Page 273 of Fearless

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Fourteen Years Ago

The smell of rain woke her. Ava turned her head toward the window and breathed in deep the earthy scent of fresh rain, feeling the breeze stroke her face, hearing the soft shushing of the window lifting.

Her eyes opened. Backlit by the street lamp, she saw the window yawning open, silver flecks of rain falling in on top of her desk. And she saw the black shapes of two men climbing into her room.

She screamed.

The men, picking their way carefully so far, clambered over the window ledge. Featureless in the dark, one loomed over her bed. She smelled rain and sweat on him as his hand covered her mouth.

She bit him.

He let out a startled yelp and raised his other hand; she saw the glimmer of metal. He was lifting a knife.

And then suddenly the second man, down at the foot of her bed, was being set upon by a long tall shadow. There was a muffled grunt, a gasp, and then he crumpled with a gurgling sound.

Ava heard Mercy’s voice. “Close your eyes, sweetheart, don’t look.”

She obeyed, screwing them tightly shut.

The remaining intruder cursed and yelled. There were the sounds of a struggle. Slick, metallic sounds, heavy wet sounds, things she couldn’t interpret. She felt the tears seep between her lashes and knotted the blanket in her small fists.

Was Mercy okay? The man had a knife. What if he cut Mercy? What if he hurt him badly?

The tears coursed down her face and she prayed for his safety.

Then she heard a loud thump, like something heavy hitting the floor, and then she smelled Mercy, right up close, the cologne he wore and the leather of his cut and the faint flowers of his shampoo. His huge, warm, familiar hands touched her face. “You okay,fillette? You alright? I took care of it. They can’t hurt you.”

The rough pads of his fingers brushed across her cheeks, wiping at her tears, leaving something warm and wet behind.

She opened her eyes, and saw the dim outline of his face hovering above hers in the shadows, his eyes two glittering points, the streetlamp carving down the high, thin ridge of his nose. She read the concern in him, the warmth and love, no different from that of her parents.

The lights flipped on, suddenly, the brightness assaulting her eyes.

Maggie gasped from the doorway. “Oh my God!”

Mercy pulled back from her, straightening. “It’s okay,” he told Maggie. “She’s fine.”

Ava sat up and she saw the two men on the floor, their wide, staring eyes, like they’d seen something that had startled them. Then she saw the blood. So, so much blood. Seeping onto the pale carpet from the gaping holes in the men’s bellies.

Mercy had blood on his hands, smeared up his arms. He was breathing hard, the fabric of his shirt stretching tight across his chest.

“She’s fine,” he repeated. “They didn’t hurt her.”

**

Present Day

Ava watched the three men close in on her husband, and she realized they didn’t know or care if she was still alive. All their focus was on Mercy. The man who’d taken Jasper’s father and uncle that night in her bedroom, fourteen years ago.

They were going to kill him, right there in the middle of this stretch of road.

That was what they meant to do, anyway. Fourteen years ago, the Larsens had been gunning for her, and never suspected Mercy. Jasper was about to make the reverse decision, and it was going to be just as lethal.

Her left arm wouldn’t lift. Useless. She’d deal with that later. With her right, she fumbled the zipper of her purse open, reached in, curled her hand around the grip of the nine mil Ghost had given her.

Pain exploded through her as she staggered to her feet. She pushed it down. No time for that. Ignore it. Deal with it later. Head spinning, she managed to get both legs straight, and then she was standing, and then she was walking toward the men. Her vision swam, the pavement tilting under her.

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