A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(76)

“Remember how you said earlier that the preppers are often about community? And asked why I was preparing my cabin alone?”

“Yes.”

“Some of those communities take themselves very seriously. They’re practically micro-towns of specialists. They need doctors and vets and mechanics. They always have a very strong leader.”

She saw the comprehension dawn.

“And people declare allegiance to the group?” he asked. “You promise to help a circle of people when disaster strikes? That’s the history of the turbulence between your father and Joziah Bevins?”

“Yes. My father has a quiet draw. People trust him and want to be involved with him. Joziah is forceful and demands allegiance and then rules with an iron fist. My father didn’t want anything to do with him.”

“Your mother’s a midwife,” Truman stated. “Everyone in town swears by her.”

“And my father is skilled with animals. Very important trades.”

Truman scratched his head. “Okay. So now I think I get it, but what does that have to do with you leaving?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got all night—at least half the night is left. Start talking.”

She wanted to tell him everything. No one had gotten under her skin the way Truman had. She liked him.

I like him a lot. More than I should.

Her secrets had festered in her heart and mind for too long. What was the risk?

Her job.

Her family. Levi’s family.

Prison?

“You’re shaking.” Alarm and concern widened his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me.” He was right; her legs shook as if she were freezing. With a trembling hand, she set her drink on the end table.

“Jesus Christ. How bad is it?”

“I could go to prison,” she whispered, her mind spinning out of control. “My brother too. He has a daughter. I don’t have anyone, so it’s not that big of a deal—”

He leaned closer. “Are you hurting anyone by not talking about it?”

“I don’t think so. Believe me, I’ve asked that a million times.” I’m so cold. She zipped up her coat, suddenly wanting hot tea, hot chocolate, hot coffee. Something comforting.

He scooted his chair closer, set his beer next to her drink, and took her hands. His were incredibly warm, and she relaxed into the heat.

“Did you kill someone, Mercy?”

She held his gaze, but saw the giant bottomless pit near her feet. Can I trust him? She teetered on the edge for a long second and then took a step. “I think so.”

He didn’t blink. “Why do you only think so?”

“Because Levi shot too. We both did.” No turning back now. Icy spasms shook her chest and flew down her arms to her hands. He clutched them tighter.

“Who did you shoot?”

“We don’t know who it was. We didn’t know him.”

“Was he hurting you?” he asked carefully.

“Rose. He attacked Rose. And then me,” she added softly.

“Then you were justified.” He lowered his head and let out a sigh.

“But we hid him. We’ve hidden it for fifteen years. And didn’t tell anyone. We can never tell anyone we killed him.” She was babbling. All the words she’d buried deep inside flowed out of her.

“I’m not going to push you to tell anyone—wait a minute.” He gripped her hands. “Was this the same person who killed Jennifer and Gwen?”

“We think so.”



Mercy looked ready to dissolve into a puddle of stressed-out-special-agent goo. Her hands felt like ice and quivered constantly. What is it like to hide a huge secret for fifteen years? He ached to take away her stress. Her secret didn’t surprise him. The vulnerable glimpses he’d seen from her had warned him she was hiding something big.

She told me she killed someone. And it doesn’t change how I feel about her.

Color him surprised.

Her shooting sounded justified to him, but had she stalled the other murder investigations by not coming forward? How would the FBI handle her old story? Had she messed up the current investigations by not revealing what she suspected about the old murders?

Truman doubted she would go to prison for murder, but she would be in life-altering hot water for a slew of other things.

What’s my role here? Cop or friend?

He shoved the question aside for the moment, unwilling to explore the answer. Mercy had confided in him. She’d taken a huge risk and he’d pushed her to do it. Guilt was bitter on his tongue.

“Did your father know? Is that why you left?”

She shook her head, her gaze on the floor. “No one knows except Levi and Rose. And now you. We didn’t tell my parents the whole truth. We told them that someone had tried to break in . . . and that Rose recognized his voice as someone she associated with the Bevins ranch, but she didn’t know who. I wanted my father to confront Joziah and let Rose listen to his workers’ voices because the man could have been the one who murdered Jennifer and Gwen. My father refused.”

“Wait. You said the attacker was dead. Who would Rose be listening for?”

“There was a second man. She heard him speak that night and knew she’d heard him before but couldn’t place the voice. He got away before Levi or I could see him. We heard his truck leave the property.”