Lord Have Mercy (Southern Gentleman 2)

Mrs. Sherpa was quiet. “Was it Officer Stone?”

I swallowed hard, feeling the cry bubbling up my throat.

“Yes,” I croaked.

She breathed out hard. “God. Is he…is he okay?”

No. No, he wasn’t.

“I’m…I’m not too sure yet,” I admitted. “He’s not out of the woods, but he was alive when they put him in the helicopter.”

His legs had been crushed. So had one of his hands.

I was fairly sure that he’d sustained far more broken bones, but the extent to which I didn’t know just yet. It was bad, though.

I knew it. He knew it.

Everybody knew it.

Even Dooley knew it.

Speaking of the little devil, he’d never left my side and was following me around like he was lost without Flint.

I dropped my hand down to his head, which was resting on my thigh as we drove hours to follow where the helicopter had taken Flint and said a prayer.

One that was based solely on Flint doing all right. Coming out of this just as good if not better than he was before.

But I had a feeling that it wasn’t going to be easy.

Not even a little bit.

“Let me know how he is, dear,” Mrs. Sherpa said. “And take as long as you need. I’ll get you and Carmichael covered.”

With that, I hung up and spent the next two hours trying not to cry.

***

I shook my head no.

“You’re not taking him,” I refused. “He’s mine until Flint says otherwise.”

Chief Donaldson frowned. “He’s a troublemaker, I’ve heard, without Flint to take care of him. He needs constant supervision, and you’re just a little bit of a thing…”

I shook my head.

“No,” I repeated. “And that’s final.”

“I’m not sure you should be taking care of a police dog that is owned by the department,” Nivea said, sounding all forlorn and concerned and shit.

I looked at her with a glare. “I’m sorry, but what are you doing here again?”

Nivea feigned hurt. “I’m just so worried about Flint.”

I really, really didn’t want her there.

Luckily, she’d only shown up after school had let out, otherwise I would’ve had to deal with her a whole lot longer than I had.

Croft patted my shoulder awkwardly, his eyes taking in Carmichael and me with a slow sweep of his concerned gaze.

“I’m going to go open up the gym,” he said. “If you can think of anything else that I can help with, don’t hesitate to let me know. You have my number?”

That was directed at Carmichael, who was staring not at Croft, but at the hospital doors that were still closed, even all these hours later.

“That’s fine,” she said softly. “And yes, I think I have it.”

Lies.

She had his number, and she knew it.

“Let me have your phone and I’ll make sure.”

She handed him her phone and looked down at her hands.

“It probably shouldn’t have been this long,” she whispered so that only Croft and I could hear. “There’s something seriously wrong.”

Chief Donaldson, who I hadn’t realized was close enough to hear, put his hand on Carmichael’s head. “Don’t worry too much, honey. If there was something more going wrong, they’d tell you.”

I hoped.

My stomach had been in a constant state of denial since I’d arrived, and it wasn’t getting any better.

“Maybe you should just take Dooley,” Nivea suggested, unaware that we’d already moved on from the topic.

Everyone ignored her in favor of not killing her—well, at least that was my reason for not addressing her asinine suggestion.

“I hope you’re right,” I admitted. “If you’re wrong, I’m going to be lost.”

“I’m right,” he said. “But I’m going to go up there and use my big bad police badge and get some information.”

The moment he left, Nivea followed him.

“If someone doesn’t get her out of here,” I said to Raleigh, who’d shown up an hour ago with her fiancé, Ezra, in tow. “I’m going to shove my fist down her throat.”

Ezra stood up and walked over to where Nivea was speaking adamantly with the Chief.

“She posted about her ‘ex-boyfriend’ being in a really bad accident. She asked for prayers for his healing, and posted about how she was going up to the hospital to offer his new girlfriend a ‘helping hand,’” Raleigh said. “And she tagged you, the gym, and Carmichael.”

“Fuck that bitch,” Carmichael muttered. “Can I block her? Will that make it to where she can’t tag the page anymore?”

“No,” I paused. “At least I don’t think that will work. I should block her, too.”

“If you block her, you won’t be able to read any of her posts,” Raleigh said. “Then how will you know what she’s up to?”

I looked over at my friend. “Did you, or did you not, just tell me about what she posted on social media?”

Raleigh grinned. “I did. But it’s more fun to commiserate with you.”

“It’d be more fun if I could block her from my life altogether,” I admitted. “I’m—”