The Truth

by Heather Slade

  “This isn’t a joke, Quinn.”

  “You’re right, Mercer. It’s my life. My life. It isn’t your life. You were hired to protect me. I’m sure Kade never expected that you’d take that to mean you should insinuate yourself into it.”

  The words hurt her to say as much as she knew they were hurting Mercer, but didn’t any of them understand how much their words hurt her?

  “I thought we were past this,” he murmured.

  “Past it? As in you’ve placated me with as little information as possible, expecting that, from then on, I’d simply toe the line, accept that I was nothing more than a pretty bird kept in someone’s cage?”

  “It isn’t like that.”

  “No?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Why were you at Butler Ranch?”

  “None of your business.”

  “What did you mean when you said ‘he needs to know, and I refuse to leave until I see him.’?”

  “Like I said, it’s none of your concern.”

  “Everything about you is my concern,” he bellowed.

  “Not anymore,” she yelled back at him.

  He didn’t respond, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

  “Let me ask you something, Eighty-eight. Were you the one who took all those photos of me? You know, the ones adorning your boss’ office? Didn’t you feel like a stalker, or maybe even a pedophile, taking photos of an innocent little girl?”

  When Mercer turned and looked into her eyes, she immediately regretted her words, but she couldn’t take them back, and she wouldn’t apologize, because she wasn’t sorry for the majority of what she’d said. Only the last thing she said.

  Mercer didn’t slow down to take the turn into Happy Valley Ranch.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He didn’t respond, so she asked again, this time raising her voice. He still didn’t respond. It was like he didn’t hear her.

  “I hate you,” she spat at him. “I hate all of you.”

  “You sound just like Barbie.”

  —:—

  “Wait here,” he told her when he pulled into the garage of the Harmony house.

  “You’re just going to leave me here?”

  He slammed the door behind him and stomped into the house.

  “Talk,” said Paps, meeting him just inside the door with his arms folded.

  “She hates me. Hates all of us, but mainly me.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In the SUV.”

  “Take the bike and go. I’ll handle this.”

  Mercer hadn’t realized the bike was in the garage. The last time he’d seen it, it was at the house in Montecito. He nodded his head and walked out.

  —:—

  Someone she didn’t recognize approached her door as Mercer sped off on a motorcycle.

  “Hello, Quinn,” he said in a voice that reminded her of the way Hannibal Lecter spoke to Clarice Starling. “Please, come inside.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Gunner Gadot, but everyone calls me Paps.”

  She followed him inside, and he motioned to a chair in the kitchen. “Sit,” he told her, and then left the room.

  “We’re going to have a little chat,” he said when he came back, “whether you want to or not.”

  22

  As right as he knew Paps was, staying away from Quinn was going to be the hardest thing Mercer had ever done. It was necessary though.

  The words Paps had said to him back in June haunted him. There won’t be any coming back if she’s dead. Let her be mad at you. Hell, let her hate you if it’s gonna keep her safe.

  That was the life he had to live, with Quinn hating him, until Calder and his cronies no longer walked freely on the face of the earth, and until he knew, one way or another, if Doc and Leech were alive or dead.

  “What was that about with you and Quinn?” he’d called Laird and asked.

  When he told him it was nothing he needed to know for the time being, Mercer put his fist through the wall of the Harmony house garage. Fortunately, Paps and Razor were both staying at Happy Valley Ranch with Quinn, so he could repair it without them knowing what had happened.

  Being completely off Quinn’s detail for the time being meant he was the first responder for anything that came up. On deck for him tonight was an emergency meeting of the Westside Winery Collaborative that Alex Avila had called. He’d have backup tonight from Razor, who told him he had a bad feeling.

  “If Calder is going to act, it would be tonight,” Razor had said.

  Mercer agreed and paced while he waited for him to arrive at the designated time. Razor wanted to pick up some of his extra gear that was stored at the house, and suggested Mercer bring his along too. Instead, Mercer wore it. It had been a long time since he was in full tactical gear, especially in the end of summer heat.

  It immediately took him back to Afghanistan and the oppressive hell it always felt like. That’s why he never got cold, like he’d told Quinn. After being out for over twenty-four hours straight on a run, Mercer vowed he’d never complain about being cold again, no matter how long he lived.

  “Where you at?” he heard Razor call out.

  “In here.” Mercer grabbed the only gun he wasn’t already wearing and met him in the kitchen.

  “Guess we don’t have to flip a coin to determine who’s inside and who’s out.”

  “Figured I’d save time,” he mumbled.

  Mercer stood outside, near the back entrance of the winery, while Razor was inside, near the front. He was there as a “guest” of Laird Butler’s, so no one would question his presence. Each of them wore a mic and earpiece tonight, so he could hear when Alex called the meeting to order.

  “I’m sure you’re all aware of what took place at Jenson Vineyards Monday night,” Mercer heard her say. She went on to say that the authorities believed it was connected to the arson at Butler Ranch, as well as what had happened with the ATB at Los Cab.

