A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(56)

“Could the first two murders be related to O’Shea’s investigation?” Truman asked, not liking the agents’ silent response.

“We’ll review them,” Aguirre said tightly, exchanging another look with Gorman.

She looked rattled, the pulse at her neck rapidly beating. Gorman couldn’t stand still. He tried to plunge his hands into his front pockets and discovered the gown was in the way. He hiked it up, put his hands in his pockets, realized how ridiculous he looked, and removed them. “I need to make a phone call,” he said, pivoting to leave the room.

The autopsy suite doors swung open before he reached them. FBI agents Jeff Garrison and Eddie Peterson strode in, alarm on their faces. Truman caught his breath.

Mercy.

“You two don’t need to—” Gorman held up a hand to stop the two agents. Eddie pushed it away, his agonized gaze locked on Truman. Truman’s stomach landed somewhere near his feet. Nausea rocked him.

“Truman—” Eddie started.

“Agents!” Aguirre said loudly. She took several steps toward the men. “Why are you—”

“He needs to know!” Jeff argued, now face-to-face with Aguirre and pointing at Truman.

What’s happened to Mercy?

Truman couldn’t speak or move, panic freezing his muscles. He simply stared at the two agents.

Why did Aguirre stop Jeff?

“This is an ATF investigation,” she snapped at Jeff.

“No. He—”

“I don’t care that he found Tim’s body! This case does not involve—” she stated.

“Truman!” Eddie was heated as he tried to push by Gorman, who’d attempted to block him from moving closer.

Truman numbly focused on the despair in Eddie’s face and braced his arm on the autopsy table, feeling his knees about to crumble.

It’s not good news.

Eddie turned angry eyes on Gorman. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

“Make me, hotshot,” Gorman uttered, moving up in Eddie’s grill.

A loud metallic clanging hurt Truman’s ears. Five pairs of eyes turned to see Dr. Lockhart still on her stool and waving a large crowbar, which she’d banged against the leg of the autopsy table. “This is my workplace. Get out. All of you.”

“Truman, Mercy was partnered with this ATF agent on her assignment,” Jeff said into the silence.

Truman spun around and met Jeff’s tormented gaze.

His heart stopped. The ATF? “What? Where is she?”

“Agent Garrison—”

Jeff whirled on Aguirre, heat raging from his eyes. “He’s her fiancé.”

Aguirre closed her mouth, her eyes wide.

“What’s happened to her?” Truman snarled, looking from one agent to the next. “Just fucking tell me!”

Is she dead?

Eddie raised his hands in a calming motion, making Truman want to knock his head off. “Truman . . . we don’t know,” he answered quietly. “We have no way to contact her.”

Truman closed his eyes as his heart shattered and fell to the floor.





TWENTY-TWO

Truman leaned against the rear of Eddie’s SUV, his stomach still on a roller coaster. The four agents and Truman had convened in the ME’s parking lot, leaving Dr. Lockhart to finish her autopsy in peace. Truman didn’t trust himself to drive at the moment. Fury had him seeing red after Jeff and Agent Aguirre told him the details.

Their words spun in his head. Undercover operation. Militia. Remote compound. Weapons theft. No contact.

And now her partner had been murdered.

Truman refused to believe she had been killed. Every time his brain tried to go down that path, nausea swamped him and he yanked it back. He would shatter if he allowed the speculation to fully bloom.

“Why did you let her go?” he asked Jeff for the third time. His voice was calm when every fiber of his body wanted to scream the question at Mercy’s boss. He felt as if he were straddling a sinkhole, his foundation in pieces at the bottom.

“I couldn’t stop her.”

Truman knew this was true.

“What are we doing about it?” he asked, including all four agents in his question.

“The FBI is taking the safety of one of their agents very seriously. HRT has been activated,” answered Eddie.

The FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team was the best of the best, called out in high-risk operations. Catching the bad guys wasn’t their objective. Getting the job done and rescue were the priorities. It was rumored they didn’t carry handcuffs; they used their weapons instead.

It didn’t calm Truman’s rage. Anger was his friend; it kept despair at bay.

“They’ll be on the ground near the compound late tonight,” Jeff added. “We’re all the way across the damned country from their headquarters, but Portland FBI’s SWAT team is also on its way. The minute Agent Aguirre contacted me about the death of their agent, I lit a fire all the way up the chain of command to get immediate action.”

“Late tonight,” Truman repeated. Almost an entire day lost.

“With a murdered ATF agent and a possible FBI hostage in an armed militia compound that might have a huge store of weapons or explosives, it was agreed to move the teams into place immediately. Negotiation comes first, but we want the manpower in place and ready if they are needed. The Portland FBI team should arrive first. They’re flying in and landing near Pendleton.” Jeff looked grim. “Our negotiators will get started immediately, and we should know by the time HRT arrives if we’ll even need their tactical expertise.”