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

granola bars. There are ten. I would not advise eating them all. I have also given you four bottles of water. You should be careful how much you drink, too, because—”

I hold up a hand. “I get it.”

With a nod, she zips up the bag.

“If I’m caught, you’re going to have to call in some help,” I say.

“Then do not get caught.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Good.”

Breakfast done, I pull on a sweater and light jacket. Both are black, like my pants and T-shirt and shoes. To finish off my noir ensemble, I don a black face mask and black stocking cap, then slip the straps of my backpack over my shoulders.

Jar turns off the lights and peels back the curtain on one of the front windows to peek outside.

“It’s clear,” she says. “Be careful.”

“Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“What kind of fun are you expecting me to have?”

There are times I forget Jar is Jar. “It was a joke.”

A frown and a hmmm.

I open the door and step outside.

The night is still as dark as it was at midnight, but it won’t be long before the eastern sky starts to lighten, so I head off at a brisk pace, pretending to be someone out for a little early exercise. At this speed, it takes me five minutes to reach the Prices’ house. Like on Monday night, I come at it from the side street, but instead of using the neighbor’s yard, this time I enter the property via Evan’s removable pickets.

You may be asking yourself why I’m here so early if the house won’t be empty until the Prices leave for the barbecue, presumably sometime this afternoon. Simple. Like I said before, getting onto the property during daylight would be more challenging. Much easier to sneak in while it’s dark and hide in their yard until they’re gone. Hence the reason for the granola bars and bottles of water.

To avoid spending more time than necessary in the halo of the backyard light, I move along the fence toward the back corner of the lot, and then hurry over to the RV. I pick the lock to the door of the forward storage unit, open it, and slip into the hold.

This is where I’ll be spending my time until the family leaves, which I figure will be no earlier than two p.m.

Seems like the perfect opportunity to take a long nap.

It turns out I have miscalculated.

In retrospect, I should have anticipated this might happen. But I’ll be honest, it didn’t even cross my mind. Hell, Jar didn’t even think of it, and she seldom misses an angle.

I spent most of the morning slipping in and out of sleep. It was kind of fun in a way. I kept jumping from one dream to the next. Though I can’t remember what the dreams were about, I do recall they were filled with excitement and adventure. I’m pretty sure Jar was in all of them. Beyond that, I’ve got nothing but a sense of sleep well spent.

This state lasted until around noon, at which point I dug into my hoard of granola bars. They’re the soft, chewy kind in case you’re wondering, the kind that’s unlikely to cause any unnecessary noises or leave crumbs.

Every half hour, I checked in with Jar. She was monitoring the only bug we have at the house, and keeping a close eye on the feed from the camera across the street.

When two p.m. passed without any signs that the Prices were leaving, I started growing antsy. At three, I began to seriously worry that the barbecue had been cancelled and we somehow missed hearing them talk about it.

But then, at 3:12 p.m., Jar said, “Charles just shouted, ‘Ten-minute warning.’”

I relaxed a little. “Finally.”

“He could mean any number of things.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

At 3:20, she said, “He just shouted ‘Let’s go’ several times.”

“See, they are leaving.”

“Maybe,” she conceded.

A minute passed. Then two.

Then Jar again, “I think we have a problem.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Charles, Evan, and Sawyer just came out the back door.”

The words were barely out of her mouth when I heard Chuckie shout from maybe half a dozen meters away, “Kate, come on. We’re going to be late.”

Though I understood why Jar was concerned, in my head I’d half convinced myself they’d left the house through the back door because the barbecue was within walking distance.

But then Chuckie said, “Get the gate,” and I heard footsteps jogging toward the driveway entrance behind the RV.

“Evan is opening the rolling gate,” Jar said. “Kate has just exited the house. She’s holding a pan of something…. Charles has just closed the door behind her…. Now he and Kate and Sawyer are walking toward the RV.”

As I said, I have miscalculated. Which explains why I am still lying in the Winnebago’s storage compartment as the vehicle bounces down the streets of Mercy, on its way to wherever this barbecue is taking place.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

I was right there.

At the house.

I should be inside the place at this very moment. Fifteen to twenty minutes is all I would need, then I’d be back in the RV waiting for dark. It was a good plan. A great one, even. One that ninety-nine times out of a hundred would have worked.

Daaaaaammmmmmit!

I hope the barbecue isn’t too far away. If that’s the case, Jar could walk over and watch the area so I can sneak out. But the prospect of that scenario is slipping further and further away with every passing minute.

“Which way are we headed?” I whisper. I’m not worried about the Prices hearing me. The sounds of the road should be enough to obscure my voice, but no sense in taking chances.

“North. You are almost out of town.”

“Well, isn’t that just awesome.”

“You are being sarcastic, correct?”

“Yeah. Very.”

Looks like we’ve blown our big chance for placing bugs inside the Prices’ house. Let me rephrase that. Looks like I blew it. I’m the one whose bright idea it was to use the Winnebago.

“You are in the countryside now.”

Have