A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(75)

THIRTY


Truman insisted they immediately leave her cabin. She agreed, activated her security system, locked up, and drove him to his truck out on the road. They briefly argued about their next step. She wanted them to go to their respective places, but he put his foot down and insisted that their discussion wasn’t done.

“I’m not waiting until tomorrow when you can brush it off and avoid me,” he stated, holding her gaze.

Which had been her exact plan.

He plugged his address into her GPS and followed her out of the forest. After the drive she was surprised when she stopped in front of a tiny, newish home on a crowded street of identical homes in Eagle’s Nest. Nothing about the house said that Truman Daly lived there. She’d expected something more manly and rugged. Not the cookie-cutter starter home.

“I rented it,” he replied when she asked. “It felt safer than buying.”

Had he believed the police chief job might not work out?

He told her to wait in the living room while he did a quick walk of the home and checked the small, fenced yard. While she waited, a gorgeous black cat strolled into the room and leaped onto the arm of the couch to stare at her. Her golden eyes fixed on Mercy, and the tip of her tail flicked as she waited for Mercy to explain herself.

By the time Truman returned, the cat was on her lap, looking extremely pleased. Truman raised a brow at the sight. “That’s Simon.”

“It’s a female.”

“I know. I let the little neighbor kid name her. She showed up about a week after I moved in. No one claimed her, so I let her stay.”

A golden gaze slowly blinked at Mercy. That’s what he thinks. Clearly the cat had chosen where she wanted to live.

“I need a beer. What can I get you?” he asked.

“I don’t drink.”

“Sure you do.” He stared at her.

“Vodka and orange juice,” she admitted. She could use some vitamin C, and she didn’t want to argue with him. The next hour was going to be difficult enough.

He grabbed a chair from the dining set and set it directly in front of her, handing her the drink. He sat down with a sigh and took a long drink from his beer. The citrusy smell of hops wafted across the space between them and tickled her nose.

Exhaustion settled into every muscle and her brain, and she took the tiniest sip of her drink. It wasn’t strong. Whatever Truman had in mind, it wasn’t to get her drunk and make her spill her guts. His brown gaze fixed on her over the rim of his glass, and an unease stirred her stomach. What does he want?

“I have two questions,” he said softly. “The first is why do you think someone would follow you, and the second is what happened fifteen years ago that made you leave town? I’ve looked. There are no police reports involving your family around that time. Little happened that year except for the murders of Jennifer Sanders and Gwen Vargas. But you’ve already said they were friends of your sister’s, not yours.”

She nodded and took another minuscule sip. “I don’t think either question is any business of yours.” I won’t tell him.

His gaze narrowed. “It is if I think it’s affecting your performance on this investigation. You’re not getting enough sleep and it shows. You’re consistently distracted, and I think you spend more time trying to avoid people in town than investigating.”

She jerked and Simon launched from her lap, her claws skittering on the hardwood as she raced out of the room. “I take this investigation very seriously! I am not a slacker! I’m doing the best I can.” Fury narrowed her vision. How dare he? “Who found those weapons today?”

“We did.”

“Bullshit. I crawled on my belly into that space after leading you to the cave. If anyone is compromised on this case, it’s you with your focus on your uncle. There’ve been three other victims, you know,” she snapped. He didn’t spend too much time focused on his uncle, but if he was going to poke her, she would strike back. “You walk around this town like you’re the only person seeking justice. We’re all working our asses off.”

He sat very still. She’d found a wound. “I’m not on some noble crusade for justice,” he said. “I want payback for my uncle. Someone out there thinks they’re smarter than I am, and I’m going to prove them wrong. Very wrong.”

The absolute evenness of his tone disturbed her. Truman Daly was fully in control, or else he was a split second away from snapping. She didn’t know which.

“We both want the same thing,” said Mercy.

“Then you need to come clean. Something hangs over your head. I see it emerge when you run into people from your past. But it doesn’t happen with every person. Just some of them. Why does Joziah Bevins rattle you so bad?”

“There’s a history there. Our families were at odds.”

“Explain.”

She shrugged. “Dad said he shot one of our cows.”

Truman leaned back in his chair, surprise on his face. “A cow? That’s it?” He blinked. “I mean, that’s horrible, but that’s not worth years—”

“It was done as a message to my parents. They’d refused to join the Bevinses’ community. Again.”

“Community? I don’t under—”