Free Mercy by Rhiannon Paille Page A

but came up with nothing. “Uh … I started a forest fire.”
    “Shit,” Gold said, and the phone went dead.
    O O O
    The rest of the day turned into an episode of 9-1-1 Rescue and Maeva wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. She sat in the living room, her knee bouncing nervously, fingernails chewed to the quick, cheeks stained with tears. Gold, his partner Korowicz, and her parents were huddled around the kitchen table. Her mother was sitting, her father standing behind her chair, one hand on the back of the curved polished wood, hints of vitiligo creeping over the edges of his fingers. He was calm, cool and collected as always. Maeva strained to hear their conversation. Her dad and Gold spoke in hushed tones while Korowicz stood there looking menacing with his arms across his uniformed chiseled chest. He kept glancing at her and she gritted her teeth. Korowicz was one of the twelve guys that made up the calendar models for the Burn Fund Charity Drive. She used to have a crush on him but he had such a rotten attitude she felt nothing but contempt for him now.
    The back door rattled and swung open, Scott appearing in the doorway. Everyone looked at him and he mimicked a deer in the headlights, his brown eyes widening, his mouth curving upwards to form a smile. “What’s up everyone?” he asked, moving past Gold and finding a seat on the couch opposite Maeva, his smirk disappearing the moment he looked at her.
    “I better not be in trouble too,” he said, glancing at the kitchen.
    Maeva buried her face in her hands. “Shut up, Scott.”
    “What happened?”
    Maeva groaned but recounted the details for him with as few words as possible. She left out the part about the boy. Scott was grinning like the Cheshire cat by the time she was finished and she wanted to smack him. She was in trouble, really big trouble and he thought it was funny.
    “If I lose my license I’ll have to go with you to school,” she hissed.
    The smile drained and he fidgeted on the black microfiber couch. “That’s embarrassing.”
    Maeva wished she could stab him with her glare. “For me or you?”
    Scott furrowed his brow. “Me. Whatever, tell me what happens.” He stood, his near six-foot frame towering over her. He lumbered out of the living room and down the hall. Maeva closed her eyes, trying to blot out the perfect blue eyes and inky black hair. The boy left her there, he didn’t call for help, he just … left. She could have died. She stood, unwilling to let the anxiety attack creep into her and lingered near the wall separating the kitchen from the living room. Gold looked at her, his blue eyes registering disappointment.
    “Something to add, Miss Jonsson?”
    “Uh …” Maeva said, playing with her sweater sleeve. She listened idly while they went over the details of the rescue mission and the firefighting brigade that successfully doused the fire. The only thing missing were the final details, the ones she wanted to keep a secret. Her dad turned to look at her, and her mom swiveled in her chair, their eyes, Gold’s eyes and Korowicz’s eyes digging into her. She buckled under the pressure of authority and let out a breath. “I wasn’t alone.”
    “You weren’t?” her dad seemed surprised, his eyebrows pulled together.
    Maeva shook her head, her fingers rolling and unrolling the cuff of her sweater. “There was a boy in the woods.”
    Gold relaxed. “But you shot the flare gun at the tree correct?”
    She groaned. “He startled me. And the storm came out of nowhere.…”
    “I’ve told you so many times before, check the weather before you go. You never listen to a goddamned thing I say,” Grace’s shrill voice cut in.
    “It wasn’t in the forecast,” she muttered, digging her toe in the carpet. She pulled her sleeves over her hands and waited for the scolding to continue.
    “I’m putting you on probation, no canoeing after dark,” Gold said, taking control of the situation. Maeva