Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3), Brett Battles [best books to read in your 20s TXT] 📗

“Any way to know if the last two have tenants?”

“There is nothing about that here. I could probably find that out from the companies’ databases. It will take a little bit of time, though.”

“Let’s assume they’re empty for now.” I think for a moment. “If he’s here to visit the Lindons, he would have driven up to their house. Which means he’s probably at one of the other two. He’s not going to be setting a fire in this weather, but he could be here to scope out the location of a future one.”

Jar nods, agreeing.

“The question is, which place is he at?” I say. “What do you think?”

“That we can’t know that yet.”

“I’m just looking for your best guess.”

She ponders this. “All but two of the prior fires have been at properties owned by Gage-Trent.”

“So you’re saying the Gage-Trent place.”

“No. I am saying probability indicates that one.” With a glance at her computer, she adds, “According to county records, the Hayden Valley farm has the larger house, and includes not only a barn but a separate workshop. The Gage-Trent property has only a house and a barn.”

“The Hayden Valley one, then.”

“I did not say that, either.”

I snort a laugh.

“Why don’t you tell me which one you think it is?” she says.

“No clue.”

Even when we are at our busiest, it’s fun to tease Jar. Not too much, mind you. She may be small but she can hurt me. What I draw out of her this time is a gawk that quickly transitions into a steel-eyed glare. I sense no other imminent retaliation, however, so I’ll take this one as a victory for me.

I make a U-turn and drive slowly down the edge of the road, stopping when we can see the end of the driveway that leads to the Hayden Valley property.

In truth, I would weigh the chances of which property Bergen is on at around sixty percent the Gage-Trent place and forty percent Hayden Valley. It would be more like eighty/twenty if Jar didn’t add the info about the buildings at each location.

“Binoculars?” I ask.

She pulls them out of her backpack and hands them to me.

I scan the area, following the driveway through the fields and up to a house about a hundred meters from the road. As you can imagine, the rain isn’t making it easy to see things, and while I can pick out the house and the two other buildings beyond it, all three look grey in the dreariness of the storm. As far as I can tell, none of them have any lights on inside. I also don’t see any cars parked near the house.

The place looks unoccupied, which means it would fit the arsonist’s pattern.

After giving the buildings one last look, I pull back onto the road and head toward the entrance to the Gage-Trent property.

As we pass the road where Bergen’s car is still parked, Jar checks it through the binoculars. “No one. He’s not back yet.”

I go past the Gage-Trent driveway about one hundred meters and make another U-turn, then crawl back until we are about thirty meters from the entrance. Again, I scan the area through the binoculars, and again I see gray buildings with no lights on and a parking area with no cars.

As Jar indicated, the house here is smaller than the other one. Much smaller, in fact. It’s only one story, and unless there’s an entire wing extending from the opposite side that I can’t see, it can’t have more than two not very large bedrooms. In other words, it doesn’t appear to be a very inviting target. The problem is, we don’t know the deciding factor behind why certain properties have been chosen to burn. So it’s possible this place is the Mercy Arsonist’s next target.

I continue to watch for the next several minutes, hoping to catch Bergen exiting the house or barn.

“Nate,” Jar says, her hand touching my arm.

I lower the binoculars

“Look.” She points down the road.

In the distance, I see a small, bright red light—artificial, not a fire. It’s off the side of the road, right where Bergen left his car.

Oh, crap.

I toss the binoculars to Jar, put the truck in gear, and tap on the gas. Since we are between Bergen and Mercy, I’m sure he’ll be driving this way. And though he can’t see us at the moment, because our lights are still off, he would eventually if we stay where we are. I don’t want him to catch even a glimpse of us.

Keeping my foot off the brake pedal to prevent the brake lights from flashing, I turn down the entrance road to the Gage-Trent farm. From the cracks and divots, it’s obvious it’s been a while since the driveway last saw much use. My cautious side tells me to slow down with every bump, but I don’t.

“Where is he?” I ask when we’re halfway to the house.

Jar is looking through the binoculars, toward Bergen’s car. “He’s backing onto the road.”

I floor it.

The truck bucks and skids through the water and mud but stays on the driveway. Less than twenty seconds later, we reach the house. I pull behind it and let us roll to a stop. Though the rain should be enough to keep him from seeing us, hiding behind the house will guarantee it.

Jar is twisted around now, the binoculars pointing out the back window. Several quiet seconds pass before she says, “There he is. No change in speed.” Another few moments tick by before she lowers the glasses. “He’s gone.”

If Bergen was at the Gage-Trent property, I would have seen him walking back to his car. But I didn’t.

Which leaves only one place he could have gone.

I swing the truck around and head back toward the main road.

Jar finds the unlatched window on the Hayden Valley Agriculture farmhouse. It’s along the back at ground level. A basement window, narrow, but not too narrow for someone to squeeze through, especially