  “We also believe there is further imminent threat to Los Cab, Butler Ranch, and the other vineyards and wineries on the westside, and that is my reason for calling tonight’s meeting,” she added.

  Alex explained that a collaborative member had overheard a conversation between Rory Calder and Trey Deveux, and the specific things that were said.

  “Why haven’t they been arrested? If someone overheard them mention Jenson, isn’t that proof enough?” Mercer heard someone ask.

  “You know it isn’t, Bob. As much as we wish it were.”

  “Who was that?” Mercer asked Razor.

  “Maddox.”

  The discussion continued, but Mercer had stopped listening. Instead, he surveyed the perimeter of the building, not seeing anything that looked suspicious.

  When he heard someone say, “The Deveux family and the Calders are more than connected. They’re related. By marriage,” he started paying attention again.

  “Some say it was an arranged marriage. One of Rory’s brothers married one of the Deveux daughters.”

  In and of itself, that news wasn’t something that needed to be kept under wraps, but he hoped the group refrained from further speculation.

  “Something’s happening,” Razor said a few minutes later.

  “Be right there,” Mercer told him. He was about to step out into the light when he saw a black SUV pulling away from the curb.

  “What’s your twenty?” Mercer said into the mic and waited to move until he received Razor’s response.

  “Raz, give me your twenty,” he said again, watching as Maddox pulled up in another vehicle and yelled for Naughton to get in.

  Moments later, Razor pulled up alongside Mercer with the passenger door already open.

  “What the hell happened to you?” asked Mercer noticing blood on Razor’s forehead.

  “Bastard got me good enough that I saw stars for a minute.”

  “Who?”

  “The man who just abducted Bradley St. John.”
/>   “Was it Calder? Deveux? What the hell happened?” Mercer asked as Razor did his best to tail Maddox.

  “It wasn’t either, but whoever it was looked enough like Calder that he caught my attention. Unfortunately, I caught his too, and that’s when he pistol-whipped me.”

  “What was he carrying? Could you tell?”

  “Beretta Bobcat,” answered Razor, trying to keep his focus on the road while blood streamed from the gash on his head.

  Mercer knew better than to ask if he could drive. There was nothing they could do if he couldn’t. Other than the blood, Razor appeared to be functioning okay.

  When Maddox looked like he planned to go east on the highway, Mercer made a call. “Don’t follow him. Head to Tablas Creek,” he told Razor.

  “You’re readin’ my bleedin’ mind,” he said, making the turn on what felt like two wheels.

  When Razor got close, the number of vehicles out front told them they’d guessed right. “Let me out,” Mercer asked, and jumped when Razor came close to a stop.

  He stayed low, making his way through the trees, trying to get a fix on what was happening. He only needed to hear the words, “He’s got a gun,” to make his move.

  Razor’s voice came through the earpiece. “Sheriff and SWAT incoming.”

  “Roger.” Mercer went around the back of the winery and froze.

  “She recognized me. What the fuck was I supposed to do?” he heard someone yell. “Get your ass over here and help me straighten this mess out.”

  Without a second thought, Mercer slammed open the back door of the winery building, leveling his gun at the man on the phone who spun around and did the same to him.

  “Drop it or I’ll shoot you, and I don’t miss,” he warned.

  It was a split-second flinch, but Mercer saw it and fired first, shooting the man in the chest and arm.

  “Get out. Get out!” Came Razor’s voice through the earpiece.

  “Roger,” answered Mercer, exiting the way he’d came in and running through the woods toward the coordinates Razor sent to his phone.

  He jumped in the SUV the same way he’d gotten out. Razor hadn’t needed to come to a full stop before he was inside and they were speeding away.

  “He’s dead,” Mercer told him, checking his gun. “I think he was on the phone with Calder when I shot him.”

  “Affirmative. He was Calder’s brother.”

  “You got ears?”

  “Yep. On Naughton.”

  “Shit.”

  Razor continued listening until they were back at the Harmony house and certain the situation was secure for the time being.

  “He was gonna kill her,” Mercer told him.

  Razor nodded. “I heard, and if it had been me in there instead of you, I wouldn’t have bothered warning him before I took him out.”

  Mercer called Paps.

  “You’re goin’ under for a while, Eighty-eight.”

  Exactly what he expected Paps to say. He’d killed their primary target’s brother. He had to ghost before Calder figured out a connection and put a million dollar bounty on Mercer’s head.

  23

  Things had changed drastically for Quinn since the day Paps had sat her down and told her what was what. If she’d felt like a bird in a cage before, now she felt like one whose wings had been clipped. Even if she escaped, she wouldn’t be able to fly.

  Most days she saw only Razor and Paps. Occasionally Laird would be at the house, but he never spoke to her. He hadn’t since the day in the winery when he told her she didn’t belong there.

  It had been almost two months since the last time she heard anyone mention Mercer, and she hadn’t asked about him. In fact, she rarely spoke to anyone. Paps had taken her phone away, telling her that her friends had been informed that she was safe, but unreachable for the next few weeks, just like her mother had told her. Otherwise, they both knew no one else would be looking for her.

