Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3) by Brett Battles (most inspirational books of all time TXT) 📗

last two people to leave are the park rangers, who do so only after making sure the fire in the pit is out.

And then darkness returns to our little bit of paradise.

Chapter Five

Someone is pounding on the Travato’s door.

I go from deep sleep to wide awake before the second rap. It’s a habit you have to develop in my line of work. Grogginess is a quick way to an early death.

The faint light coming in through the windows tells me it must be around dawn.

Jar is lying beside me, a grimace on her face.

Yes, sometimes we do sleep together, like when we’re camping. But we don’t sleep together. At least not yet. And, I don’t know, maybe never?

Ugh. It’s all so complicated.

After a brief pause, the knocking returns.

I climb out of bed, pull on a shirt to go with the gym shorts I slept in, and peek out the window to see who it is.

If anyone was wondering how long Evan and his family would stay as guests of the park police, the answer is apparently until just a few minutes ago.

Dad is at the door, and he doesn’t look happy.

I had a feeling he might suspect we were the ones who turned him in. Of course, it’s possible Evan told him we came by, but I’m hoping the kid kept his promise to me.

I’m not expecting this visit to be more than a bit of bluster, but I’m also not going to greet the man unprepared. I set a collapsible baton on the bench seat next to the entrance, where it will be easy to grab, and open the door.

“What the hell, man?” I say. “We’re asleep.”

“So were we when you called the cops on us last night.”

“When I what?”

I’m a good actor. I mean, really good. You have to be in my world, which is why back when I was a baby spy, my mentor had me take acting lessons. Lucky for me, Los Angeles has some of the best teachers in the world.

Evan’s dad is not buying my routine, though. “I know you called them! You need to stay out of our business. Understand me?”

He’s puffing his chest out, all tough guy-like, so I step outside to remind him that he might be taller than me—not to mention wider, though I guess I just did—but I’m not a scrawny kid tooling around the countryside. To emphasize the point, I move right into his personal space.

“I don’t know what the hell you think I did, but I do not appreciate getting woken up at the crack of dawn. So you either take it down several notches, and ask me nicely about what’s bothering you, or you turn around and head back to your little camper, have a cup of coffee, and think about how much of an idiot you look like right now.”

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t back down. “I know you called them.”

“The cops? What do they have to do with anything? And why would I call them on you?”

When he hesitates, I sense he’s beginning to wonder if he’s made a mistake. Which tells me Evan has kept his promise.

The man takes a step back. “Just…leave us alone.”

“Buddy, I was never bothering you in the first place.”

He glares at me for a moment before heading back toward his Winnebago without another word.

I watch him until I’m sure he won’t return, then I step back inside the Travato.

Jar is up and has the coffee going. She’s also set one of our dart guns on the counter near her, in case things with Evan’s dad got out of hand. I assume she’s loaded it with some of the Beta-Somnol-filled darts, which would have knocked him out for a few hours.

That’s Jar, always on the ball.

I make us some breakfast and we eat inside, watching Evan’s camp.

I have no idea if the boy’s family was planning on leaving today, but they’re doing so now. Evan and the younger kid (Evan’s brother?) are collecting the items left outside the RV and putting them away. Through the window, we catch glimpses of their mom doing similar chores inside. Every once in a while, Dad sticks his head out the door and yells something at the boys. What a lovely family picture. I wonder what daily life is like back home.

As I watch the two boys work, a memory tickles my brain. Three, actually.

The first is when Jar and I were looking down at Evan on the side of the canyon, holding a stuffed tiger and asking, “Did you see anyone else up there?”

The second, from moments later, when I was retrieving the rope from the Travato and had the feeling someone was watching me at the same spot on my way there and back. The sensations were fleeting, but definitely there.

And the third memory, late last night, when the cops came and Evan’s mom and brother (again, assuming that’s who they are) exited the RV. More specifically, the brother and the stuffed tiger he was holding.

Had the younger boy dropped it and Evan gone down to retrieve it? Is the boy the person Evan had asked about? Had he been the one watching me?

I file all this away as a point of interest, and take another sip of my coffee as the last of our neighbors’ camp is stowed away.

Once all the storage-area doors are closed, Evan says something to the younger boy, who takes a seat at the picnic table. Evan moves to the edge of the campsite closest to ours and picks up a branch. After a glance back at his RV, he looks in our direction for several seconds, then kneels down.

My interest is piqued enough that I grab the binoculars, but bushes are in the way so I can’t see what he’s doing. When he climbs back to his feet, he looks our way again, and then, with obvious reluctance, begins walking toward the Winnebago. As he passes the picnic table, his brother stands and joins him.

Evan lets