take Mercy?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d she seem?”
“She was fucked up from all the meds and shocks.”
“I meant, how was Liz?”
“If you’re asking if she was in her right mind, yeah, she was. If I hadn’t gotten Mercy out of there, she’d probably be dead by now. Liz saved her life.”
Mac studied him, really studied Cain’s face as if he were looking for the lie he might be telling. Only Cain wasn’t lying. And Mac would see that.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why haven’t you ever told me about this place? I’ve wondered where you go for days at a time. I would’ve respected your privacy. I just wouldn’t have worried.”
Heat crept up Cain’s neck, burning his cheeks. It was just like Mac to notice he would go off-radar, but not say anything until Cain opened the door. “I just… I needed… I wanted to be away from it all. Where no one could find me, and I could…” Draw the foul things I see on the backs of my eyelids every time I try to sleep. He clamped his lips closed. Jeesh, he didn’t want to have a confession session out here in the middle of the driveway.
“I get it. You wanted a place where you weren’t Killion’s kid.”
Mac had it backwards. This was the place where Cain could be his father’s son. Those journals buried in the woodpile proved that. Cain didn’t say anything. No words would be right. They’d either be a lie or the truth, and neither of those choices had a happy ending. Time for a subject change. “What did you find out about the symbol?”
“I googled it—an upside-down question mark with a slash through it.”
“That’s what the FBI has resorted to? Google?”