  She ventured into the kitchen, one morning, when she thought she heard someone leave, hoping to find Razor alone. Instead, Laird was at the table.

  “Good morning, Quinn,” he said.

  “Good morning,” she murmured, and turned to go back up the stairs.

  “Wait,” he said and stood to follow her.

  She had her hand on the banister, waiting for him to continue, but she refused to turn around.

  “I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, still refusing to look at him.

  “It’s time for you to talk to Naughton.”

  She turned slowly, almost afraid to look in his eyes. The last time she had, he hurt her as badly with his words as he would’ve if he’d slapped her.

  “I’m sorry, Quinn.”

  “What for?”

  “I didn’t mean the things I said in the way you took them.”

  “Yes, I can see how someone could misinterpret the words ‘you don’t belong here.’”

  “There’s no point arguing. I apologized, and now I am honoring my promise to you.”

  Quinn folded her arms. “How is this going to work?”

  “You’re going to go upstairs, get dressed, and find the letter you received from my son.”

  “I don’t have the birth certificate.”

  “I do.”

  “Wait in there,” Laird told her, pointing to the entrance to the tasting room where he’d said those awful words to her.

  When she hesitated, he said, “Go, lass. It’s time.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “I’ll wait near the back entrance, where you left from before.”

  “You don’t want to come with me.”

  “This is between you and Naughton. No one else.”

  “Who are you?” the man asked a few minutes later. “We aren’t open yet.”

  “You must be Naughton,” she said.

  “I didn’t ask who I am; I asked who you are.”

  She stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m Quinn.”

  Naughton folded his arms. “Quinn who?”

  “My last name’s Hess although, recently, I’ve discovered that on my birth certificate it’s listed as Butler.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Quinn hated his words almost as much as his tone of voice. “I’m your oldest brother’s secret, and I have a lot to tell you, Uncle Naughton,” she spat at him.

  He didn’t think she belonged here either? Well, maybe finding out she was his niece would change his mind. Not that she was certain she was.

  “Have a seat,” he said, motioning to a stool at the tasting bar.

  “You haven’t been easy to get an audience with.”

  “You’re here now. Start talking, Quinn.”

  “I’m not sure where to begin…”

  Quinn heard someone walking through the winery. Naughton noticed it too. Should she say that no one else could know what she was about to tell him?

  “Before you get started, I have to make a phone call.”

  Quinn nodded and waited, hoping Laird had intercepted whoever had been about to come in.

  Quinn looked up when she heard another door open. She turned around, and a man and woman came in. Shit, shit, shit, she swore silently. What now?

  “Who’s this?” the man asked, walking over to meet her.

  “I’m Quinn.”

  “What’s your last name, Quinn?”

  “As I was just telling your brother—”

  “Hess,” Naughton said before she could continue.

  “Interesting.” Maddox studied her. “Any relation to the Hess family we know?”

  “Lena Hess is my mother.”

  “I’m Bradley. I’m Naughton’s fiancée.”

  Quinn shook the woman’s hand but kept her eyes on Naughton, hoping he’d ask them to leave so they could talk.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Quinn,” said Maddox. “We don’t know your mother that well and had no idea she had a daughter.”

 
; She hadn’t prepared for this. She’d only planned what she was going to say to Naughton, and even that hadn’t gone as she’d planned. “I’ve been away…until recently. First, boarding school, and then college.”

  “Fall break?” Mad asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “We haven’t seen your mother since…when was the last time we saw Lena, Naught?”

  “Late June, early July, from what I remember.”

  “That’s actually why I’m here…about my mother.” It seemed as good of an excuse as any other, since they’d brought her up. “But I can see this isn’t a good time.”

  “It isn’t, actually. Bradley and I have an appointment this afternoon,” said Naughton.

  “Maybe I can help you,” Maddox offered.

  “Thanks, but…I’ll, uh…be in touch.” Quinn picked her purse up from where it sat on the bar and turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Maddox said. “How do we get in touch with you?”

  Quinn looked at Naughton. “You don’t. I’ll get in touch with you.”

  When she walked out the back door, Laird was waiting where he’d said he would be.

  “Total disaster,” she mumbled.

  “I’m sorry. They were on their way in before I could stop them. What did you tell them?”

  “Nothing. I told Naughton who I was and that was it.” Quinn looked out the window as Laird drove through the back vineyards. “He wasn’t very nice.”

  Maybe she didn’t want anything more to do with this family than they wanted to do with her. So far, Sorcha had been nice to her, but she’d only been with her for a couple of minutes. Laird had been at first, but now he was as mean as Paps and Razor were being. Since Naughton wasn’t any more welcoming, maybe she should rethink her plan to get to know him. Why bother? She didn’t need Kade’s money; she’d be fine on her own. If they tried to contact her about the trust, she’d hire a lawyer to tell them she didn’t want it.

  “There will be another time,” Laird said.

  “There won’t. I’m not interested in talking to him again.”

  “I see.”