TWENTY-SEVEN
At 7:05 p.m., Kaylie texted Cade. WILL YOU BE LATE?
At 7:10 p.m., she tried to call him and got his voice mail. As Mercy watched, she left a message asking what time he thought he’d arrive at dinner.
At 7:30 p.m., she hid briefly in her room and shed a few tears. He didn’t mean to tell me he loved me, and now he’s staying away. Mercy knocked on her door and suggested they eat.
By 7:45 p.m., dinner was over. More than two-thirds of the pizza that Kaylie had made from scratch and baked on her new pizza stone still sat on the table. Mercy stood and started to wrap up the pizza. To her credit she didn’t ask why Cade had stood them up. She didn’t seem too concerned about his absence. In fact, her aunt appeared extremely distracted.
Kaylie wallowed in self-pity in her chair, tracing the pattern in the tablecloth as her aunt cleared the dishes, unable to bring herself to jump up and help.
We’re over. I pushed too hard.
She knew some guys were unable to break up with girls, so they simply went silent. Stopped texting, stopped calling, stopped showing up. End of relationship. Is this the first phase?
But why did he say he loved me?
She checked her phone again, and her finger hovered over the app to locate Cade’s phone. They’d exchanged passwords a month ago to be able to trace each other’s location. Cade had suggested it for emergencies, and she’d immediately agreed, flattered that he cared about her safety. Looking back now, she saw the creepiness factor. No doubt some guys used it to track their girlfriends, but it sent a notification to the missing phone if a search was activated. No one could secretly search with this app.
Would he think I’m a stalker if I check his location?
He could be hurt in a roadside ditch somewhere.
She tapped the screen and ran a search.
The app told her it couldn’t locate his phone.
She stared at the screen. What does that mean? Is he avoiding me? Did his battery die? A million thoughts raced through her head. Some good, but mostly bad. Most circled around him trying to dump her.
Who is he seeing?
Mercy turned on the kitchen faucet and rinsed out her wineglass. Kaylie watched, torn between wanting to beg her aunt for advice and wanting to hide under her covers for the next month. At least Cade didn’t attend her school, where she’d see him with some other girl, but her friends would ask how the relationship was going. What would she tell them?
Placing her wineglass in the dishwasher, Mercy glanced her way and did a double take. “Kaylie? Are you okay?”
She couldn’t speak. She bit her lips together as tears ran down her face.
“Oh, honey.” Mercy closed the dishwasher and sat in the chair next to Kaylie, taking her freezing hands in her warm ones. “I’m sure there’s a good reason he’s not here.”
“But he’s not answering my texts! And I checked the location of his phone.” She swallowed hard, humiliated she’d admitted her stalking behavior to her aunt.
“Where is he?” Mercy didn’t blink at her confession.
“It can’t find him. His phone must be off,” she whispered. “I think he turned it off on purpose.”
“Oh, honey.” Mercy leaned forward and pulled her into a hug.
Kaylie buried her face in her aunt’s long curls. “He told me he loved me a few hours ago. Why would he do that if he planned to break up with me?”
Her aunt stiffened in the middle of the hug. “He told you that? You’ve only been together a little while. Even I haven’t—” She abruptly cut off her words. “I’m so sorry, Kaylie. That’s horrible.”
Kaylie took a few deep breaths, getting her voice under control. “I believed him,” she said softly. “Part of me still believes him. Maybe he was in a car accident and he’s out of cellular range. Maybe the app can’t connect with his location.”
Mercy patted her on the back and didn’t say anything.
She knows I’m grasping at straws.
“He was driving out to the ranch before coming here for dinner. There are a lot of isolated roads out there.”
Mercy pulled back and met Kaylie’s gaze, her eyes sharp with questions. “Why did he go out there? You told me today was his day off.”
Kaylie wiped her nose with the back of her hand, unable to meet her aunt’s intense stare. “He’s nervous about something. He said he found a big stash of dynamite and then it disappeared. He also heard some of the men talking about your visit. He wouldn’t tell me what they said, but I think he’s scared they’re involved with those murders.”
“Shit.”
Kaylie blinked.
Her aunt pulled away and grabbed her phone off the kitchen counter. “You haven’t heard from him since he said he was headed out to the ranch, correct?” She tapped a few buttons on her screen, not looking at Kaylie.
Mercy’s tone unnerved her. Her aunt had suddenly shifted into FBI-agent mode. “That’s right.”
Holding her phone to her ear, Mercy met Kaylie’s gaze. “You need to tell me everything he’s told you about working out there. Everything. No matter how inconsequential it seems to you.”
Nearly an hour after Mercy called him, Truman took the final turn onto the long road that led to the McDonald ranch. He’d nearly missed it in the dark, but beside him in the vehicle, Mercy had been watching, her gaze glued to the side of the road. He’d called Deschutes County to request backup at the ranch and to request the county’s patrols keep an eye out for Cade’s pickup. The state police had also been notified and warned that the truck might have gone off the road between the ranch and Bend. The entire trip to the ranch, Mercy had studied the side of the road, watching for skid marks or signs that a truck had disrupted the brush.
