THIRTY-ONE
“What the hell?” Mercy circled her vehicle again. Sure enough. All four tires were flat.
Who?
Truman stepped out of his house and locked the door, and she glanced up in time to see a big smile on his face. He’d been grinning since he’d discovered her in his kitchen with a spoon in his peanut butter. She’d woken up starving.
“What the fuck?” He came to a halt and his grin vanished as his gaze went from her face to her tires. “All of them?” he asked in a grim tone.
“Yep. Cameras?”
“No.” He glanced across the street. “None of my neighbors have them either.”
She sighed.
“I’ll drive you to the police station and call the garage. He’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
Mercy pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. “How am I going to explain this?”
“Why do you have to explain flat tires? It’s clearly vandalism.”
She removed her hands and glared at him.
“Oh.” His grin came back. “This does look bad.”
He was enjoying her discomfort too much. Her phone vibrated with a text, and she pulled it out of her pocket. Eddie.
Where are you?
It’d begun. She replied that she was at the Eagle’s Nest police station. “Let’s go,” she told Truman. “I just told Eddie I’m already at the station. Maybe he won’t notice that my vehicle isn’t.”
She was silent on the short ride to the police station, her brain spinning as she tried to come up with a way to explain why her vehicle was at Truman’s. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone about her cabin or the attack fifteen years ago, so she couldn’t tell anyone that she’d been followed and had stayed at Truman’s because it’d been a draining day of confession.
“You’re overthinking,” Truman stated, keeping his gaze on the road to town.
“I’m not ready to blab the private parts of my life to everyone,” Mercy admitted. “You were the first, and I think telling one person is enough for this month. Probably enough for the year.”
“Who do you think slashed your tires?”
“Two possibilities: it was random or it was deliberate. If it was deliberate, my money is on whoever was at the cabin last night. He must have seen your department vehicle parked out on the main road. Checking out your house seems a logical thing to do.”
She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch and his eyebrows lower.
“I don’t like the thought of that,” he mumbled.
“You’re not the only one.”
“I wonder if they checked Sandy’s Bed & Breakfast first. And when they saw your vehicle wasn’t there, they went to my house.”
“Or it was random. High school jerks or someone who simply has a problem with law enforcement.”
He looked at her. His gaze said he didn’t believe it had been random.
Her gut didn’t believe it either.
“Someone’s definitely following you,” he said. “But to me, the slashed tires say he’s petty and immature. Angry. Probably has a bad temper. He strikes out at your vehicle instead of you.”
“Or he’s scared of me,” Mercy added.
“What do you mean?”
“Something I’ve done has scared him and he’s trying to stop me. Why would someone be afraid of me? The only thing I can come up with is that we’re possibly getting close to uncovering who killed your uncle and the other preppers.”
“Or they fear that you saw them fifteen years ago.”
“I would have gone to the police back then if I’d known exactly who it was,” she stated.
“Something you’ve done recently has lit a fire under someone.”
“We did find a big cache of weapons yesterday,” she added. “Maybe we’re closer than we realize.”
He drove in silence for a moment. “Are you nervous?”
Disbelief filled her. “Because someone slashed my tires? Hell no. I’m pissed.”
“Be cautious.”
“I’m always careful.”
“I don’t know how the security is at Sandy’s,” Truman added.
“She’s got heavy doors and good locks. Believe me, I checked.”
They parked behind the station. “Cooley’s here,” Truman said in surprise. “I guess he meant immediately when he said he’d review the files from the old murders.”
Mercy was relieved they’d beaten Eddie to the station. She wasn’t ready to answer his questions. Inside she met Ben Cooley, a big, jolly man with a perpetual smile, and she couldn’t help but like him. Truman lit up when he saw the officer, and vigorously shook his hand.
“You look good with a tan, Ben.”
“I was bored out of my mind.” He winked at Mercy. “I can’t stand sitting in a beach chair all day or standing in museums staring at art. Give my brain something to do, please.”
She understood. She could sit still for only a short time too.
Her phone rang, and she excused herself from the two men. Her caller was Natasha Lockhart, who came directly to the point.
“Anders Beebe had Rohypnol in his system. Same as the other three murdered men.”
Mercy wasn’t surprised.
“I heard Jefferson Biggs still had it in his stomach. Was Anders like that?”
“No. It was well into his system. I’d estimate he’d taken it within twelve hours.”
So he possibly had an evening visitor who drugged him.
But when that visitor returned, Anders was up and getting ready for his early day. Mercy wondered how strongly the drug had affected him. She knew he’d managed to get dressed, make coffee, and fire at the intruder. Maybe he hadn’t gotten as strong a dose as the other victims.
The ME didn’t have any other new information for her, and they ended the call.
She joined Truman and Ben and discovered Lucas had shown up, along with Eddie. They both had coffee in their hands and appeared to have walked over from her brother’s shop together. She updated them on Natasha’s call.
“I got a call from Darby Cowan this morning,” Eddie told her and Truman. “All the registered weapons that were missing from our preppers’ homes were in that bunch you found yesterday. Along with a lot of weapons that have been reported stolen over the years.”
