For the first time in two days, his home was quiet.
Truman lay back in his easy chair, relishing the silence. He loved his parents and sister but preferred them in small quantities. They’d left for good that morning, and the house had seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. The home was cleaner than it’d ever been, but he’d been unable to relax with them fussing over him. Mercy fussed a little but knew when to step back.
He ran a hand over Simon, who was curled up on his lap. The cat had stuck close since Truman had returned. He’d had to shut the door to his bedroom to keep her from sleeping on his pillow and keeping him awake. She’d meowed her protest and stuck her paw under the door for fifteen minutes before giving up.
Ollie peeked into Truman’s study, and Truman waved him in. In the few days he’d been at Truman’s house, the teenager had settled into a routine. Kaylie had spent several afternoons with him, catching him up on what a teenager needed to know—cell phones, apps, and clothing. And she had introduced him to the internet, horrified by the thought of him learning from dated textbooks when the world could be at his fingertips. He’d caught on quickly to computers—after several lectures on how to avoid viruses and not to believe everything he read.
Truman wondered if he’d discovered porn yet.
“Mercy asked me to bring you some coffee,” Ollie said as he stepped in. At first glance Ollie could blend in with a group of teenagers. The clothes and haircut had done away with the mountain boy. But there was still something that set him apart. A watchfulness in his eyes, an intense studying of his surroundings that was different from the carefree attitudes of most teens. He seemed comfortable under Truman’s roof, and Truman wondered how long it would last. Ollie was fiercely independent. Truman liked having the boy around because Ollie made him see the world differently and appreciate everything from dental floss to the flick of a light switch.
Truman took the mug. “Sit down for a minute.”
Ollie planted himself on an ottoman, gangly legs akimbo, and Simon abandoned Truman for the new arrival.
Traitor.
“I wanted to tell you what happened the night I went in the water,” Truman said. He’d been putting this off until the two of them were alone.
“I’ve heard.” The teen shifted on the ottoman, keeping his gaze and hand on Simon.
“I haven’t told anyone about this particular thing.”
Ollie looked up, his eyes skeptical. “Even Mercy?”
“Even Mercy.” But I will. “I was already beat to hell, you know. My arm, my head was still giving me problems, my stamina sucked. I shouldn’t have been back on the job.”
“You were going crazy doing nothing here. You needed to get back for your sanity.”
“True. But physically I wasn’t ready.” Truman sipped the coffee, appreciating the heat and taste as it hit his tongue. How many days did I crave coffee while I was in the woods? “When I fell down the bank and into that creek, the first thing that happened was I banged my head on more rocks. Several times.”
Ollie gazed at him in sympathy. Truman knew he looked like shit. The rushing water had tumbled him hard, giving him a bruised cheekbone and scraped chin. And those were only the visible contusions. He had plenty of others hidden by his clothing and hair.
“Water up my nose, down my throat, and my heavy coat acted like an anchor when it soaked through.” The terror of that night slammed into him, and the mug rattled as he set it on the adjacent table. “I finally crashed into a bigger rock, one sticking out of the water, and I wrapped my arms around it, ignoring the pain that was shooting up from my broken arm.” He gently touched the new splint. The ER doctor had threatened to cast it this time but agreed to let an orthopedist make the decision. Truman had an appointment tomorrow.
“Mercy told me she found you in the middle of the water.”
“She did. But what she didn’t know was that I’d nearly let go three times. I was long done. The water wouldn’t stop dragging on my clothing, trying to yank me from the rock. It continually splashed me in the face, and I think I inhaled or drank a gallon of it. But do you know why I didn’t let go?”
Ollie shook his head, his gaze locked on Truman’s.
“Because I remembered your story. The one where you’d fallen into the ravine and you didn’t give up no matter how bad the odds were against you. You were a teenager, and there was no way I was going to let a teenager out-survive me. If you had the drive to get yourself out of that situation, by damn, I would too. Step one was to hold the fuck on. Remember how you told me you outlined steps to get out and simply focused on reaching the next one?”
The teen nodded.
“I was lucky. I got help at step one. But it was your determination and success that fueled me to hang on. I don’t know if I would have made it without the memory of your experience.”
Ollie looked away, but Truman saw his jaw tighten, and the teen blinked several times.
“I wanted to thank you, Ollie. You rescued me twice.”
The teen snorted and looked back at Truman with a small grin. “So you owe me double now.”
“I do,” Truman agreed. “You’ve got a home here as long as you need it. I’ll get you set up with college and help you find a job. What else would you like?”
