Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

enoughsatisfaction that I jerked around to look at him. He smiled tiredly. “Samuel’s good, Mercy. But he doesn’t know Jesse, doesn’t care about her. I’m not going to be good for much for a while: I need you for Jesse’s sake.”
    The passenger door opened and Samuel pulled himself up into the seat and shut the door.
    â€œDa means well,” Sam told me, as I started backing out, proving that he knew me better than his father did. “He’s used to dealing with people who listen when he tells them something. Mercy, he’s right, though. You aren’t up to dealing with werewolf business.”
    â€œSeems to me that she’s been dealing just fine,” Adam said mildly. “She killed two of them in as many days and came out of it without a scratch.”
    â€œLuck,” said Samuel.
    â€œIs it?” In my rearview mirror, I saw Adam close his eyes as he finished in almost a whisper. “Maybe so. When I was in the army, we kept lucky soldiers where they would do us the most good.”
    â€œAdam wants me to help find Jesse,” I told Samuel, putting my foot on the gas as we left Aspen Creek behind us.
    The conversation went downhill from there. Adam dropped out after a few pointed comments, and sat back to enjoy the fireworks. I didn’t remember arguing with Samuel much before, but I wasn’t a love-struck sixteen year-old anymore either.
    After I pointedly quit talking to him, Samuel unbuckled his seat belt and slipped between the front seats to go back and sit next to Adam.
    â€œNever argue with Mercy about something she cares about,” Adam advised, obviously having enjoyed himself hugely. “Even if she stops arguing with you, she’ll just do whatever she wants anyway.”
    â€œShut up and eat something,” growled Samuel, sounding not at all like his usual self. I heard him lift the lid on a small cooler and the sweet-iron smell of blood filled the van.
    â€œMmm,” said Adam without enthusiasm. “Raw steak.”
    But he ate it, then slept. After a while Samuel came back to the front and belted himself in.
    â€œI don’t remember you being so stubborn,” he said.
    â€œMaybe I wasn’t,” I agreed. “Or maybe you didn’t used to try to order me around. I’m not a member of your pack or Bran’s pack. I’m not a werewolf. You have no right to dictate to me as if I were.”
    He grunted, and we drove a while more in silence.
    Finally, he said, “Have you had lunch?”
    I shook my head. “I thought I’d stop in Sandpoint. It’s grown since last time I drove through there.”
    â€œTourists,” said Samuel in disgust. “Every year there are more and more people.” I wondered if he was remembering what it had been like when he’d first been there.
    We stopped and got enough fried chicken to feed a Little League team—or two werewolves, with a little left over for me. Adam ate again with restrained ferocity. Healing was energy-draining work, and he needed all the protein he could get.
    When he was finished, and we were back on the road, with Samuel once again in the front, I finally asked, “What happened the night you were attacked? I know you’ve told Bran and probably Samuel, too, already—but I’d like to know.”
    Adam wiped his fingers carefully on the damp towelette that had come with our chicken—apparently he didn’t think it was finger-lick’n good. “I’d pulled the pack in to introduce Mac, and to tell them about your adventures with his captors.”
    I nodded.
    â€œAbout fifteen minutes after the last of them left, about three-thirty in the morning, someone knocked on the door. Mac had just managed to regain his human form, and he jumped up to answer the door.” There was a pause, and I adjusted the rearview mirror so I could see Adam’s face, but I couldn’t read his expression.
    â€œI was in the kitchen, so I don’t know exactly whathappened, but from the sounds, I’d say they shot him as soon as he opened the door.”
    â€œWhich was stupid,” commented Samuel. “They’d know you had to hear the shots—even a tranq gun makes a pretty good pop.”
    Adam started to shrug—then stopped with a pained expression. “Damned if—excuse me, Mercedes—I’ll be darned if I know what they were thinking.”
    â€œThey