Truman grinned and held up a palm to Mercy. She slapped it. “Yes!” she said. “I knew it.”
“It’s an amazing find,” said Eddie. “The Bend office is all over the weapons. Hopefully they can find some consistent fingerprints on them. That’ll help us nail someone.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ben Cooley said, looking from one agent to the other. Truman brought him up to date. “Well, I’ll be damned,” said Ben. “I haven’t made that hike in a few decades. Someone had to be really committed to haul all those weapons up there.”
Mercy agreed. “What about the stolen weapons from the fifteen-year-old cases?”
“Not there,” said Eddie.
Mercy twisted her lips, wishing they’d been included. She liked things to fit neatly. But when cases were fifteen years apart, there were going to be differences.
“I was able to look through the Sanders and Vargas case files this morning,” said Ben. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t have anything to add. The notes were as I remembered, and they didn’t trigger any memories that weren’t already written down.”
Truman’s shoulders slumped a bit, and he slapped Ben on the back. “I appreciate you taking a look.”
“Ben, do you have a daughter named Teresa?” Mercy asked bluntly.
His thick white brows rose. “I do. How’d you know that?”
“Pearl Kilpatrick is my sister,” Mercy said. “I think she went to high school with Teresa. Jennifer Sanders was Pearl’s best friend.”
He nodded thoughtfully, studying Mercy. “Could be.”
“Did Teresa know Jennifer or Gwen very well?”
Ben nodded. “I remember she was shook up real good when they died.”
“Do you think she’d agree to be interviewed to get some insight into the girls’ lives back then?”
Truman’s lips twitched at her tactful, nonthreatening way of suggesting they interview Teresa.
The old cop shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, that might help, but you’ll have to do it by phone. She’s got a one-month-old baby, and they live in Florida now.”
That certainly crosses out any involvement from Teresa in the current crimes. But not in the old.
“We’ll keep it in mind,” she said with a smile. “Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime.” Ben looked to Truman and said in a lower voice, “What’s this I hear about Joziah’s health?”
Mercy’s ears perked up. She and Truman exchanged a look.
“I haven’t heard anything, Ben. What did you hear?”
Ben looked flustered. “Now, I don’t hold with rumors, but I heard it from my wife who heard it from Ina’s son that Joziah’s cancer is back something fierce.”
Truman winced. “I’m sorry to hear that, but let’s not spread that around until we hear it from Joziah himself.”
“They’re saying Mike doesn’t want to take over the business.” Clearly Ben wasn’t done with not spreading rumors.
“Mike might have his own plans for his life,” said Truman.
“Joziah’s death would create a giant hole in this community,” Ben continued.
“I agree.”
Mercy’s brain spun. If Mike didn’t want to take over the business, did that mean Joziah’s community of preppers would be without a leader? Or would someone step up to fill the void?
Or was she getting caught up in gossip and rumor that had no basis in fact?
“Hey, boss?” Lucas called from his desk. “Tom from the garage says he’s at your house. He’s loaded Mercy’s Tahoe up on his truck and he’s taking it to the shop right now.”
Every set of eyes in the office looked at Mercy.
She met Eddie’s curious gaze. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“I’m just wondering what happened to your truck,” answered Eddie. A devilish light came into his eyes.
“Flat tire.”
Eddie grinned at Truman. “Her tire went flat at your place?”
“It did. All four of them, actually.”
“What?” Ben and Eddie spoke together.
Mercy threw up her hands. “You tell them,” she ordered Truman as she marched to the small room he’d loaned to her and Eddie.
Eddie had silently turned to Truman for an explanation after Lucas made his announcement about Mercy’s Tahoe.
He’d explained Mercy had stayed at his house after late working hours and exhaustion on her part. Without being specific, he said she’d suspected someone had been following her. He could tell Eddie knew he was holding back, but the FBI agent wouldn’t press with questions in front of Ben and Lucas.
Truman had later told her that the other men knew her virtue was still intact, and he’d received a sour look in return.
Four hours later Mercy’s restlessness was driving Truman crazy.
They’d been poring over the files of the four recent murders and occasionally dipping into the files of the women when something caught their eye. So far he felt as if they’d been spinning their wheels. Mercy was quiet but kept tapping her fingers, and he’d noticed the small half-moons her nails had left in her palms from clenching her fists.
He understood. They both felt as if they were incredibly close to their killer, and that the answer was right in front of them but they couldn’t see it.
Mercy didn’t look like a woman who’d slept in unexpected quarters last night. She looked refreshed and ready to work. He hadn’t been surprised when she grabbed a duffel bag containing clean clothes from her Tahoe last night. The woman was always prepared.
He liked that. He liked a lot of things about Mercy Kilpatrick.
Tell her.
He couldn’t. It would break every professional code he knew. He’d wanted to say something last night in his house, but it seemed wrong to bring it up when she was thoroughly rattled. He’d have to stick it out until this case was over.
Then she’ll leave.
Maybe she’ll work at the Bend office.
In his mind she was packing up, transferring jobs, and moving to Bend because he was interested in her.
And he hadn’t said a word.
Idiot.
He slammed Enoch Finch’s notebook shut. Mercy jumped and did a double take at the expression on his face, and he wondered what she saw. Determination? Infatuation?
