“No, I suspect they’re watching over Cade.” I hope. “We’ll move in assuming that there are other people in there.” Standard operating procedure.

Weapons ready, they did a quick circle around the tiny house, peeking in windows and noting exits. The brightest light in the house was in a rear room Truman figured was the kitchen. Ancient half curtains blocked them from seeing in, their red rickrack trim reminding him of the curtains in his grandmother’s old home. Reconnaissance finished, they silently worked their way up the stairs to the front door. Truman opened it, thankful for the bare light bulb that lit the interior, and together he and Mercy covered the hidden corners of the room before moving in.

Walking in tandem with their shoulders touching to keep in sync, he and Mercy rapidly cleared the lower level of the house, leaving the well-lit room at the back for last. Truman nodded at Mercy and held his breath as they entered the kitchen simultaneously. Tom McDonald sat at the table eating a bowl of stew, and he froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Mercy trained her weapon on McDonald while Truman checked the corners. McDonald had stew in his beard. He slowly lowered the spoon to the table and lay his hands flat on either side of his bowl, his gaze darting between Truman and Mercy.

“Well, look who it is,” said McDonald, drawing out his words. “I don’t suppose you’re here to share my stew.”

Truman stepped behind him and checked him for weapons, removing a revolver from his belt and then handcuffing him. It took two sets of handcuffs linked together to bring McDonald’s arms in place behind his back. Truman rattled off a statement about temporarily securing McDonald for the safety of the officers, and McDonald shot him a black look over his shoulder.

He silently watched McDonald while Mercy took the stairs to the upper level of the house. He traced her movements by the sound of her footsteps overhead. Each hushed shout of “Clear!” as she moved from room to room steadied his breathing. She was back within less than a minute.

“Where’s Cade Pruitt?” asked Mercy.

McDonald took a long moment to size her up. “Not sure who you’re talking about. I have a lot of men working for me.”

Truman resisted an urge to whack him in the head to jolt his memory.

Mercy gave a smile that made Truman’s skin crawl. “Is he still alive?” she asked sweetly. “Or has he met the same fate as Joshua Pence?”

McDonald stared calmly at her. “Again . . . not sure what you’re getting at.”

“In five minutes this ranch will be crawling with FBI agents and Deschutes County deputies,” she said with the same smile. “How about you do some work on restoring your memory before they arrive?”

He leaned back in his chair and gave a lazy smile, a man in no hurry.

Truman sighed.

“I believe you’re trespassing,” offered McDonald. “Neither of you have jurisdiction to be here. I’ve declared this property to no longer be part of the United States. Therefore you’re subject to our laws, and both of you are breaking them.”

Mercy rolled her eyes.

“I warned you,” McDonald said. “I’m not liable for what might happen to the two of you. You’ve trespassed on my land, taken away my weapon, and handcuffed me against my will. The two of you are the reason why this country is taking a stand against the police.”

“We’ve been informed that Cade Pruitt’s life is in danger on this property,” stated Truman.

“That’s no business of mine,” said McDonald. “Or yours.”

A soft noise sounded from outside the kitchen’s back door, and Mercy’s head jerked at the sound. She nodded at Truman, her weapon still trained on McDonald. Truman visualized the space they’d reconnoitered moments before. A few concrete steps led to the door. No debris or fencing for someone to hide behind. It was a wide-open area at the back of the house. The only cover for an assailant would be the corner of the house. Truman moved to the side of the door and shouted, “Eagle’s Nest Police Department! Who is outside?”

Silence.

No sounds of footsteps leaving.

He shouted again.

“I’m going to check,” he told Mercy. She nodded and moved to back him up.

Weapon leading, he opened the door and did a rapid two-step and swing of his arms to check the entire area. No one is out here. He jumped off the steps to the left and placed his back against the house as Mercy covered him and the right side from the top of the stair. He took a few steps to the left, welcoming the calm that’d taken over his limbs. Even his heartbeat felt steady. No fear.

“Oooof!”

He whirled around in time to see Mercy collapse and be dragged back into the home, her feet trailing. The door slammed behind her. “Mercy!”

His vision tunneling, Truman rushed for the steps but was grabbed from behind around the waist, his weapon arm pinned, and thrown to the ground. Noooo! The man’s bulk landed on top of him, knocking the air from his lungs. A burst of energy lit up his brain and instinct took over. Fight back!

Truman brought his elbow back into his assailant’s chest and kicked with every ounce of his being, determined to keep the man from grabbing his weapon, which was stuck between his stomach and the dirt. I won’t let them take her!

“Hold still!” hissed in his ear, and Truman flung back another elbow, connecting with something hard. “Fuck!” The grip around his stomach and weapon arm tightened.

“It’s me, Owen! You’ve got to get out of here!”

Truman stopped kicking. Owen? “They’ve got Mercy!”

“There’s a half dozen of them in the house now. You can’t take on all of them!”

Truman lay still, his mind racing and his heart pounding against the ground. How do I get to her?

I’m an idiot.

She hadn’t watched her back.

At least Truman got away.

She sat on the floor in the kitchen, her back to a wall, wearing a pair of Truman’s handcuffs, as McDonald’s men searched the property for Truman. She’d been focused on clearing the yard when she’d been rushed from behind. She’d heard the boot steps a split second too late. A half dozen men had taken her to the floor, knocked the breath out of her lungs, and disarmed her before she could breathe again. Now she had a growing bruise on the back of her skull and a sore breast from the joker who’d thought he had the right to maul her as the others bound her hands. He sported a new falsetto.

Mercy glared at another man, who hovered over her. He had a lascivious smile on his face that made her stomach crawl. He deliberately adjusted his jeans at his crotch. “Give me a break,” she muttered.

“I’ll give you something.” More leers.

“Grow up.”

“Oh, I’m old enough for you, darlin’.” Two of his bottom front teeth were missing.

For all his sexy advances, the man hadn’t touched her. He’d kept a pistol aimed at her head, but he stayed a good distance from her feet. She’d already proved she could kick.

Four men had been left to guard her.

I think that number is a compliment.

Three of them kept a healthy distance, but the fourth had slowly worked his way closer as he tried to seduce her with his charming banter. She uncrossed and recrossed her boots, holding his gaze, amused when he scooted back six inches. She wasn’t scared; she was on edge, her senses on high alert, watching and analyzing every word and action around her. Whatever was going to happen would happen, and she’d do her damnedest to get out without getting hurt. For all their blustering, they were now keeping their hands off her. There weren’t a lot of IQ points in the room, and her mind was preparing arguments for her release.

Heavy treads in the hallway told her McDonald had returned.

He entered the room and the four men stood at attention, snapping to with nonmilitary precision. McDonald waved a hand at them and they relaxed.

At least they didn’t salute the man.

McDonald stopped at her feet and stared down at her. Mercy looked back, moving only her eyes, not her head, and raised a brow at him.

“How fast the cards change,” stated McDonald. “Are you a betting woman?”

“No. I don’t gamble.”