The pitch dark made for difficult searching. Twice he’d pulled over because she’d seen something, only to discover no truck. Each time Truman had recalled the image of Pence’s abandoned truck. Would they find Cade’s truck in a similar situation? And what did that mean for Cade?
“I don’t think he would have stood her up. I think he’s in trouble,” Mercy repeated for the third time. Her gaze was laser sharp, searching for the truck, but he felt her distraction, her brain considering every situation they might encounter when they arrived at the ranch.
“Sounds like their relationship is serious,” Truman said.
“As serious as you can be at seventeen,” replied Mercy. “I think it’s mostly hormones and heartbreak at that age, but if he’s purposefully avoiding her, he’s going to get an earful from me.”
A sideways glance showed she was deadly serious. Her baby had been hurt, and Truman enjoyed seeing her mama bear instincts. Kaylie had exposed a whole new side of Mercy that he deeply appreciated. When Mercy had first come to town, she’d hid behind a professional unemotional wall, and immediately Truman had felt challenged to chip away at it. He’d succeeded, but her relationship with Kaylie had ripped away bricks only a daughter could reach, exposing a tender side of Mercy that made his heart warm.
“How far out is our backup?” she asked.
“I think they’re about twenty minutes out.”
“I also let Jeff know what’s going on,” Mercy said. “He’s sending a team in our direction. Anytime I mention McDonald’s ranch to him, he gets antsy.”
“I think he has good reason.”
Mercy shifted in her seat. “Kaylie told me Cade was scared of some of the men he works with. He also told her he heard that Pence paid the price for screwing up. That statement has to refer to his murder.”
“That’s a steep price for messing up. What could he have done to deserve that?”
“Who knows? But he’s dead, and I think someone out here knows what happened.”
“What do you think McDonald is doing on this ranch?”
“According to some of what Cade shared with Kaylie, it sounds like he’s forming his own militia. Our office has heard chatter of a new militia in the area. They also heard about plans to blow up a bridge. When Kaylie told me about the dynamite, it raised an alarm in my head.”
Truman’s gut told him she was right about McDonald’s plans for a militia. He’d seen the signs. The growing group of men. McDonald’s constant guards. His attitude toward law enforcement. The rumors surrounding his ranch. He had the ego and the personality to drive men to do what he desired. Could he inspire men to kill for him?
Possibly.
Mercy scanned an email on her phone. “They didn’t find a body in the ruins of Jack Howell’s real estate office.”
“Now he’s another missing person.”
“I think he torched it and left town.”
Truman suddenly remembered what he’d discovered about a piece of real estate earlier that day. “Did you know Tilda Brass’s property shares a border with the McDonald ranch?”
“What?” Mercy’s entire body swung toward him. “Where did you hear that? That can’t be possible. They’re miles apart.”
“I looked it up. Her property is a weird shape that follows the creek. The far east end butts up against a remote part of the McDonald ranch.”
He could nearly hear the gears spinning in her brain. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“I just did. I found out today.”
“Could he be the anonymous buyer for her property? Wanting to expand his own?”
“Seems a logical guess. Although I think his ranch is big enough. Why does he need more?”
Mercy slowly slid back into her seat, her fingers beating a rhythm on her thighs. “That’s a question I’d like to ask McDonald. I can see him remaining anonymous during real estate negotiations. He seems to appreciate his privacy.”
“Based on my phone call with my deputy buddy in Idaho this morning, McDonald is a very private person. Too private. I suspect the reserve officer is going to dig up some interesting dirt on Tom McDonald.”
“If McDonald is the buyer, would he torch the real estate office?” Mercy suddenly asked. “We’re already considering that he had Joshua Pence killed at that other fire. Is he our fire starter?”
“I think Landon Hecht is our firebug,” said Truman.
“Me too, but even he said he didn’t start the fires on Tilda’s property or where we found Pence’s body.”
“If you’re suggesting Tom McDonald started those fires, then he might have shot the deputies.” Truman’s stomach seethed with acid as his anger built.
“If he’s forming a militia, he may not have any regard for law enforcement,” Mercy stated. “He ignored my FBI visit and didn’t feel a need to be respectful during your visit.”
“I don’t know.” Truman’s mind tried to catch up with Mercy’s theories. “We’re making a lot of assumptions.”
“I’m thinking out loud.”
Truman slowly drove around the last bend to the McDonald property and spotted a few building lights. “We need to wait for our backup. I was ready to knock on doors and ask about Cade, but now I don’t think that’s the best course of action.”
“Absolutely not. Park at the edge and we’ll sit tight until they get here. I have no desire to confront some wannabe militia members in the dark.”