“What is it?” She sat straight in her chair, her hands immobile on the papers she’d been flipping through. “Is everything okay?” Concern flooded her gaze.
Apparently I look sick, not determined.
He looked into her green eyes and chickened out. “We need to step away for an hour. It’s lunchtime and I’ve read the same page three times and still can’t tell you what it said.”
“I can always eat.”
“Let’s go. I need a change of scenery.”
Thirty minutes later Truman pulled into an angled parking space in front of a restaurant in Bend’s Old Mill District. The area was beautiful. Shops, restaurants, clean walkways, and footbridges over the Deschutes River. The district had been overhauled during the last few decades to provide a heart to the city and charm the tourists. Two women jogged by with strollers, couples roamed with cups of coffee, and Truman spotted exactly what he’d been craving. An outdoor table with a view of the water, right next to a heat lamp. The sky was clear blue, but there was a chill in the air. Mercy had protested when they drove out of Eagle’s Nest for food, but he’d noticed she relaxed into her seat and focused on the sights as he drove.
She’d gasped when he pulled into the Old Mill District. “This has completely changed since I left. It wasn’t like this at all.”
“It’s one of my favorite places,” Truman admitted. Even though it was geared toward tourists with the nearby hotels, wine tasting, and trendy shops, he felt his stress unwind whenever he visited. He wanted that for Mercy.
Her smile indicated he was on the right track.
They got a table on the patio and ordered food and coffee. She slipped on her sunglasses, leaned back in her chair, and turned her face to the sun. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, and he wished he could order a beer. The stress of their cases vanished, and he felt like a normal human without any responsibilities. The rain from the beginning of the week was a faint memory, and the latest forecast was full of sun for the next two weeks. As it should be. He was happy.
“Better?” he asked.
“Absolutely.”
“I was going a bit crazy in that small room.”
Mercy nodded. “I get sucked in. When I’m on a case, I feel like any moment I’m not working on it is wasted time. But I know everyone works better when they step away for a break.”
“And you’re not getting enough sleep.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I sleep.” The waiter set their food down and vanished.
Truman attacked his burger.
“Do you think about when this case is finished?” he asked a few minutes later.
She looked down at her salad and moved her sunglasses to the top of her head. “All the time. I want to get it solved.”
He scooted his chair forward an inch. “That’s not what I mean.”
Her green gaze met his. He was lost in their color and her thick black lashes.
The sight stole his breath.
“What do you mean?” She wouldn’t make it easy on him.
“I want to ask you out when this is done.” Blunt.
She went perfectly still, her gaze still locked on his. “That’s not appropriate,” she stated.
“I don’t see a problem once we’re done.”
The conversations of the people on the river footpath suddenly seemed very loud.
“I live in Portland,” she finally said, looking away.
“So?”
Her gaze flew back to his. “You don’t see that as a problem?”
“Sure it’s a hurdle. But if that’s the first thing you’re bringing up, I take it you don’t have an objection. I’m trying to find out if you’re willing to try this, Mercy. Can I get a straight answer so I can start sleeping better at night?”
Wide eyes looked at him. “You’re serious.”
“Damned right. You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”
“No.”
“Good.” He leaned forward the slightest bit. “You make me slightly crazy, Mercy. I don’t know what it is, but I find I want more of it. Let’s get this damned case wrapped up so I can take you out for a good steak dinner.”
She glanced at his burger and her salad. “Okay.” She blinked. “But—”
“No buts. We’ll address any problems as they come. We won’t know if we don’t try.” Something about her had become very necessary to him over the last few days, and he didn’t want it to end. A vein in her neck pulsed, and he fought the urge to gently touch it. Not yet. He had no idea what he needed, but he knew he couldn’t let her simply walk out of his life after closing the case.
“You don’t care that I’ve killed someone and covered it up.” Her eyes were cautious.
Is this a test?
“You’ve never asked me if I’ve killed anyone.”
Compassion filled her face. She didn’t speak.
“You aren’t the only one who carries a burden,” he said quietly.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I understand how overwhelming your own problems can be, but hearing that other people have baggage sometimes makes yours a little easier to bear. You’re not alone, Mercy. And I’m definitely not perfect.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” she said slowly.
“Then we’ll both figure it out as we go along.”
“I haven’t dated in ages,” she admitted. “It’s incredibly hard with my job. Men hear what I do and they immediately start acting odd.”
“I think it takes someone in law enforcement to understand.”
“They’re hard to date because of their egos.” Her lips twisted.
“Understandable. I think we’re both pretty low on the ego scale. So do you accept my offer of dinner?”
Her smile widened. “I do. Will that be here or in Portland?”
A weight lifted from his chest.
His phone rang. Lucas. He tried to ignore it, but Mercy’s phone started to ring at the same time. Dread settled over him, and concern flooded her face. “It’s Eddie,” she said.
Holding her gaze, they both answered their phones. “Someone broke into the Kilpatricks’,” Lucas yelled through Truman’s phone. “Their daughter Rose is missing.”
Her phone at her ear, Mercy’s face turned white as she listened to Eddie.