Mercy’s mother had been brave in her own way, sacrificing her life – quite literally – there at the end. Those were the worst nightmares of all.
‘Let’s get your luggage,’ Farrah said. ‘Then the rental car. We’ll find somewhere to eat and let you pull yourself together before we see your brother.’
Mercy had to swallow back the bile that rose to burn her from the inside out every time she thought about her brother. Gideon. How she’d hated him, for so many years.
How wrong she’d been. God, I am a horrible person. He was going to hate her, and if he didn’t, he should. Him and his best friend, Rafe.
She’d done both of them wrong. A wave of dizziness had her sucking in air as she realized too late that she’d been holding her breath. And that she’d stopped walking in the middle of the terminal, forcing disgruntled travelers to go around her. I’m rude, too. ‘God,’ she gasped as little black dots flickered all around her. This was such utter bullshit, but she couldn’t seem to make it all stop.
‘You’re all right.’ Farrah’s hand was on her back, rubbing small circles as they stood there. Farrah ignored the frowns on the faces of the travelers, focusing only on Mercy. ‘That’s my girl. It’s a panic attack. You know what to do. Breathing’s good. In and out.’
Mercy blinked hard and readjusted the strap cutting into her shoulder. The cat carrier was heavy, but that was good because the biting pain was helping to center her. Not that she’d admit that to anyone ever again. The last time she’d admitted that pain helped her focus, she’d ended up in the psychiatric ward on a seventy-two-hour hold. That had . . . sucked. ‘I’m okay. I’m fine.’
Farrah smiled, bright as sunshine. Her best friend had the very best smile. Just seeing it made Mercy want to smile back. It was Farrah’s superpower. ‘Of course you’re okay,’ she said, giving her back a final pat. ‘Let’s get moving, so we can get something to eat.’
Mercy told her feet to move. One step at a time. Thankfully her feet listened and she and Farrah were headed toward baggage claim. ‘We have to get the cats settled first. I’ll find a pet store to get litter boxes. And food.’ Hearing the word ‘food’, Rory yowled pitifully from his carrier, and Mercy patted the side. ‘Hush, beast. You’ll survive a little longer.’
Farrah made a derisive noise. ‘I think your cats could miss a meal or two, Merce. Or ten.’ She lifted the cat carrier she held in one clenched fist. ‘Jack-Jack weighs sixty-two pounds.’
Mercy laughed, the sound foreign but welcome. Farrah could always make her laugh. ‘Not quite sixty-two pounds.’ Her Ragdoll kitties topped the scales at nineteen pounds each. ‘Besides, the vet said they’re both healthy. Not fat, just sturdy.’
Farrah’s brows lifted. ‘Sturdy. I like that. I think I’ll start using that word for myself.’
Mercy frowned. ‘Stop that. You’re curvy and gorgeous. I wish I had your curves.’ Farrah was soft, her whole demeanor inviting hugs, and the bright, bold colors she wore glowed like jewels against her dark skin. Today’s outfit was bright yellow and had heads turning with smiles and appreciation.
Farrah sighed, a put-upon sound that she’d drama’d up for Mercy’s benefit. ‘No, you don’t. It’s hard to find clothes for curves. I wish I were stick-slender.’
But Mercy saw the twinkle in Farrah’s eye and knew the truth. ‘No, you don’t. You like the way Captain Holmes stares at your curves.’
Farrah grinned. ‘That I do, and I make no apologies. My man is fine.’
‘Yes, he definitely is.’ Even though Captain Holmes could be intimidating in cop mode, he was kind and funny and he’d always treated Farrah like she was the sweetest of treasures. That made the man more than fine in Mercy’s book, even if he did make her feel small whenever he was in the room. ‘But not my type,’ she added when Farrah gave her an amused look. ‘He’s very . . . big, isn’t he?’
Farrah threw back her head and laughed. ‘He most certainly is, in all the right places. One in particular.’
Mercy’s cheeks heated. She hadn’t meant that, but Farrah had a bawdy streak. ‘Was he okay with you just dropping everything to come with me?’ she asked, changing the subject.
Farrah sobered, nodding. ‘He was perfectly okay with it. You said you needed me and that was good enough for him. That we’re staying in a house owned by a cop made him feel better about it, though.’ She shrugged. ‘He worries.’
A house owned by a cop. Mercy winced, thinking about the cop in question. Homicide detective Raphael Sokolov, Gideon’s best friend. The brother of his heart in the way that Farrah was the sister of hers.
Rafe probably hated her, too. If he didn’t, he should. Or would, given enough time. She selfishly hoped that he wouldn’t, though. Her memories of Rafe as she’d sat at his bedside for two weeks – his golden hair, his slow smile, and his unfettered happiness despite his pain – were the only bright spots in the nights she’d spent tossing and turning and fearing to sleep in the six weeks since returning to New Orleans. ‘The cop is on disability leave.’ Because he’d taken a bullet. For me. ‘Did you tell your captain that?’
Farrah made a face. ‘Well, no. But a cop’s a cop, Mercy. Just because the man is recuperating from injuries doesn’t mean squat. He’s still a cop deep down. Instincts don’t go on sabbatical, you know.’ She narrowed her eyes abruptly. ‘He knows we’re coming, doesn’t he?’
Mercy opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Farrah’s frown deepened. ‘Mercy? He knows we’re coming, doesn’t he?’
‘No, but his sister does. I called her to ask if we could stay with her for a little while.’
‘Okay.’ Farrah’s frown receded, but her wariness remained. ‘The sister is Sasha, right?’
‘Right. Rafe’s house has three apartments. Rafe was staying on the bottom floor because he couldn’t do the stairs, at least when I was last there.’ Before I ran away like the coward I am. ‘The bullet tore the muscles in his thigh.’ Mercy shuddered at the memory of the pain he’d suffered, but she couldn’t dwell on that now or she’d never make it to baggage claim. Breathe in and out. Nice and easy. She swallowed hard and pushed on. ‘The bottom-floor apartment actually belongs to Daisy.’
‘Your brother’s girlfriend,’ Farrah said conversationally, but every mention of Gideon was said with care, like she expected Mercy to bolt. Or faint dead away.
Neither was out of the realm of possibility at the moment.
‘Yes. I like Daisy. She’s artsy and fun.’ But the woman had experienced her own share of heartache and Mercy felt a kinship that she wished she could have further explored. Now’s your chance, Callahan. You’re back. You can do all the things you wish you’d done when you were here six weeks ago.