“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.
McDonald’s face stated he already knew the outcome of the trial. He’s stalling to create a show for his men.
Mercy didn’t hide her frown. Her gaze bounced from Cade to McDonald and then to the men. But still she wasn’t scared. Cade was ready to shit his pants, but Mercy acted as if she were memorizing faces for execution later.
“As you know,” McDonald began in an official tone, pacing between the two benches like a senior statesman, “Cade Pruitt is accused of leaking our secrets to the FBI and leading them to our doorstep.”
“What secrets?” asked Mercy.
“Out of order!” McDonald pointed a fat finger at her face.
Mercy glanced at the audience. “Does Cade not have representation? Surely you’ll allow someone to argue his case. Or are you afraid of what you’ll hear?”
The audience was silent, but every man turned his gaze to McDonald. Frustration flitted across his face and vanished.
“This land is no longer part of the United States,” McDonald intoned. “Things are run differently here.”
“Where are we?” she asked.
No one answered.
“I bet your men would appreciate representation if they ever found themselves on trial,” Mercy stated, raising a brow.
The audience shifted in their seats, and Cade felt the tension rise in the room.
“Owen.” McDonald gestured. “Get up here and help this traitor defend himself.”
Mercy’s head turned with a jerk and froze as she spotted her brother. He slowly stood in the back of the room. Cade’s lungs tightened. Kaylie said he hates Mercy.
Owen Kilpatrick took his time walking to the front. “May I have ten minutes to talk to the defendant?”
“You have one,” McDonald snapped as anger flushed his face.
“You’re talking about this boy’s life,” said Owen. “I think that deserves more than sixty seconds.” He turned and looked over the room, holding his head high. “I know we’re all new to this place, but I think we need to set a precedent of not making snap decisions when someone’s life hangs in the balance. Who knows if it might be you sitting on this bench? How would you want it handled?”
Cade saw a few scattered nods and heard a few mutters. Do they agree? He couldn’t tell if Owen had swayed the crowd. Owen took two steps closer to McDonald and whispered to him loud enough for Cade to hear. “Trying to make you look more objective.”
McDonald’s expression said he didn’t believe that was the reason at all.
“Your time is up,” McDonald stated. He looked at Cade. “What information did you tell the FBI about us?”
“He didn’t tell us anything,” said Mercy.
“Liar!” “Bullshit!” “Don’t let her talk!” came from the audience.
Mercy looked to the group. “He never said a word,” she shouted back. “I didn’t know who he was until I came out here the other day. And I haven’t seen him since then!”
The men didn’t believe her.
Cade couldn’t move, his limbs made of lead. He tuned out the audience’s shouts, his focus on Mercy and Owen, the only two people in the room who seemed to want him to live. Everyone else wants me dead. He couldn’t look at the men he’d worked alongside anymore; they’d become a pack of animals, any friendships he’d started forgotten in their need for blood.
McDonald jerked his head at the two men who’d dragged Cade out of the kitchen. They grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet.