A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(52)

Mike broke off from the group and strode toward her with his hand outstretched. “You’re one of the FBI agents in town, aren’t you? We appreciate you taking a look into these murders. Our whole town has been rattled.” She stood and shook his hand.

No recognition in his eyes.

Relief flowed through her, along with a bit of annoyance. Mike had hung out with Owen in his youth. Apparently the youngest Kilpatrick sibling had been beneath his notice.

She gave an automatic smile. “We’re doing what we can.” Behind him she saw the other three men turn to note the exchange. She recognized Craig Rafferty but couldn’t place the other two men.

The one named Chuck strolled over with his huge coffee cup. His dark eyes studied her over the lid as he took a sip. “Cops in coffee shops. How’s that for a stereotype?”

She wanted to kick him in the side of the kneecap. Hard.

“Just like ranch hands in Wranglers and boots,” she replied. She touched her upper lip. “You’ve got foam on your moustache. I guess you ranching guys don’t drink your coffee black anymore.” She winked at him with a sly grin. “I like hazelnut syrup too.” Gag.

Mike grinned and elbowed the other man. “Watch out, Chuck. She’s onto you.”

Anger flashed in Chuck’s eyes and he turned his back.

“Ignore him.” Mike Bevins was still smiling.

“I will.” She sat back down and sipped her own drink, hoping he’d see she was done with the encounter. Mike Bevins reminded her too much of his father, Joziah. Same build, same eyes. At least Mike felt genuinely friendly. Joziah’s attitude had always felt forced.

“If you need someone to show you around town, I’m more than happy to.” His blue eyes shone with speculation.

Uh-oh.

“Thank you. I’m good. GPS, you know.”

“That doesn’t tell you where to find a great dinner,” he pressed. He leaned closer and rested a booted foot on a stool. “I liked the way you handled Chuck.”

She wanted to sigh. “Thank you. But really . . . I’m good.” She could be polite for only so long.

He held her gaze for another long moment, a puzzled look crossing his face.

Not used to being turned down?

She forced a smile to take out the sting, showing her teeth. Why can’t women simply say no and men leave it at that? “I’m working,” she added, kicking herself for feeling the need to let him down easy and protect his ego.

Mike nodded. “As you wish. Enjoy Eagle’s Nest.” He turned and went back to where the last of the guys was paying for his drink. The men tromped out, giving her polite nods or touching their hat brims. Chuck looked straight ahead.

Levi sank back into the seat across from her. “Mike recognized you?”

“Nope. He knew I was one of the agents in town, so I assume that much has made the gossip rounds. My name will eventually follow.” How will he feel when he realizes he hit on Owen’s little sister?

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to introduce you.”

“Not yet.”

“What’d you say to Chuck?”

“I complimented his drink.”

“He’s an ass. Hasn’t been in town that long.”

“I recognized Craig Rafferty. I had a bit of a crush on him way back when.”

“No way! You were a child.”

“Old enough to be interested in my brother’s cute friends. I liked them tall and moody.”

“He’s gone nowhere in fifteen years. Has worked at the same job all this time. Good thing you didn’t hook up back then, because you’d be the wife of a ranch hand. How’s that sound, Special Agent Kilpatrick?”

“Some days that sounds good.”

“I don’t believe that. That coat you’re wearing probably costs two weeks of his salary.”

Her coat was an investment. A quality that’d last forever. “Your fashion knowledge has greatly expanded.”

“I have a teenage daughter.”

“Touché.”

Studying her sibling, Mercy finally relaxed. A bridge had spanned their fifteen years of silence, and the enormity of the long years faded away. His face was again familiar; the crinkles at the corners of his eyes felt normal. He was her brother.

Optimism filled her. She wanted to know everything about her brother and Kaylie.

His teeth flashed in a big grin. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“For the first time, I’m glad I’m back.”





TWENTY


Truman sat at his desk, looking at the broken-mirrors photos from Ned Fahey’s and Enoch Finch’s homes. He’d memorized the photos from Uncle Jefferson’s home. Now he stared at the others, searching for something in common and wondering if he could figure out what had been used to break the mirrors.

Bullets had destroyed the mirrors in Jefferson’s home. Just as they’d destroyed his uncle.

But no bullets had been found behind the mirrors in the other two homes.

Why hadn’t anyone else connected the mirrors from the old cases yet? Surely there was a police officer or county deputy who recalled that detail. Why had it been pointed out by someone who’d been a teenager at the time?

Coincidence?