Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3) by Brett Battles

Author:Brett Battles [Battles, Brett]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

When I wake at six a.m. the next morning, it feels like I’ve slept in.

Last night, Jar and I stayed up for a while, working out our next steps, but were still able to get to bed at a decent hour. At least I was. Who knows what time Jar turned in?

It’s Sunday, and I’m hoping we’ll have the opportunity to get back into the Prices’ house this morning. Small-town life in America often revolves around church. And I’d be willing to bet, whether Chuckie is religious or not, going to church is part of his routine, if for nothing else than to mingle with potential car buyers.

Should I have left in the predawn hours and hidden in the Winnebago again in anticipation? Maybe, but Jar’s successful trip during the daylight yesterday makes me think we can pull it off again.

I take a shower, get dressed, and head into the living room, where I expect Jar to be up and waiting for me. She’s there all right, sitting at the card table. Or should I say, leaning onto? Her head rests on her arms, which are lying on the table just in front of her computer. The laptop is open, but the screen is dark.

I tiptoe into the kitchen, start up the coffee maker, and set about making some breakfast. We have only one frying pan, so I put the sausages on first and use one of our disposable paper bowls to make the French toast mix. As I do, I watch Jar, sure it won’t be long before the smell of the coffee or the meat will wake her.

It’s not often that I can look at her like this. If I do it when she’s awake, she’d wonder what’s wrong with me. I guess anyone would.

Her hair, the darkest of dark brown, is usually kept in a ponytail or some kind of bun clipped to the back of her head. This morning it’s free, flowing over her shoulders and draping over her upturned ear. When she’s awake, it’s hard for me not to focus on her eyes, as they’re the window into what’s in her mind, so it’s nice to have a moment to take in the rest of her face—the gentle nose that widens a bit at the end, the small but rounded cheeks, and the mouth that can smile as wide as a noontime sunbeam or grimace like a tiger ready to pounce.

I sometimes forget how small she is. There are times, though, when I swear she’s as big as I am. Her drive, her determination, even her physical abilities far outshine what people expect. Which is why I make it a habit of not underestimating her.

I can’t imagine not being around her all the time. If I try, I feel panic building. And if I think about it too much, guilt sets in, and I feel as if I’m betraying Liz. She’s been gone well over sixteen months now, but there are times when it feels like she was alive just yesterday.

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