A Merciful Silence Page 41
Thank God.
No other shots came, and the officers on the other side of the rocks announced that their man was in custody. Mercy and Anna slowly left the trees, their weapons trained on the man covering his head.
As they drew closer, Mercy’s suspect whipped out his hand and lurched for his weapon. Three fast steps put Mercy at his head, her gun pointed at his skull. “Just try it,” she said in a low voice, as anger raced through her. “Your buddy has several holes in his chest. Do you want some too?”
He slowly returned his hand to the back of his head.
Mercy covered Anna as she cuffed the man. Once he was secure, she exhaled and noticed Lou and his partner checking their suspect. Lou looked her way and shook his head. He was dead. She winced in sorrow for the suspect and for the officers who had fired.
Truman. “Truman?” she shouted at the rocks, her weapon trained on the rocky hiding place. I don’t know else who might be in there.
“Mercy?”
His voice lit up every nerve receptor in her body. He’s alive. Anticipation made the gun shake in her icy hands. “Are you hurt?” Her voice cracked as she took careful steps closer to the boulders, wanting to dash between them. “The three men out here are in custody. Are there any more in the area?”
“No, just us.” A familiar tall figure limped out from the rocks, and she lost her breath at the sight of him. His face was thin and covered with two weeks of beard. His clothing and hair were filthy, but he looked stunningly beautiful to her. She holstered her weapon and ran the rest of the way, flung herself at him, and nearly knocked him down, her thigh forgotten. The only thing that mattered was him.
Finally. I’m not letting go.
His arms went around her and he clung tightly, his beard soft against her cheek. And wet. He started to shake, and she moved him to a rock to sit on and nearly crawled in his lap as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He wept, burying his face against her. A moment later he pulled back and put his right hand on her face, eyeing her hungrily. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered over and over.
“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, moving her hands to hold his face. She couldn’t stare at him enough. His face felt foreign yet familiar to her fingertips as they learned the new contours of his sunken cheeks.
“I thought I was too,” he admitted. He moved his hand to her shoulder and frantically rubbed it up and down her arm, his gaze still locked on her face. “I didn’t think I’d ever touch you again.”
His eyes were red and wet, and he continued to quake under her fingers.
“You’re not moving your left arm,” she noticed.
“I think it’s broken.”
The pain he must have suffered.
“Is the rest of you okay?” She pulled back and assessed him.
“Everything is okay now.”
“No, seriously, Truman. Are you hurt somewhere else?”
“I think I had a concussion, and I know I had a fever for a while . . . I’m a bit banged up, but my arm is the worst of it.”
“We’ll get you to a hospital.” She stood, determined to carry him out if she had to, and nearly bumped into a young man directly behind her. A small hound sat next to his feet and showed Mercy its teeth. Anna stood a few yards behind the young man, her weapon holstered, but her hand ready as she kept a careful watch on the teenager.
“Mercy,” said Truman. “This is Ollie. He saved my life.” His voice wavered. “I would be dead if he hadn’t gotten me out.” He straightened his spine and sat up, his eyes widening. “Ollie knows where to find the guys who took me. They are running a—”
“We know.” Mercy put a calming hand on his shoulder. “We’ve already arrested the three men back at the house. Joshua Forbes came in and told us where you might be. His father was one of the ringleaders.”
Truman slouched on the rock in relief. “Forbes. It seems so long ago that I pulled him over. One stupid traffic stop triggered this whole thing.” He covered his eyes with one hand and shuddered.
He’s been through hell.
“Is everyone else okay?” he asked. “My men . . .”
“Everyone is fine. Your parents and sister will be happy to hear you’ve been found.” She glanced at Lou, who had stepped away and was speaking on his radio. The message that Truman was fine should spread quickly.
“I worried what they might think,” he admitted, his dark eyes searching her face. “I worried what was going through your head too.”
“It was rough,” Mercy agreed, unwilling to share her bouts of guilt and doubt and depression. Truman had enough on his plate. She hugged him again, unable to get enough of the feel of his body. He’s safe.
“Can you drive one of those things?” Lou came back and gestured at one of the quads, raising a brow at Mercy.
“Yes.”
“Let’s get him loaded up, then, and you can ride out of here in luxury.” He glanced over at the dead body. “I’ll drive that one out, Anna can drive out the kid, and then everyone else can start walking.”
