MERCY UPON US
Kobo
Doctor Riana Wolfe has a perfect life--a private practice in Dillon, Colorado, two cute kids, and a handsome husband--until one night unravels it all. Her husband's suicide rolls back the curtain on a web of lies so elaborate that she begins to question her sanity. Trapped in a spiral of deceit and betrayal, she and her children become targets and she has no idea why or who is behind it.
Brody Dalton has no interest in drama. A retired ski champion, he is rehabilitating his shattered leg and nursing a wounded ego when he hears the gunshot come from next door. He rushes to the aid of his former childhood friend, Riana, without thought of the consequences. Rumors in the small community abound about why Riana's husband committed suicide and about what other secrets she may be hiding. He is battling his own demons, yet cannot stay away from his former friend's obvious distress. As the rest of the community shies away from the widow, he puts himself in danger to help.
Drugs, secrets, and death chase Riana and Brody as they delve deep into the mysterious shadow life of her deceased husband. Through it all, they realize their bond from decades ago has never truly subsided, but the timing for love couldn't be worse. As Riana struggles to save her children from harm and to salvage what is left of her shattered life, can she open her heart enough to trust Brody? Will they be able to overcome--and outrun--the darkness that haunts them both?
**may contain emotional triggers regarding suicide and drug abuse**
Chapter One
"I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo."
—Sylvia Plath
"I am tired of your constant sadness," she said without remorse while her soon-to-be-ex-husband paced the floor in front of her, casually stepping over the luggage he had brought up from the car.
"Tired of it," he muttered under his breath, "so tired of it."
Riana stared at him, unable to mask the disgust she felt. This man pacing in front of her looked like the man she had married nine years ago, sounded like him, but hadn't acted like him for at least two years, maybe longer if she really took the time to think about when the changes had begun. The lies, the mind games, the cheating, the paranoia...it had all taken a toll. She crossed her arms over her chest to stop herself from lashing out at him with all the repressed anger she had stuffed down in her gut.
"You need to go, just leave," she said between clenched teeth.
"Just go, yes, I need to go. It's the only way." He stopped his frenetic pacing and looked around the bedroom he hadn't shared with his wife for the past eighteen months. "I need to go."
"For the love of God, stop talking about it and just do it!" Riana kicked one of the suitcases out of her way and stepped closer to him. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Marshall? You're acting like a lunatic. Get the hell out."
"So you really want me to go?" He looked her in the eye.
"Why are you making me repeat everything? Yes. Go!"
"You are so beautiful," he whispered. "Stunning, really." He reached a hand up as if wanting to touch her face, curled his fingers back into his palm, and dropped his hand to his side with a sigh. "Things should have been different, could have been different. We were supposed to be different."
Tired from traveling all day with two small children in tow while trying to remain civil to this man she could barely stand, her patience had worn thin. Their last ditch effort to try to save their marriage with a family trip to Hawaii over Christmas vacation and New Year's Eve had only served to reinforce her decision to sign those divorce papers ASAP.
"Marshall, I'm in no mood for whatever existential crisis you're having. The trip failed. We are never getting back together. The kids are scared of you—"
"Don't say that." He scrubbed his hands over his face, neck bent, strands of sun-streaked blond hair falling over his tanned forehead.
Rage —hot and wild— surged trough the restraint. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him for no other reason than to try to snap him out of whatever twisted torment had wrapped around him.
"You need help, more help than I can give you, you've got to see that, somewhere down inside you, you must see that, right?" She squeezed her fingernails into his shoulders and shook him again until his blue eyes met hers. The agony in them caused her to step back and suck in her breath. "Marshall—"
"It's so damn hard trying to be perfect for you, Riana." He grabbed her forearm and yanked her back toward him. He sneered against the side of her face, his breath hot and wet on her skin as he spoke. "Flawless Riana with her flawless fucking life. What will people say?"
"Say about what?" She wiggled free of his hold and stumbled backward a step. Careful to lower her voice so she didn't wake the children sleeping down the hall, she said, "Go now, Marshall. Now. And I don't mean go back to your apartment above the garage...I mean get the hell out of my house and my life completely."
"Your house? Funny, I thought it was our house, our home, our life."
