He looked at the coordinates again. It was a good fifteen-minute walk from where they stood.
“Can you ride?” Burns asked. “Horses?”
Mercer nodded. It had been awhile, but he’d manage. When he saw the two horses in the pasture, he hoped Burns meant the Appaloosa because there was no way he’d get on the enormous draft horse.
“That’s Shazam, Maddox’s horse. The other is Huck, who belongs to Naughton.”
Shazam, the only one saddled, walked over to the gate when Burns whistled and called to him. He appeared gentle enough, but Mercer didn’t care as long as he was fast and didn’t try to throw him.
“Here,” said Burns, handing him a big bag of red licorice. “He loves the stuff. Give him one piece at a time, and he’ll do anything you want him to.” He opened the gate and motioned for Mercer to follow. “She isn’t in any danger presently. The trail is rocky; don’t push him too hard.”
Mercer nodded as he ran his hand from the horse’s shoulder up to his flank, letting Shazam get comfortable with him.
“Thank you, sir,” he said to Burns, and held out a piece of the licorice.
The horse took it, and then nudged him with his muzzle.
“You’ll get more in a minute,” Mercer told him, throwing his leg over and finding his seat.
“You’re about the same height as Maddox, I reckon,” said Burns, checking out the stirrup’s adjustment. “Ready?”
Mercer nodded and led the horse through the open gate.
As he rounded a bend on the dirt trail, he could see one of the structures he’d been looking for but hadn’t been able to find when he was here in June. Burns had told him that’s where she was, and as he got closer, he could see the door was open.
He dismounted when he was close enough that Quinn might hear him approach, and tied the horse off to a tree branch. “You’ll be good in the shade,” he whispered, handing over another piece of licorice. “I should’ve thought to bring you some water.”
When the horse neighed, Mercer froze. There, in the doorway, stood Quinn, holding several papers, tears streaming down her cheeks, with a look on her face he’d never seen before.
“I knew it,” she said when he got close enough to hear.
“What did you know?” he answered, glancing at the papers in her hand.
“That you’d show up here.”
“What have you got there?” He moved closer.
Quinn opened her hand, and he took the papers that had been scrunched in it.
As he studied them, she went inside, so he followed. She sat in an old, rickety-looking rocking chair and put her face in her hands.
“Did you know?” she asked.
He didn’t answer right away; he was still trying to process what he was reading.
“Answer me, dammit. Did you know?”
Mercer looked into her eyes and nodded. “Some of it.”
“Who is Angus Sullivan?” she asked.
Since the paper on top of the pile she’d handed him was a birth certificate, he understood what she was asking.
“A fictitious name.”
She nodded and kept rocking, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Near the stone fireplace of the cabin, Mercer saw an opening cut into the rough, and dirty planks of the floor.
Mercer looked back at the birth certificate. In the box labeled “Father’s name,” it said Kade Butler, but that wasn’t the worst of what she’d read. It was the next document that worried him more.
“She was raped,” Quinn whispered through her tears, noticing that he was reading the police report.
When Mercer knelt on one knee in front of her and put his hand on her arm, she jerked it away from him.
“Yes, precious, she was.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Quinn, please. Let’s—”
“Let’s what, Mercer?” she spat, glaring at him.
He shook his head.
“This should be good,” she mumbled. “Go ahead say whatever you were going to say.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Who is Kade Butler?” she asked when he didn’t say anything more.
“Your mother was married to him.”
“I see. Not my father, though, at least not based on the date on the police report.”
“I don’t know.”
“But you do know my mother.”
Mercer nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“I do.”
He saw her hand coming, but did nothing to stop her from slapping his face. He deserved that and more for everything he’d kept from her. The slap stung, but he didn’t react.
“What happened to the man who raped my mother?”
“I don’t know,” he said again, lying through his teeth and hating himself more with every word she spoke.
Quinn studied him. “One question. That’s all you offered me, and yet, you know everything about me, don’t you?”
He nodded, but didn’t speak. The sound of his own voice admitting how he’d deceived her was something he didn’t want to hear.
When she stood and walked out of the cabin, Mercer didn’t follow. He expected to hear her walk away, but instead, she came back inside.
“I almost didn’t see it,” she muttered, pointing to the opening in the floor boards. “I was leaving. I never would’ve come back, either, but then something caught my eye. I walked over and ran my finger along the edge. It came up, just like that. You’d think the boards would’ve been stuck, but they must’ve warped.” Quinn wiped at the tears that continued to stream down her cheeks.
She walked back out again, her shoulders hunched over in a way that shattered his heart.
He’d go after her, but what could he say? She had every right to feel the way she did. What had Paps said to him? “Let her hate you if it’s gonna keep her safe.” Now, keeping her safe was all that mattered, and he couldn’t be the one to do it.
He called Razor. “Where are you?”
“I’m here on the estate,” he answered.
“Have you seen Quinn?”