“I’m not a kid.” Ollie spoke for the first time. “And I’ll head back to my own place. I don’t need a ride.”
“No,” Truman said firmly. “You’re coming out. You and Shep will stay with me for a bit.”
Ollie looked at the ground. “That’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is. We already discussed this.” Truman was adamant.
Mercy watched the exchange, wondering what had happened between the two of them in the woods. Truman has taken him under his wing. “Ollie, is your family close by?” she asked him. The teenager looked exactly as he’d been described by Forbes’s men. A hermit who lived in the woods.
“His family is gone,” Truman told her. “He’s going to stay with me until he gets his feet underneath him. We’ve got plans for his future.”
Ollie looks less than convinced.
But he needs help.
“I hope Shep doesn’t mind cats,” she told Ollie. “Simon is the ruling queen of Truman’s house.”
The teen finally smiled.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Truman was relieved to be out of the woods. I’ll never enjoy camping again.
After a painful ride on the quad that had continuously jolted Truman’s broken arm, Mercy took him straight to the hospital. Ollie refused to let Truman out of his sight and tagged along, which meant Shep was there too. The ER staff banished the dog and Ollie outside while Mercy and Truman spent the next three hours in the emergency room. His parents and sister showed up, and more hugs and tears were exchanged. After an hour he sent his family back to their hotel with promises to see them the next day.
Mercy had sucked in a deep breath at the sight of the colorful bruises on his back and ribs, but there was nothing to be done but allow them to heal. He pissed in a cup and was told his kidneys were doing their job. His head was scanned and his arm was x-rayed. The head looked good, but the arm was broken, as expected. “You’re lucky,” the busy ER doctor said. “We don’t cast this sort of break. Usually a splint is all we do, and it looks like you had a pretty good makeshift one. Keep the arm still and elevate it when you can.”
He went home and showered for thirty minutes, letting the horror of the past week go down the drain. Then he ordered Ollie to shower and gave him a spare pair of pajamas. When the teen was sacked out in his guest room with Shep on the bed beside him, Truman finally allowed himself to go to bed.
Mercy snuggled beside him, and they whispered in the dark and touched each other’s skin, hair, and face. He couldn’t stop touching her to make certain he wasn’t dreaming, and she seemed to feel the same. She asked a lot of questions, and he told her the bare minimum. Talking about it brought back too many memories. He pushed aside the flashbacks of extreme thirst and fear of losing circulation in his arm.
“What was it like for you?” he asked her.
“I had a lot of bad days,” she admitted. “My emotions were all over the place. The longer you were gone, the deeper I sank. The not knowing . . .” Her voice was raw and earnest. It was a poignant side she rarely exposed.
“This sounds stupid, but I think that you were in a worse mental and emotional situation than I was,” Truman told her. “Once Ollie got me out, I knew I’d be okay. You didn’t have that luxury.”
“You can’t say I had it worse. I saw the shed.”
“Yes, that was hell.” He shuddered. “My mind wants to block most of it. At least I wasn’t in there long.”
She told him she needed a shower, gave him a long kiss, and disappeared into his bathroom.
It’d been a very, very long day.
Truman would never take his home or mattress or gas heat for granted again. He closed his eyes and appreciated the soft pillow beneath his head, and the vibration of the cat purring on his chest.
Even under the cover of the sound of the shower, he heard Mercy’s sobs. Against every desire in his heart, he didn’t go to her. She needed to expel the pain and fear in private. She’d come to him when she was ready.
He’d nearly drifted to sleep on a glorious sea of painkillers when he felt her crawl back in bed, smelling of soap and fresh water.
“I love you,” she whispered as she formed her body to his.
“I love you more,” he answered and then remembered nothing else.
The next morning he woke to the scent of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. And coffee. The heavenly odors reached his starving caffeine receptors and lifted him out of bed. Ollie was coming out of the guest room as Truman stepped into the hall. The teen was following the smells too. Even Shep’s nose twitched. Ollie’s usually greasy hair was a wild but clean mop on his head. Truman ran a hand over his own facial hair. He hadn’t hated the sight of it in the mirror, but he had been shocked at the change in his facial shape caused by his weight loss. He shook his wrist, still not used to his single handcuff bracelet’s absence. Mercy had removed it at the hospital.