A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(74)

Yes. “I’m good for now. What do you need help with tonight?”

“I don’t need help.”

“Well, I want you coherent for tomorrow. What can I do to get you out of here faster?” He planted his feet and crossed his arms. If chopping wood was what it took to spend time with her, he’d do it.

She stiffened. A split second later she lunged for a light switch, killing the inside and outside lights, drowning them in darkness. He heard her dash across the room, and then a soft snap sounded.

Truman couldn’t move. The low light from the laptop screen was too faint for him to maneuver by. “Mercy?”

“Shhhh.” Her voice was closer than he’d expected and he saw her silhouette stop at the laptop. With a few keystrokes she pulled up four grainy camera views on the screen. He spotted her barn, the drive out front, and two views of her home. All sensations of being in the nineteenth century vanished.

“What happened?” he whispered.

“I heard a vehicle. I turned on the outdoor infrared floodlights.”

Nice.

She enlarged the view of the drive, and he realized that during the seconds in the pitch dark she’d also picked up a rifle.

“See anything?” He removed his gun from his shoulder holster.

“Put your weapon away,” she ordered.

“You first.”

She was silent. Her figure was tense and alert as she watched the screen. “He backed up. I think he spotted the house and decided to back away.”

“I didn’t see anything. You saw a vehicle?”

“The quickest flash of a grille as I pulled up the driveway view.”

“He might have turned down the wrong road. Or didn’t expect to find a house here.”

“Or he found exactly what he wanted,” she said grimly. “I swear someone followed me Monday night. I managed to shake them. I didn’t notice you tonight, but I was thinking about other things. I bet he followed you.”

Unease crept into Truman’s muscles at the thought that he’d led someone directly to Mercy’s home. “Who would follow you? Why?”

Silence.

“The cases?” Truman asked.

“Maybe.”

“What else?” he pressed. “Why would someone in this remote area be interested in an FBI agent from Portland?”

Maybe they’re interested in the former teenager from Eagle’s Nest.

“I think it’s time you told me everything, Mercy.”

She shuddered.





TWENTY-NINE


He’d nearly lost them.

Then he’d spotted the chief’s Tahoe in a ditch. For moment he’d thought the SUV had run off the road, but it’d simply stopped in an awkward parking spot.

He’d hesitated to drive down the lane, but he hadn’t wanted to risk it on foot. Clearly the chief had gone in on foot, and he’d rather not meet the man in the dark. He felt safer in his vehicle. He waited for twenty minutes, debating his options, and then headed down the dirt road. He’d just spotted the haze of light behind an A-frame house when it suddenly went dark and he’d thrown his vehicle into reverse.

Steering awkwardly and stomping on the accelerator, he backed up the curving lane to the main road. Going after the police chief had worked in his favor. He’d been waiting to tail Mercy when he spotted the chief doing the same thing. When the chief had taken off after the agent with his lights off, he couldn’t help but follow.

Why was the chief hiding from Mercy Kilpatrick?

Sweating, he put his truck into drive on the main road and floored it.

I know where she goes now. But why?

He didn’t know and it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that she’d returned. He’d spent fifteen years sliding around in the shadows, purposefully not rocking the boat, and biding his time, playing nice with everyone. He’d forced himself to stay out of trouble, having seen what it did to his friend. But now Mercy had stirred up all sorts of memories and ruined his plans for the weapons.

The weapons.

His golden ticket.

He hadn’t planned on killing the preppers, but once he’d loaded up the weapons from the first, he’d realized that the old man would know exactly who had taken his bounty. Frustration had angered him; he hadn’t thought his plan through clearly enough. Teachers and friends had always gotten on his case, claiming he couldn’t see two hours into the future and needed to plan better.

But the preppers had been simple to fix. One shot. It’d been easy enough, and he’d known he’d have to do the same to cleanly steal the other weapons. The second time hadn’t gone as expected, but he’d never experienced anything like the rush of adrenaline from the fight with Jefferson Biggs.

He’d felt invincible.

The rush happened again with Anders Beebe, but then he’d heard the car outside. Furious at being interrupted, he’d left the weapons behind.

And now it was irrelevant. The feds had taken his weapons. All that work . . .

Mercy would regret her interference. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel as he remembered a night fifteen years ago. He hadn’t gotten what he truly wanted that night. Anger flushed his face as he thought about his stolen weapons.

Maybe it was time. He deserved it.