Page 258 of Fearless

She ran to the back door when she heard the knock. Mercy’s face was pressed to the glass, and she heaved a giant sigh of relief.

“It’s me, baby,” he said, just so she’d be sure.

She threw the locks and then the door, putting her hands to his chest and stomach immediately, checking that he was whole.

“Are you okay? The shot – was that you?”

“Yeah, it was me.” He eased her back and stroked her hair, soothing her. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, calmed, and then tipped her head back to look him in the face. “Who’d you shoot?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m guessing it was your guy with the hoodie.”

She nodded. “Probably.”

He scratched at his hair, making a face. “I need to get rid of him.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Another blast of relief.

“How’d you like to meet Big Son?”

Aidan pressed his hand over his heart, unable to feel his thumping pulse, comforted instead by the thick Kevlar that covered his chest. He wouldn’t describe himself as afraid. The sensation wasn’t that obvious and visceral. It was just that, when he’d watched his father and Walsh gear up for this night, the military men, he’d seen their complete calm and absorption, and he wished he had that same Zen approach to what they were about to do.

Instead, he felt the fine misting of sweat on his face, and he tugged his black stocking cap down lower on his forehead.

He crouched in the shadow of a car parked at the curb, beside the Carpathians’ front gate. Tango was beside him. They’d already cut through the lock with bolt cutters and now awaited the go-ahead from the team at the rear of the building. On the other side of the gate, Rottie and RJ waited, too, wraiths in the dark.

His father’s last instruction floated through his mind: “If someone makes a break for it, cut him down. No one gets out of here tonight.”

Even though he was bristling with energy waiting for it, the crackle of the radio in his hand sent his heart punching up at the Kevlar.

“Go,” Ghost’s voice floated through the static.

“This is it,” Mercy whispered, withdrawing the push pole from the water and settling it in the bateau.

Ava shivered.

He’d killed the motor what seemed like a mile back, and poled them to this secluded glen, where the branches reached far across the murky pool, blotting out the moonlight, so only the faintest slivers skimmed across the surface.

Back at the cottage, she’d passed a flashlight beam across the dead man’s face and confirmed that yes, he was the man in the hoodie from before. “I called Bob while I was out splitting wood,” Mercy had explained. “No one club-related was watching us. This isn’t anyone we ought to know.”

Ava glanced down at the impenetrable water, the way it clouded her flashlight beam. “You think anyone’s home?”

“Only one way to find out.” He picked up the three large stones he’d brought from the bottom of the boat. “Gators are in the water at night. They don’t get sleepy up on the banks unless it’s full daylight.”

“Right.” The knowledge wasn’t comforting. How many of the great prehistoric beasts, she wondered, passed beneath their small boat as they sat here?

Mercy hefted the first stone. “Sit there, in the bow,” he instructed, “and keep real still. It’s gonna tip the boat a little when I dump him in.”

She nodded and braced her hands on the sides of the bateau, stomach clenching. A vision of the craft capsizing and spilling them both into the gator-infested water filled her mind.

“Okay,” Mercy said, taking a deep breath. “I haven’t done this in a while. I hope the old bastard’s still in the habit.”

He chucked the first rock into the water and it hit with a loud plunk and splash. Ava saw the plume of water flash white in the gloom.

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