Chapter 9 - THE LAST THING MERCER EXPECTED
“James!”
I threw myself against the locked door.
Mercer laughed from the front seat.
“Sit down.”
“You killed him.”
“If I'm lucky.”
Lily was crying beside me.
I forced myself to stop.
James had taught me something without meaning to.
Panic wasted time.
Observe.
Think.
Move.
I pulled Lily against me.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“Good. I'm Evelyn.”
“I know.”
“Your mom is waiting for you.”
“Is Uncle Charles going to kill us?”
Mercer's eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Children ask such direct questions.”
I wanted to break his neck.
“No,” I told Lily.
“He isn't.”
Mercer drove toward the industrial district.
“Confidence.”
“I learned from unpleasant company.”
He smiled.
“You mean Thornton.”
I didn't answer.
“He's no different from me.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Because he kissed you?”
“Because he has choices and occasionally makes the right one.”
Mercer's smile vanished.
We arrived at an abandoned customs building.
He locked Lily in an office.
Then took me upstairs.
Documents waited on a table.
“Sign.”
“No.”
He hit me.
My lip split.
I tasted blood.
“Sign.”
“No.”
He pressed the gun against my forehead.
“Your father made the same mistake.”
“Standing up to you?”
“Believing conscience could erase what he'd done.”
“He didn't erase it.”
I looked at the documents.
“He changed what came next.”
Mercer leaned closer.
“Sign.”
I picked up the pen.
His shoulders relaxed.
Mistake.
I drove the pen into his hand.
He screamed.
I ran.
Gunfire exploded behind me.
I reached the stairs.
Mercer grabbed my dress.
Fabric tore.
I kicked backward.
He fell.
I ran toward Lily.
Locked.
I grabbed a fire extinguisher and smashed the handle.
“Come on!”
We ran toward the loading bay.
A gunshot hit the wall.
Mercer followed.
“Evelyn!”
We reached the exit.
Locked.
Lily sobbed.
I looked around.
No escape.
Mercer approached.
Blood covered his hand.
“You've become inconvenient.”
“People keep telling me that.”
He raised the gun.
Then the lights went out.
Mercer spun.
A voice came from the darkness.
“You should have made sure I was dead.”
James.
My knees almost gave out.
Mercer fired.
James returned fire.
I covered Lily.
More gunshots.
Then silence.
Emergency lights flickered.
James stood near the loading bay.
Blood stained his shoulder.
Alive.
Mercer lay behind a crate.
His gun several feet away.
James walked toward me.
I hit him.
Not hard.
“You got shot.”
“Grazed.”
“You were lying in blood.”
“Mostly someone else's.”
“You let me think—”
“I was unconscious.”
“That is not better.”
He pulled me against him.
I kissed him before I could decide whether I was still furious.
For one perfect second, everything disappeared.
Then Lily screamed.
“Behind you!”
Mercer rose.
Gun in hand.
James turned.
A shot exploded.
Mercer staggered.
Another man stood in the doorway.
Patrick Sullivan.
Pale.
Bandaged.
Holding a pistol.
“You,” James said.
Sullivan leaned against the wall.
“Try gratitude.”
Mercer collapsed.
Federal agents stormed the building seconds later.
Mercer was alive.
Barely.
That mattered.
Dead men couldn't testify.
Living ones could expose everyone who had helped them.
Sullivan lowered his weapon and surrendered voluntarily.
Before agents took him away, he stopped beside James.
“I won't ask forgiveness.”
“Good.”
“I am sorry about Thomas.”
James said nothing.
Sullivan looked at me.
“Your father tried to stop Mercer.”
“I know.”
“He was braver than I was.”
Then he walked away in handcuffs.
Lily was reunited with Rachel.
Rachel cried while apologizing.
I wasn't ready to forgive her.
But Lily was alive.
For that night, it was enough.
Three days later, Grandma came home.
Not Blackwell Manor.
That house was gone.
James offered his estate.
Grandma looked at him and said one slow, deliberate word.
“Bossy.”
I laughed until I cried.
James looked personally betrayed.
“She likes you,” I told him.
“That's liking me?”
“In our family, yes.”
Weeks passed.
Mercer survived and agreed to cooperate in exchange for avoiding a life sentence without parole.
The evidence inside the chamber triggered investigations across several states.
Judges resigned.
Businessmen were arrested.
Old crimes reopened.
The Sullivan organization collapsed.
James began separating his legitimate businesses from everything his father had left behind.
It wasn't simple.
Nothing about James was simple.
One evening, I found him standing in the garden.
“You're leaving,” he said.
It wasn't a question.
“My grandmother's house needs rebuilding.”
“I can rebuild it.”
“I know.”
“I can have contractors there tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“I can—”
“James.”
He stopped.
I smiled.
“I need to do some things myself.”
His expression closed.
The feared James Thornton.
Terrified of one woman leaving his house.
I touched his face.
“This isn't goodbye.”
“What is it?”
“Me having my own life.”
He nodded.
It clearly hurt.
“Okay.”
I kissed him.
“That's growth.”
“Don't patronize me.”
“More growth needed.”
I turned toward the house.
His phone rang.
I heard him answer.
Then:
“What do you mean, missing?”
I turned.
James's face had changed.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“The federal evidence vault.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about it?”
“One item disappeared.”
“The records?”
“No.”
May you like
He looked at me.
“The real Blackwell Codex.”