"Not anymore, not for a long time. You know it, I know it, I'm tired of pretending."
"You've spent your entire life pretending."
She crossed her arms over her chest like a shield. The downside of intimacy was the weaponization of all those shared confidences when the relationship disintegrated. She lifted her chin higher as a sign of defiance and refused to cower.
"What? No brilliant comeback?" he asked when their stare down continued.
Violent shivers shook her entire body. Her teeth chattered together. Coldness skittered across her skin beneath her thick sweater. She hugged her arms tighter against her chest, unable to stop the quakes from wracking through her torso. She never should have agreed to the vacation that only perpetuated the facade of a happy family playing on a beach. Tension had reverberated through every shared meal, every excursion, every posed photograph. All along she had carried the divorce papers in her suitcase, wishing for some miracle like a fool. At this very second, she didn't know who she hated more — him for being an ass or herself for clinging to some fantasy that would never be.
"You want me to go?" His lips curled into a sneer, eyebrows lifted in inquiry, as he backed toward the nightstand.
"How many times do I need to say it?"
"Just one more. Tell me to go, Riana."
"You've lost your mind. I don't know who you are anymore."
"You never knew me at all."
"Stop this, Marshall. You're being ridiculous."
He raked his gaze over her from head-to-toe as if memorizing the sight. With a twisted grin, he reached behind his hip and pulled a handgun from the drawer. His sneer turned into a smile when he aimed the weapon at her chest.
"Tell me to go one more time, sweetheart."
Gaze locked on the gun, she struggled for words, for comprehension, for direction. "Marshall, don't."
"All I ever needed from my wife was a little fucking slack, but you would never let up. It's always been about appearances to you, right, Riana? That's why you wanted me to live above the garage instead of divorcing me. That's why you don't ask too many questions about where I go or who I see. You like our image too much. The truth is too fucking ugly for you to handle."
"Marshall, put the gun down. Stop all of this."
"You want it to stop?" He stepped closer.
"Why do you hate me?" She asked, gaze fixated on the gun that aimed between her breasts.
"I don't hate you," he whispered, pain darkening his eyes. "That's the problem. I loved you too damn much."
She backed up until her hip pressed against the dresser, preventing her from going any further. "Marshall, you need to calm down."
"Tell me to go one more time." He pressed the gun to the center of her chest. "Tell me to leave my children, my house, my goddamn dog, my life. Tell me to go."
He's going to kill me. The words whispered from her conscious. What if he kills the kids, too? Yet she couldn't move.
She dragged her gaze from the gun and looked Marshall in the eye. "You don't want to do this."
"You don't know what I want." A tear slipped down his cheek, the smile faded... but he didn't look away from her eyes or loosen his grip on the gun. "You don't know what anyone else wants because you don't pay attention. Have I fucked up your perfect little life, sweetheart?"
"Where is this hate coming from?"
"Do you still want me to go? Do you still want this to end?"
She nodded.
"Say it." He took another step closer, the gun pressed between her breasts, his breath hot on the side of her face. "Say it."
"Go, Marshall, just go."
Sorrow darkened his blue eyes to indigo before he kissed her cheekbone and whispered, "All I ever wanted was to make you happy."
In a sudden motion, he stepped back, lifted the gun to his temple, and pulled the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot deafened her.
She watched him fall to the ground, pieces of his skull and blood scattered across the floor and luggage behind him. The smell of the fired gun burned her nose. The impact of the sound hurt her ears. She crumbled to the floor and grabbed his shoulders, her gaze taking in the scene in front of her, her mind not able to put two and two together.
Shattered skull.
Blood in his blond hair.
Chunks of brains on the hardwood floor.
A little girl screamed from the doorway, "Daddy! What's happened to daddy?"
A Golden Retriever barked by her side.
Riana twisted and gaped at her baby girl. "Call 9-1-1!"
She returned her gaze to her fallen husband. She had given him permission to kill himself. She had told him to go.
Bastard.
His final act had been to manipulate her into telling him to leave so she would be haunted by this moment for the rest of her life.
She squeezed her hands over the shattered skull. Blood oozed between her fingertips and spread across the floor.