Ollie leaned forward, his eyes eager. “I want to learn to drive.”
The pure teenage normalness of the request made Truman’s eyes sting. Cars. Driving. The things a normal teen male craved. “You bet.”
“Awesome.” Ollie’s face lit up.
Mercy stood outside the study, blatantly listening to Truman and Ollie’s conversation.
I was closer to losing him than I realized.
She sucked in a shuddering breath and wandered back to the kitchen, searching for something to do with her hands and excess energy. She was on leave for two weeks. The doctor said she had created a small tear in her newly healed thigh muscle when she dragged Britta into the house. He said it would heal with time but begged her to follow his advice and restrict herself to light activity. “No pulling bodies around, no jumping into fast creeks, no rushing down steep banks,” he’d told her.
“I don’t usually do that,” Mercy had admitted.
Britta had surgery to repair the artery in her leg, and Mercy had visited her in the hospital after her own doctor visit.
“We have twin injuries,” she’d joked with the woman lying in the hospital bed. “Don’t overdo it when they let you get out of here. I know from experience that you can’t rush the healing.”
“I suspect we have more in common than that,” Britta had answered, her pale-blue gaze locked on Mercy’s.
Mercy tipped her head as she regarded the woman. They both had violence in their pasts. They both were determined to be self-sufficient. But Mercy still had family. Britta had no one.
“You’re right,” she answered. “We’ll have to keep hanging out together.” She eyed the intricate sleeve tattoo on the woman’s arm. “I’ve been thinking about a tattoo. Maybe you can give me some advice since you’ve had a few . . . unless you’re still thinking of leaving town.”
Britta sighed. “I’ve wavered back and forth on a decision. A lot of my reasons to leave are now . . . moot. I’ve discovered I still love this area. More than anywhere else I’ve lived. But I don’t know if I can live on that property. Sometimes I never want to see it again, but then I think it’s a good reminder of what I’ve survived.”
Mercy wanted her to stay. “I can help you look for another place.”
A genuine smile lit Britta’s face, and Mercy realized with shock that it was the first one she’d seen. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Britta said. She suddenly straightened up in her bed. “Zara!”
Kaylie had slipped into the room with the dog. She shut the door behind her, breathing heavily and grinning like a crazy person.
“How did you get her into the hospital?” Mercy asked in amazement as the dog darted to Britta’s bed and put her paws up on the side, trying to pull herself onto the bed. Britta rubbed the dog’s head and ears as happy tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Very carefully,” Kaylie admitted. “I know a guy who works in the cafeteria, and he helped me sneak in a back way. The nurses on this hall spotted us but then deliberately looked the other way. I suspect they’ll give us a few minutes before they kick us out.”
“Has she been good?” Britta asked, her delighted focus on Zara. Kaylie had taken charge of the dog, bringing her to the vet and then back to Mercy’s apartment. Zara had some bruised ribs but no broken bones.
“She’s been great. Dulce and she are fascinated with each other.”
Mercy had stepped back, enjoying Britta’s transformation as she tried to pet every part of her dog.
I worried neither would survive that night.
Two of the responding deputies had found Britta in the house and loaded her into an ambulance as more rescued Truman and Mercy from the water. Truman had been so weak, they’d used a stretcher to get him up the bank and into another ambulance.
The FBI and the Deschutes County sheriff were working on connecting Ryan Moody to the Hartlage and Jorgensen murders. Mercy had shared Ryan’s confession and directed them to take another look at Grady Baldwin’s conviction from twenty years ago. Just as Britta said, the Moodys had lived in the vicinity of the two old mass killings. A brief interview with Ryan Moody’s father was even in the Verbeek case files. He’d claimed he knew nothing about what had happened.
Mercy had unearthed the police report of Ryan’s father’s suicide. The responding officer had made a note of Mrs. Moody’s bruised face, but she and both her sons swore the father was unstable and had shot himself. His medical history revealed PTSD and severe chronic depression. Mercy had stared for a long time at the comment about Mrs. Moody’s bruises.
Did she or one of her sons kill him?
Mercy would never know.
The investigation of the sovereign citizens’ forgery ring had opened a can of worms. Several men, including Kenneth Forbes, were currently sitting in jail, a litany of charges being assembled against them. Mercy was pleased to hear Kenneth Forbes was also being investigated for receiving disability payments from the government. His son, Joshua, would be the prosecution’s prime witness. The forgers—including his own father—had threatened to kill Joshua Forbes. The son’s anger at his father had loosened his tongue. He’d told the police everything and would get a deal from the prosecutor. Truman wasn’t happy about his own role as a witness in the prosecution’s case. He’d wanted to forget his time in captivity, stating the men would go to prison for long enough with the other stacks of charges, but Mercy was determined to see the men who’d abused him face the consequences.