“Yes, Eighty-eight. I have.”
“She’s yours now. Take good care of her.”
“I’ll keep her safe, Mercer. You know I will.”
Razor’s use of his given name said a lot. He appreciated his reassurance, especially now, when he had to face that he’d failed her irrevocably.
If only he’d never…there were too many things he shouldn’t have done, and now he understood why.
Never fall in love with a source, a target, or an asset. He knew better. It would never happen again, that he was certain of, because Quinn was it for him. She was the only woman he’d ever loved, and she would continue to be until the day he died.
14
Quinn stumbled her way back through the woods, stopping every so often when her sobs became so overwhelming she couldn’t keep going. She’d lean up against a tree, or rest her hand on the trunk, until her tears subsided enough that she could focus on where she was going.
Where was she going? Back to New York? Or should she stay here and try to get answers to her questions? There were so many, though, she didn’t know where to begin. She’d come here in search of clues about her mother’s whereabouts, and instead she’d stumbled on a life she knew nothing about. Her life.
Thoughts flew through her head faster than she could process them. Memories flooded her brain, so many of them taking on new meaning.
She passed the house she’d wanted to explore a couple of hours ago, without looking inside, afraid that if she did, she’d unearth more secrets she couldn’t handle.
Standing near her car with her hand gripping the door, she noticed a bench near a creek and walked over to it. She sat down and put her head in her hands, contemplating again what her next move should be.
“Quinn?” she heard a voice say. When she looked up, the man who had introduced himself as Laird Butler was standing near her.
“Did
you know?” she asked him.
He stepped forward. “May I sit?” he asked.
Quinn nodded, scooted over, and waited for him to answer.
“I did,” he said.
She turned to look at him. “How do you know what I’m asking about?”
“I just do.”
“More secrets,” she muttered. “Who is Kade to you?”
“My oldest son.”
Quinn folded her arms, waiting for words Laird didn’t say. Obviously, he didn’t think Kade was her father any more than she did.
“I have a lot of questions…”
“You may ask them.”
“I’m not ready yet.”
Laird nodded, pulled out a pipe, and filled it with tobacco. He lit it, and Quinn breathed in the aroma. She loved the smell of pipe tobacco.
“Oh, my God,” she cried, suddenly realizing why. “You know me, don’t you? You’ve met me, and I’ve met you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks again, although she didn’t know how she could possibly cry any more than she had.
“Yes, I have.”
Quinn wrapped her arms tighter around her stomach, leaned over, and let her tears fall. All she’d ever wanted in life was a family, and she’d had one, except they’d never wanted anything to do with her. The pain of it was ripping her to shreds. At least now she understood why. She was the child of a rapist. It explained why her mother hadn’t been in her life all of these years. Quinn was a constant reminder of a horrific thing that had happened to her. Obviously, her mother’s parents had felt the same way since, once she’d been shipped off to boarding school, she never saw them again.
“How old was I?”
“You were a baby, and then a little girl. We used to visit you and your mother quite often.”
“Why did you stop?”
“We believed it was no longer safe.”
“Because I’m some kind of monster? You feared for your safety from a little girl?” Quinn stood and turned away.
“We believed it was no longer safe for you, Quinn.”
“Why?”
“Please sit back down.”
She considered not doing as he asked, but gave in. If she wanted answers about her life, it sounded as though Laird Butler could give them to her.
“There are things that have happened over the course of your life that have necessitated certain decisions to be made in order to keep you safe.”
“You already said that. My question was why?”
“The danger hasn’t gone away, Quinn. If anything, you need protection more now than ever.”
Quinn shook her head, furious with herself for thinking, only moments ago, that Laird might tell her anything. He was just like Mercer. Wait. Was he?
“How well do you know Mercer Bryant?” she asked.
“Not well.”
“But you know him.”
Laird nodded.
“He won’t tell me anything either. Of course, I didn’t realize, until today, that the things he wouldn’t tell me were about me. I believed he couldn’t talk about the work he did.” Now she knew the two things were essentially the same.
“Does whatever I need to be protected from involve my mother?”
“It does.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“I do not.”
“Mercer does.”
“He plays a role different than I do.”
Quinn stood back up and rested her forehead against a tree. “I’m twenty-one years old. Don’t you think it’s time that I know the truth? It’s my life.”
“I believe, one day soon, you will, Quinn. But for now, I’m asking that you trust the people who have been protecting you.”
Trust. How many times had Mercer told her to trust her instincts? How many times had he asked her to trust him? And all along he’d been lying to her. How could she trust her instincts when she hadn’t even suspected he was lying to her?
“Mercer knows everything about me,” she muttered. “He’s been the one protecting me.”
“There’s more to it, dear child. He cares for you very much.”
Quinn shook her head. “I can’t do this. Not again.”
