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

hurt more than they were by their father.

“We’re fine,” Evan says. “Don’t worry.”

“Where…where were you?” she asks.

“Mom, I told you. Someplace safe.”

“We were with Evan’s friends,” Sawyer says. “They were very nice.”

“I’m glad to hear that, honey.”

“They let us watch movies on their computer.”

“Oh?” Kate looks at Evan, concerned.

“Disney movies,” Evan says.

“Okay,” she says. “Good.”

“I need to change clothes,” Sawyer says. “I wore these clothes yesterday.” I’m happy he’s changed the subject. I was worried he’d give away more about us.

“Oh, honey, of course. Do you want to take a shower first?”

“It’s not shower time.”

“Right. It’s not, is it? Go up and put something else on, then. We’ll do the shower later.” She looks at Evan. “What about you?”

“I could use a change, too.”

“And…are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry.”

He follows his brother upstairs, but it’s not long before he returns. He’s dressed in dark clothes now like I suggested, a long-sleeve black T-shirt and indigo jeans. When he grabs his jacket off the hook by the door, Kate comes out from the kitchen.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I need to take care of something.”

“No. You need to stay here. You’re grounded, remember?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “I’ve just spent two days taking care of Sawyer, making sure he’s safe. I need a little time for myself, that’s all.”

We were sure she’d try to keep him home, so I helped Evan work out an excuse that would hopefully get her to relent. What he just said is not what we prepared. It’s better. You can see its effect in how she looks ashamed. But instead of giving him the okay, she says, “Your father will expect you to be here. If he comes home and you’re not—”

“I promise you—I’ll be home before he is.” Evan Price, king of semantics. He knows if all goes well, his father is never coming home.

His mother looks less than convinced by his words.

“I promise,” he says. “If he gets here first, you can ground me for the entire summer.”

She frowns. “Where are you going?”

“No place special.”

She studies him and finally nods. “All right.”

He smiles and starts pulling on his jacket.

“You’d better keep your word,” she says.

“I will.”

She hugs him and he heads out the door.

Ten minutes later, my phone rings.

“I’m out,” Evan says.

“Good. And your friend?”

“She just picked me up.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“No way.”

“Okay, then it’s time to get into position.”

“Roger. We’re on our way.”

“You don’t have to do that. We’re using a phone. And besides, we never say roger.”

“Oh, then what do you say?”

“If we’re on a radio, we say copy. But we’re on a phone so we say got it or okay.”

“Right. Sorry. I mean, got it.”

“Evan, be careful.”

He pauses before saying, “Okay.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I park the truck on the road that runs three hundred meters behind the Whittaker farm, and Jar and I walk in from there. The barn and the workshop have not been disturbed, the tells I put on their doors all still in place.

At the house, we bypass Bergen’s jimmied window, pick the lock on the kitchen door, and enter.

I check my watch—4:57 p.m.

It’s time.

I call Evan first, make sure he’s where he needs to be, and tell him to be ready. Next, I place a call to Price Motors.

On Jar’s computer is the video feed from one of our cameras in Chuckie’s office. He’s at his desk, going through a stack of papers.

“Price Motors, where you’ll always get the best price. How may I direct your call?” The woman who answers is young and perky.

“Charles Price, please,” I say. I’m using the same setting on my voice modulator as I did when I talked to Travis Murphy at the driving range.

“May I tell him who’s calling?”

“Dr. Anthony Ruiz.”

“One moment.”

The phone rings in Chuckie’s office. He reaches over, touches a button, and says, “Yes?”

From the speaker, the same voice that answered my call says, “I have an Anthony Ruiz on the line for you.”

Chuckie pauses, trying to place the name. “What does he want?”

“He didn’t say. Would you like me to ask him?”

“Yeah, that would be a good idea,” he says, as if she should have already done so.

Chuckie’s put on hold and I’m taken off.

“Mr. Ruiz, may I tell Mr. Price what this is regarding?” the receptionist asks.

“It’s about a friend of his. Paul Bergen.”

“Thank you. Please hold.”

Chuckie and I flip phone statuses again.

“Mr. Price? He says it’s about someone named Paul Bergen.”

Chuckie snaps up his receiver to take the call off speaker. “Put him through.”

Jar mutes her computer to prevent us from accidentally creating a feedback loop as the receptionist comes back on my line. “Putting you through now. Have a nice day.”

A click, and then the line rings. On Jar’s screen, Chuckie stabs at a button.

“This is Charles Price. How can I help you?” His calm voice does not match how tense he looks.

“Mr. Price, I’m calling on behalf of Paul Bergen. I understand he’s a friend of yours.”

Chuckie winces. “I would say more of an acquaintance. Why would he want you to call me?”

“I’m a nurse at St. Mary-Corwin Medical Center. Mr. Bergen was in an accident early this morning.”

“Accident? Where?”

Interesting that this is what he asks first. I would have gone with Is he okay?

“Just east of Pueblo.”

“What was he doing in Pueblo?”

“Um, well, it’s my understanding that he had been planning on visiting his mother this morning.”

“How is he?” Ah, finally. Some fake humanity.

“He was pretty banged up, but he should make a full recovery. Unfortunately, he’ll be in the hospital for a few more days.”

“What?” The full reality of what that means seems to have just hit him.

“He asked that I let you know that. He also wanted me to say he’s sorry he can’t be there but that everything you asked for is ready. I don’t know what he meant by that but I assume you do.”

Chuckie says nothing for a few seconds. On the camera feed, his free hand is now on his forehead, his eyes wide