Ground-penetrating radar had revealed three bodies buried on the grounds where Truman had been held captive. Tests were under way to see if one was Ollie’s grandfather.
The teenager had simply nodded when Mercy told him the news, and her heart had contracted at the flash of pain on his face. She understood he’d already mentally buried his grandfather. Now a painful part of his past was being dug up. He’s tough. He’ll get through it.
Ollie joined her in the kitchen.
“How’s Truman doing?” she asked, pretending she hadn’t been spying on them minutes ago.
“Good. He says he wants one of Kaylie’s snickerdoodles.”
“I’ll do it.” Mercy grabbed a half dozen, taking a bite of one as she went to join Truman. The home was overflowing again with baked goods and casseroles. She stopped in the doorway to his study. He had his eyes closed as he reclined in the big chair. Something inside her burst with happiness at the sight of him safe and in one piece.
My man.
His eyes opened, and he caught her staring at him. “I smelled the cinnamon from the cookies,” he told her.
She sat beside him and set the remaining five cookies on the small table.
“I told Ollie a cookie,” he muttered.
“Like that would satisfy you.”
“True.” He took a giant bite that left less than half a cookie in his hand.
Thankfulness washed through her at the calm of simply sitting with him and eating cookies. He was her heart. His absence had made that clear to her.
Does he know I feel that way? How many times have I passed up the chance to say so?
An overwhelming urge to tell him opened her mouth. She wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. “You know . . .” Her mouth went dry. Why is this so hard?
He looked at her expectantly, and she took his hand.
“At one time I steeled myself against feeling the way I do about you. And I did it for the exact reason that just happened to us—I lost you and it ripped my heart to shreds. I was devastated.”
“That’s understandable, since your family—”
“Let me get this out,” she interrupted. “I’ve wasted too many moments.”
He nodded and took another cookie, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I was numb for years after being shunned by my family—cast out by people who were supposed to always have my back. People I loved with all my heart.” Her voice cracked as she thought of the time she’d lost with her family. Especially her brother Levi. “I didn’t want to ever hurt or feel betrayed like that again, and you know I kept a distance between myself and others. But I’ve learned from having you and Kaylie in my life . . . it hurts when a loved one is lost. It hurts like hell, and I felt as if I’d never recover . . . but the other ninety-nine percent of the time is so worth that chance of pain.” She forced out a laugh. “When you were gone, I got angry with myself for insisting on taking our relationship slow,” she said quietly. “I thought your disappearance was the universe punishing me. Those days were brutal, but now I have you back . . . I’m never wasting time like that again.”
He squeezed her hand. “It wasn’t time wasted. You aren’t the same person that you were last fall . . . you needed the time to cross over to the dark side.” His expression was deadly serious. “You can’t rush that sort of thing.”
Tears started as she laughed.
He wiped the crumbs from his mouth. “I know this isn’t a romantic situation. I’m not on my knees and I don’t have a ring, but I want you to marry me.”
Her heart stopped. Is this what I want?
Truman tightened his grip. “What do you say, Special Agent Kilpatrick? Are you interested in marrying a police chief? Because he wants you with all his heart.”
Can I do this?
She studied him. His face was bruised and battered, and he had snickerdoodle crumbs on his shirt. But she loved him with every ounce of her being, and she didn’t feel an ounce of fear.
This is right.
He was perfect for her. And so was his proposal.
He gets me.
She lunged into his lap, not caring that he winced or that her leg complained. “I do!”
“That’s the answer that comes later. I think right now you’re supposed to say yes.”
“Yes!” She kissed him slowly, tasting sugar and cinnamon. “But you’ve got to promise to never disappear on me again.”
“The same goes for you,” he muttered. “When should we do it?”
“I suspect another wedding will be happening in the next few months,” she speculated.
“Rose?”
“Yes. I think she wants to see how Nick is after the baby comes . . . I could be wrong. Maybe it will happen before that, but I don’t want to take away any of their limelight.”
“Agreed. What about Christmastime? That’s about eight months away.”
So far off. Her immediate mental complaint made her smile. He was right—she wasn’t the same person she had been last fall. “I’d love a Christmas wedding.”
“Deal.” He kissed her again and pulled her closer. “I told you in the water I’d always hold on to you.”
“And I promise the same.”