It didn’t matter if he’d been protecting her, and it didn’t matter if he cared about her. What they’d had was a lie. That’s what she’d told him when they were in her apartment and he’d asked why she didn’t have photos. He’d taken one of them together, and then gave her a frame that said they were real. But they weren’t.
“What should I do?” she asked him.
She could tell by the look on his face that he hadn’t anticipated the question, and it took him a while to answer.
“Go home,” he finally said. “You’re safer there than you are here.”
She nodded and walked toward the car. He stood and followed, and then handed her a piece of paper. “If you need anything, call me at this number.”
Quinn thanked him and got in the car. She wasn’t ready to go home yet, but thankfully she’d run into Tabon Sharp at the airport and had a place to stay.
She rolled down her window before she backed out. “I have another question,” she said to Laird who hadn’t moved from where he was standing. “Do you know someone named Tabon Sharp?”
Laird rested his hands on the roof of her car. “You cannot afford to resist protection at this time, Quinn. If you haven’t listened to anything else I’ve said, know this: you are in danger. People like Mercer and Tabon, and several others, will keep you safe.”
Quinn’s eyes filled with tears again. She’d lost track of how many times they had. “That’s a lie, too,” she murmured. “Is there a single truth in my life?”
Her question had been rhetorical, but he answered anyway. “There are many.”
“I’m not leaving yet. Since the house I’m staying in belongs to Tabon, I’m assuming I’ll be safe there, even if only for a couple of days.”
“You will be, although New York is safer.”
“How do you know where I live?”
She didn’t give him time to respond before she backed up the car and drove away. She hadn’t gotten to the highway yet, when she pulled the car over. She opened the compartment between the two seats, but it was empty. She reached over to the one in front of the passenger seat and opened it. Inside were two pieces of paper. One said it was the registration, the other listed insurance information, both were in the name of Tabon Sharp.
For a reason Quinn couldn’t explain, that made her feel better. She wiped her tears, pulled out on the road, and drove to the beach. Someone was following her; she knew that now, even though she hadn’t been able to figure out who.
When she pulled in the driveway, she saw Tabon sitting on a bench near the front door of the house.
“Hi, Quinn,” he said when she got out of the car. He took the key from her hand and popped open her trunk.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you with your bag.”
“I don’t need any help,” she said, trying to take the bag from him. She was no match for his strength, so she gave up and stood with her arms folded. “Why are you here?”
“I have a few things to discuss with you.”
“Wait. You’re actually here to tell me the truth? I’m stunned, Tabon.”
He smiled, and it melted her heart a little. “First of all, no one calls me Tabon except my mother. And you for a short while. I go by Razor. Next up…” he looked around them. “Let’s go inside.”
It was almost sunset, and Quinn didn’t know much more than she had when she arrived, except that, while Razor had been the one to interview her, Mrs. Patchett, the managing director, and the preservation group were real, and if Quinn still wanted the job, they wanted to hire her.
“Have you eaten recently?” Razor asked.
“No.”
“Meaning?”
She sighed. “I don’t remember.”
“Let’s see what Mercer stocked the refrigerator with. I’m starving.”
Quinn lost what little appetite she had, and stayed where she was when Razor went into the kitchen. He came out a few minutes later with two plates of sandwiches and some chips.
“Eat,” he said, putting one of the plates in front of her.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sure you are, and while you eat, I’m going to tell you about our Mr. Mercer.”
“Now I’m nauseous. Jesus, you know what I called him?”
“Settle down. I thought it was cute. By the way, I don’t know anything about the time you spent together. Nothing. At. All. Got it?”
She nodded, wishing it was easier to hate Razor, or at least not like him. Instead, she felt the same way she had with Mercer when they’d first met. She felt safe. The other things she’d felt for Mercer, like attraction, obviously weren’t there. He reminded her more of Tara’s big brother. He was always funny, always sweet, and would lay down his life for his sister.
“Oh, no,” she gasped, putting her head in her hands.
“What?” he asked between handfuls of chips.
“What about Aine and Ava? And Tara and Penelope?”
He shoved another handful of chips in his mouth. “What about them?”
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk with food in your mouth?”
“Sure did, but she isn’t here, is she?”
Quinn’s smile quickly went away when she thought about her own mother.
“Knock that shit off.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Quit feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Like you have any idea how I feel.”
“Here’s the thing, I do. At least I know how you should feel.”
Quinn felt like walking out, but she was too curious to hear what he had to say. “How should I feel?”
Razor set his plate down on the table and leaned forward, looking into her eyes. “I get why you’re pissed off, but you’re missing the big picture.” He scrubbed his hand over his face like she’d seen Mercer do so many times. “Mercer, me, other people you don’t even know—we all protect your ass, little girl. Do you know what that means?”
Quinn shook her head.
“If someone walked in the front door of this place, and he or she had a gun, I’d take every bullet fired before I’d let anything or anyone harm a hair on your pretty little head.”
The Truth (Butler Ranch Book 5) Page 17
