A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(22)

“Looks wet,” she commented.

Truman agreed. Leighton had several lake-size puddles lining the mud driveway to his home. Truman hadn’t wanted to risk the driveway even in his four-wheel drive. And there was Leighton’s gun reputation to consider. Parking on the road had been the wise decision.

The two of them headed down the drive, stepping where the mud didn’t threaten to steal their boots.

“Leighton!” Truman cupped his hands and hollered. “You home?”

The roar of a shotgun answered him.





TEN


Mercy was shoved into the mud and lost her breath as Truman’s bulk crashed on top of her.

“Leighton! It’s Chief Daly! Hold your fire!”

Her right ear rang from his shout. “Get off me,” she muttered. She’d landed on her stomach and tasted dirt. She elbowed him in the gut. “Get off!”

“Keep your head down,” he snapped. “Leighton? It’s Chief Daly!” he hollered again.

“Chief?” came a male voice from the house.

Mercy raised her head, trying to find a human to match to the voice.

“That’s right. Are you going to fire again?”

“Who’s with you?”

“Another officer.”

Mercy raised a brow but figured it was close enough to the truth.

“Sorry about that,” said the voice from the house. “I shot in the air, you know. Wasn’t shootin’ at you.”

“I figured,” answered Truman. He got off Mercy’s back.

She pushed to her knees and surveyed her clothes. Shit. Her knees, her thighs, and the lower half of her jacket were dripping with muddy water. At least the gravel had protected her chest and arms. Truman offered her a hand. She gave him a dark look and accepted. “Did you know he’d fire at us?” she asked as she wiped at her knees with a soaked glove.

“I didn’t know he wouldn’t.”

Same difference.

“And it was just a warning shot.”

She stopped swiping and stared at him.

He met her gaze and shrugged. “Different rules out here.”

He was right. At one time she’d known the rules. Had she been in the city for too long?

“Sorry about the mud.” He pulled a package of tissues out of his coat pocket and handed it to her.

She shook her head at the plastic package on her palm. “I don’t think these will cut it.”

“We’ll get a towel from Leighton. He’ll feel bad that you got muddy.”

He sounded sincere, and she stole a look at his face to see if he was making fun of her. He wasn’t. Concern shone in his brown eyes. She eyed the rest of him. Other than a little mud on his boots, he’d managed to avoid the filthy water.

“Glad I could break your fall,” she said.

“I appreciate it.” He grinned, and the last grain of her annoyance with him shattered. Police Chief Truman Daly had a smile to stop traffic. He probably breaks hearts right and left with that smile. The tall man had been serious and reserved since she’d met him, which was understandable because of his uncle’s death. But out here in the rainy woods surrounding Leighton’s property, he’d relaxed, even though someone had fired a gun less than a minute ago.

“Chief? You comin’ in?” Leighton called.

“On our way.”

“You sure he’s safe?” Mercy asked.

“He already said he wasn’t shooting at us.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m trusting you.”

“Good idea.” They continued their cautious wading to Leighton’s home. The house didn’t have a front porch. It had a small set of concrete stairs that led up to a larger concrete block in front of the door, which listed to the right. Leighton Underwood stood in the open doorway, his shotgun pointed away and tucked under one arm. It took Mercy a long second to recognize it as a peaceful pose. In Portland, seeing this stance in a doorway would have sent her in the opposite direction.

“My glasses busted.” Leighton squinted at them. He was tall and proud looking, with a thick mane of white hair that’d receded several inches from his forehead. As Mercy stopped at the bottom of the stairs, the man studied her from head to toe. His name wasn’t familiar to her. Even if he knew her parents, he probably didn’t remember her.

“Can we come in, Leighton?” Truman asked.

“Who’s this? You said another officer. Unless you hired a woman yesterday, I’m pretty certain there’s no women on the Eagle’s Nest force.” Skepticism filled his lined face.

“I’m with the FBI,” Mercy said. “We’re investigating the death of your neighbor, Ned Fahey.”

Leighton’s chin rose. “I heard that * got himself killed.”

“Now, Leighton—” Truman started.

“Any chance I could borrow a towel?” Mercy asked. “I fell in the mud when your gun went off.”

He squinted at her pants. “Of course. Come in. I apologize again for that, but I couldn’t see who was here. All I saw was those big black rigs you drove. And you know what that means.” He stood to the side and waved them into the home. “Don’t worry about your muddy boots. Stay on the hard floor and I’ll mop it up later.”