“That makes two of us,” she said softly. “But it doesn’t matter now.” She leaned into Truman, still holding the girl, who was sobbing frantically.
“Everything is good,” Mercy whispered. “Everything.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Mercy hung on Eddie’s every word, and Truman gripped her hand as they sat in his living room, exhausted from her rescue yesterday. Truman had brought Mercy back to his home in Eagle’s Nest after a visit to the ER. The doctor had pronounced her fine but a little beat-up. Exactly what she’d informed Truman on the drive home from the woods, but he’d insisted on hearing it from someone else. She’d been x-rayed and poked and prodded while drinking a hot caramel macchiato and eating a Big Mac. Her stomach had churned at the rich food, but her tongue and brain had been in heaven.
The food had helped more than the painkillers.
“Sean spilled everything,” Eddie told them as he sipped from a cup of coffee, his usual jovial face fully serious. “It took all of two minutes before he told us that Neal Gorman had betrayed Tim O’Shea and Mercy to Pete Hodges.”
“What?” Mercy was in shock. “But Neal . . . he . . .” She shook her head, unable to reconcile the actions with the ATF agent who had helped her prep for the assignment. “That can’t be right.”
Eddie grimaced. “We arrested him this morning. We didn’t communicate our suspicions to the ATF, worried that the leak went deeper than just Gorman.”
“That asshole,” grumbled Truman. “Gorman stood with us every minute as we waited through negotiations and then watched the operation blow up.”
“Right?” said Eddie. “You should have seen his face when we showed up at his office this morning. He knew the minute we walked in. I thought he was going to piss his pants.”
“What about Carleen?” Mercy asked as the female agent’s kind brown eyes popped up in her memory.
“Agent Aguirre is clean, according to Gorman,” said Eddie. “It appears this was all on him. Somehow Gorman discovered who had committed the ATF robbery—”
“And murders,” added Mercy.
“Eight months ago. Instead of taking the information to his boss, Gorman kept it close, using it to blackmail Pete into giving him several of the stolen weapons.”
“But why did Gorman want weapons?” Truman asked.
“He sold them. Since he worked for the ATF, he knew who would pay top dollar.”
“Money,” Mercy said with disgust. “It always comes down to money.”
“I think Gorman’s ego took over. Sean said he frequently communicated with Pete.”
“Is that when Gorman told Pete about Chad—I mean Tim—and me?” Mercy’s voice cracked on the agent’s name. His death would always haunt her.
“Sort of.” Eddie took a deep breath. “At some point Gorman decided he wanted glory at the ATF. He started to feed Pete information about crucial servers that were being used at the ATF’s Yakima satellite branch.”
“Servers that didn’t exist,” Truman pointed out.
“Correct. But once the men of America’s Preserve blew up the office, Gorman would turn them in and bask in the triumph for quickly solving a domestic terrorism case.”
“Wait a minute,” said Mercy. “Pete would have immediately fingered Gorman as a leak.”
“Gorman didn’t say it outright, but I think he planned for Pete to have a very short life span after the explosion.”
“But Sean knew someone from a federal agency was feeding Pete information.”
Eddie grinned. “Well, I can tell you Neal Gorman fully believes Pete hadn’t told anyone he had help, but I wonder how many other people knew. Anyway, Pete grew hesitant about the server plan, worrying that it could be traced to them. Gorman started to sweat that his plan would fall apart before it was executed, so he gave Pete information about the spies in his compound, hoping Pete would take care of Tim and Mercy.”
“Sean also knew a federal operation was being set up outside the compound. Gorman must have warned Pete,” Mercy said quietly. “I don’t think Pete trusted anyone—even his closest men. What a horrible way to live.”
“I suspect Pete’s confidence in Gorman was bolstered when he got your names.” Anger vibrated in Truman’s tone.
Mercy’s limbs went cold. Pete could have made brutal examples out of her and Tim O’Shea in front of his people. Instead he’d kept Tim’s death quiet. Mercy wondered if Pete had worried he might have to answer for their deaths one day and didn’t want a compound full of witnesses.
“Why did Pete have Tim’s body dumped near Eagle’s Nest?” Truman asked. “According to what Bolton told me this morning, the first John Doe was the son of the older couple who owned the property where he was found. The couple had suspected the remains could be their son but were too scared of recrimination from Pete to report America’s Preserve to the police. Exactly what Pete wanted. Why did Pete change that with Tim?”
Eddie paused and held Truman’s gaze. “According to Sean, you were the target. Pete believed you knew about Mercy’s assignment. Tim was a message to you.”
“Well, that didn’t fucking work,” Mercy spat out. “Shows how much he knows about Truman. At least Tim’s wife wasn’t the one to find his body.”
Poor Ollie.
Another teen popped into Mercy’s head. She’d witnessed the tearful reunion of Eden and her mother, and then cried herself when she saw Noah, looking alert and healthy for the first time since she’d known him. She’d hugged the boy as his mother thanked her for saving his life. Eden wept as she and Mercy parted, promising to keep in touch. Both children held a special place in her heart.
“What happened to Noah’s father, Jason?” she asked.
“He’s got a huge stack of charges to face, including Tim’s murder.”
“His son nearly died from his inaction,” Mercy pointed out.
“The district attorney is on top of that one too,” Eddie told her. “Oh—the pregnant lady had a baby girl. I was told to deliver the message to you.”
“Cindy.” Mercy mentally crossed off another concern on her list. “Those poor people,” she said slowly, thinking of the other women in the compound. “How will they return to a regular life? No homes, no jobs.” She thought of Beckett and the little bag of supplies he’d given her. Truman had told her the large man had died from gunshot wounds.
Mercy had a dozen conflicting emotions about that.
Her emotions had been on a wild ride for the last twenty-four hours. Overnight she’d clung to Truman and woken up a half dozen times with visions of Sean’s leering gaze or Pete’s fists and boots close to her face.
She felt a squeeze on her hand and turned to see Truman studying her in concern.
“I’m fine.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m going to be fine,” she corrected herself.
He nodded. “I know you will be.”
I just need time.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Three months later
It was their wedding day.
Truman couldn’t stand still and swayed from foot to foot.
Ollie elbowed him. “You gonna faint?” asked the teen, his eyes concerned.
“No.” Truman studied the young man in his new suit. The first suit Ollie had ever owned. “You look good, Ollie.”
Instead of ducking his head, Ollie grinned, straightened his shoulders, and looked Truman in the eye. “I know.” He dusted an invisible speck from his shoulder with a cocky flick of his fingers.