Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3) Brett Battles (online e reader txt) 📖

and Kara Chen arrived soon after Gale entered the house, having also spotted the blaze from the road. Dane ran into the building using a wet blanket as a shield, found Gale, and carried him outside.

Soon after, the county fire department arrived, and EMTs transported Gale to Mercy County Hospital, where he is currently listed in stable condition.

“Harlan would have died if that nice couple hadn’t shown up,” Wright said. “I can’t thank them enough.”

When asked why he risked his own life to save someone he didn’t know, Dane said, “I did what anyone else would have done.”

I never said that.

I barely spoke to the guy. In fact, I don’t remember him even asking me that question. But as much as being misquoted annoys me, what’s worse is the fact that Jar and I are mentioned in the article at all, even if we are only identified by our aliases.

I can’t seem to stay out of the news these days. Have I been cursed or something? Because that’s exactly what it’s starting to feel like.

At least we didn’t stick around long enough for him to take a picture of us. That would have been disastrous. Imagine Chuckie sitting down at his computer and checking the Mercy Sentinel to see what happened while he was away. Or maybe he’s the kind of Luddite who still receives a physical paper. Right there, probably at the top of page one, would be a picture of the two people he (rightly) thinks called the cops on him at the Grand Canyon.

Jar snaps me out of my thoughts by saying, “There have been six other fires like this since January. Always empty houses, five owned by Gage-Trent, Incorporated, and one by Hayden Valley Agriculture. The companies have been buying up farms in this part of Colorado for the last several years. The last fire was ten days ago, at a farm five miles south of Mercy.”

I skim the news article she’s brought up on the earlier fires, and frown. “As interesting as that all is, we’re not here to solve anyone’s fire problems, remember?”

Jar gives me that of-course-I-remember look. “I was only thinking it might prove helpful to have an awareness of what is going on around here.”

“Fair point,” I concede. “I wonder if the police have a suspect yet?”

“They do not.”

“You’ve checked their files.”

“Of course I have.”

“What a surprise,” I say, as deadpan as I can.

I expect a glare in response, but she seems to be purposely not looking at me, as if there’s something else on her mind but she doesn’t want to mention it. That’s all right. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what it is. She’s thinking that since we’re in Mercy already, it wouldn’t hurt to poke around a bit and see if we can find out anything about the fires.

I glance around the room, sure that Liz is around here somewhere. But I can’t see her, nor do I feel her presence. I guess she’s leaving this up to Jar. I don’t need to be visited by a ghost to know both women feel the same way about this.

And while I can sympathize with their position, I’m not as keen on getting drawn into anything else. We’re here because of Evan and his family, and that’s where our focus should remain.

I’m also aware that stating it like that will not go over well, so to placate both Jar and Liz, I say, “Keep tabs on the situation. If something catches your eye, let me know.”

Jar nods, her gaze still turned away. “Good idea.”

On our way into town, we take the long way and drive by the location of last night’s fire.

The only thing still standing is a two-meter section of the house’s northwest corner. The rest of the building, like the barn and the stables, lies in a blackened heap.

I’m sure Jar would like to drive up for a closer look, but two cars are parked near where we were last night and at least three people are walking around the remains. It would not be smart for us to be seen there again.

We spend some more time in Walmart, buying blankets, sheets, a pair of blow-up mattresses, a couple of folding chairs, and a portable card table. Luckily, though the duplex is empty, it has curtains so we don’t have to worry about being leered at by people walking by.

While we’re eating lunch at a sidewalk table in front of a restaurant called Mercy Me, I get a call from Mr. Hansen.

“I just wanted to let you know the place is ready anytime you want to move in. Just stop by here first with the check and I’ll give you the keys.”

“That’s great, thank you,” I say. “We’ll try to be there within an hour.”

“Perfect.” He pauses, and I think he’s going to tell me goodbye, but instead he says, “I read the paper this morning. You and Miss Chen were at that fire last night?”

Gulp.

“Oh, um…we just happened to be driving by.”

“Sounded to me like you saved Harlan Gale’s life.”

“It wasn’t as dramatic as all that. I’m sure he would have gotten out on his own.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Hansen says. I can hear a smile in his voice, as if I’m his son and he’s a proud dad.

This day just keeps getting better and better. Ugh.

“Gotta run,” I say. “See you in a bit.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll be waiting.”

After Jar and I finish lunch, we swing by a bank to get a cashier’s check. It’s kind of a baby boomer way of paying for things, but Hansen’s a card-carrying member of that demographic, so it’s not surprising that’s how he wants to do things.

I half expect the teller to say something about the Sentinel article when I hand her my ID, but she shows no sign of recognition. She is younger so she probably doesn’t read the local paper, at least not first thing in the morning.

We arrive at Hansen’s