Lori Armstrong - Merciless

Shay’s gaze sharpened. “That leaves Latimer and Triscell Elk Thunder.”

“What we know of the tribal PD? They won’t seriously investigate the tribal president. They’ll buy his alibi. They’ll consider good riddance to Sheldon War Bonnet and act like the tribal police solved a case the FBI couldn’t.”

“You really did look at every conceivable angle.”

I shrugged. “I had nothin’ else to think about on my run. There’s nothing linking me to any of this. No proof.”

“No worries young Naomi will brag about her part?” he asked skeptically.

“She has limited information about what she believed was a government op. Plus, she mentioned a possible career in the military. I could provide her with a rec with the local recruiter, if she needs one. If she tattles, well, I’ll go out of my way to paint her a liar.”

“Jesus, Gunderson. I’m happy you’re on my side.”

I smiled. “Now that we’re all open books for each other and shit, spill about your military service, Turnbull.”

Shay gave me the slow, sexy grin that was inappropriate as hell and yet… somehow not. “I thought you would’ve guessed by now, Sergeant Major.”

Then it clicked. “Fuck me. You were a SEAL.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

My eyes narrowed. “That’s not all. You were a SEAL sniper.”

“Guilty. But I was out of the teams by the time Operation Iraqi Freedom started. Basically, I was an Indian kid from South Dakota looking to see the world, and I ended up in navy intelligence. After a couple of years of that, I opted to try out for the SEALS. I stayed in the teams for almost a decade. Didn’t reenlist after twelve years and immediately went to Quantico.”

“Impressive.” No wonder he had knowledge of my military background. But I felt a little smug that I outranked him.

“How do you plan to handle this?” he asked.

“I’ll probably have to resign from the FBI. Not only for my, ah, night maneuvers, but if Dawson has a long recovery ahead of him, he’ll need me to take care of him full time. As will Lex. My duties to my family have to come first.”

“I’m not talking about the FBI.”

I met Shay’s intense stare head-on, and yet I had a frisson of fear that this would be the first time I broke an eye lock. “Then what are you talking about?”

“How that situation will affect you. Tracking and killing hasn’t been part of your life since you got out of the service. Yet you’ve killed three people in less than eighteen months. Obviously, those kills are nothing compared to what you racked up as a sniper. But this time will affect you because it wasn’t done in the name of God or country, or in self-defense. Maybe you won’t see the aftershocks for a few weeks or months, but they will happen.”

Rather than nod regretfully and blow off his armchair psychiatry, I held his gaze, giving him the honest answer that would haunt me more than leaving Sheldon War Bonnet to die. “You’re wrong. I have no remorse. Nor will I ever wake up in the middle of the night filled with remorse-not in two hours, two days, two weeks, or two months. For a few hours I became that person I’d been trained to be. I did what I was very, very good at. Maybe it wasn’t as easy to slip into that skin as it once was, but I was still able to do it. Then I shed that skin just as soon as I finished with it, just like I always have.” The dark emotions inside me took a little longer to fade than the violent actions I’d taken, but portions had already started to blur.

He continued to stare at me, as if he didn’t believe me. Like this was all an act with me.

It wasn’t. This glimpse I let him see was the truest part of me.

“That bothers you, doesn’t it? That I’m not wallowing in regret. That the reason I’d quit the FBI isn’t out of guilt, but practicality. My life with Dawson is what matters most to me.”

“The sheriff won’t want you to quit, Mercy. We both know that. No matter what happens during his recovery.” He turned away from me. “It’d suck if you quit.”

I rolled my eyes. “Suck for who?”

“It’d suck for me because I’d get stuck with another newbie. Because of your military background, you’re an above-average agent. And you put the pieces together on these cases when no one else could.”

Man, he sucked at flattery. “But it wasn’t because of great detective work. It was dumb luck. Or bad luck. And it’s not like I can tell Shenker or anyone else how I did it or what the final outcome was.”

He lifted a brow. “A good chunk of it was detective work. The rest doesn’t matter. I’ll know how capable you are. And you know it. That should be enough.”

It should be… but would it be?

My cell phone buzzed in my back pocket.

I took it out and recognized the number from the hospital. My heart leaped into my throat. “Gunderson.”

“Hi Mercy, it’s Lisa from the ICU. I wanted to let you know that Mason is awake. The doctors started easing back on his meds about ten last night. By four a.m. he was conscious. He’s been dealing with the neurologist and the physical-therapy folks. He’s been telling everyone he just wants to go home.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “I’ll be right there.” I hung up.

Shay was in my face, his eyes that soft gold color I’d only seen a few times. “Mercy, goddammit, I’m so sorry.”

“For what? Dawson is awake.”

He took a step back. “He is? But you’re-”

“Crying. I know. They’re happy tears, Turnbull.” I hugged him. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I’ll pass along the information about the sheriff’s condition. Check in Monday and let us know when to expect you back to work.”

Before I had formulated my response- that might be never -I watched him climb into his vehicle and drive away.

I ran into the house and up the stairs. “Lex? Get a move on, boy. Your dad is awake and we need to double-time it to the hospital.”

• • •

I was nervous.

Dr. Jeffers wanted to meet with us ahead of time. To warn us of complications?

I’d seen far too many of those made-for-TV movies where the coma patient wakes up and doesn’t remember anybody.

Or the coma permanently altered the patient’s personality.

Or the patient had nerve damage that affected the physical condition of the body.

So I was grateful for Lex’s chatter in the pickup on the way into town, although I processed it only as noise.

At the hospital the doctor informed us that there didn’t appear to be any permanent brain damage. That, except for a few minor things, Dawson had come out of the coma better than expected. He’d make a full recovery.

All my life I’d heard the word miracle tossed around, but I’d never believed it until now.

Mason would remain in ICU for a day or two, but we didn’t have to don protective gear to see him.

Lex practically bounced from foot to foot as we stood outside the door to room 406. The doctor went through a list of suggestions, which again, I largely didn’t hear, due to my thundering heart.

Then the doctor opened the door.

My first glimpse was of Dawson sitting up in bed. Arms crossed over his chest as he scowled at the TV. His gaze snapped in our direction at the sound of Lex’s shoes squeaking on the floor.

But his eyes were solely focused on me.

Lex raced toward him, only to come to a screeching halt.

Then he looked at Lex. “It’s okay, son. I’ll take a hug just as long as you don’t squeeze my neck.”

Mason’s voice was a deep rasp, his words slower than normal. I hung back and let Lex entertain him, until Mason fidgeted and raised a questioning brow at me.

“What?”

“You’re acting a little gun shy for bein’ my fiancée and all.”