"Mommy!"
"Do what I say, call 9-1-1!"
"Are you going to save daddy?"
"Do as I say, Vanessa!" Too afraid to let his head go, Riana pressed harder at the pieces of his skull. Her rational mind warred with hope. After her little girl sprinted into the hall, she leaned close to Marshall and whispered, "Don't you dare die like this in front of your kids, you selfish prick."
The last word caught on a sob. She knew he was already dead. Med school hadn't prepared her for this—nothing in her thirty-seven years of life had prepared her for this.
Despite the trouble they had had over the past few years, she had loved him enough to keep trying, keep fighting. He had been right when he had accused her of having the perfect life, or at least the facade of one, and she had loved that life. Family of four. Handsome husband. Money. Gorgeous house in the mountains with a view of Lake Dillon from a wrap-around deck. Private practice. Beautiful children.
Dead husband. Blood everywhere. Eight-year old daughter on the phone with 9-1-1.
"I can't believe this is happening." She dropped her forehead against his hair. Pieces of skull fragmented under the palms of her hands now slick with blood. "This can't be happening."
Please, God, don't let this be real.
Tears came but she fought like hell to swallow them back when she heard her daughter talking on the cellphone over her shoulder — the little girl voice, her innocence about to be shattered at the sight on the floor. Rex, the dog, barking like a maniac—shuffling forward and then shuffling back to be next to Vanessa, obviously unsure what to do or who to protect.
"Stay in the hallway, Vanessa, stay away."
"The lady wants to talk to you."
"Tell her I can't talk, tell her to send help."
"Are you saving daddy?"
No one could save daddy.
Riana squeezed her eyes closed but kept her grip tight on Marshall's head because she didn't know what else to do. "Tell them to come, sweetheart, tell them to come now."
Hours later, Riana knelt in the same spot with towels and rags trying to mop up the blood. She had been questioned by the police, watched the body being taken away, asked who they should call all while her children had been sequestered away in another room with Victims' Advocate Officer from the sheriff's office. Her mind couldn't function anymore. She had no sense of time and doubted her mouth could form another word.
"Let me help you." A man squatted next to her, but she didn't look up. He took the blood soaked towels from her hands and moved them aside before adding another to the floor.
In silence, he scrubbed the scene clean with her.
A sob shook her shoulders, all those tears she had tried to shove aside while answering the Sheriff's questions crashed through her barriers like a tidal wave. She collapsed against the wood floor, her fingers clawing at the slats where Marshal had lain, her mouth open in a silent scream as sobs wracked her body without mercy.
Unidentified hands grabbed her shoulders and lifted her up. Strong arms held her close against a hard chest. The man rocked her back and forth. She allowed the comfort, welcomed it from this stranger, and shattered right in front of him. The horror of the suicide smashed up against her terror of the unknown.
"My kids, I need my children."
"My parents tucked them in, they're sleeping in the same room, Rex is with them too."
"I need them, I should be with them."
"Remember? They're sleeping. Cath is with them."
Cath?
She licked tears from her lips and shook her head in confusion.
The man held her closer to his chest, one hand on her shoulder and the other in her hair. "You're going to be okay, Ri. Just let it all out."
"Vanessa, Sam..."
"Shh..."
"I need to keep them safe."
"They are safe." He rocked her gently to and fro.
Safe? The world had never felt more unsafe or uncertain.
Eventually, he lifted her from the floor and placed her on the bed. With a gentle swipe of his hand over her hair, he told her that it would all be okay.
Okay? Is this man on crack? She kept her eyes closed and snuggled against the pillow while he dropped a blanket over her body still clothed dressed in the clothes she had put on in an ocean view hotel room so many hours ago — back when she had still been a part of a family of four.
She cried harder at the thought, at the memory of her disdain, as the final words she had spoken to her husband replayed in her mind.
I gave him permission to die.
Pain crippled her—physical agony that curled her into the fetal position while silent screams locked in her throat and tears poured from her closed eyes.
"Shh...it's going to be okay," the man whispered in the dark as he tucked the blanket tight around her. "You've got to believe that, Riana. Trust me."
I don't believe anything anymore. I trust no one.
