A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(7)

Mercy exhaled and looked at the remains of her GOOD bag, feeling as if she were leaving half of herself behind.

Jessica. My name is Jessica.

How will Truman react to my no-contact assignment?



Eagle’s Nest police chief Truman Daly heard the rumble of Mercy’s Tahoe outside her apartment. He poured a glass of wine for her, which he’d been waiting to pour for the last three hours. His own glass had been filled twice, and it’d taken restraint not to have more.

Something was up.

It had sounded in her voice when Mercy had called to warn him she’d be late. She hadn’t gone into details and had promised to explain when she got home. She’d sounded distracted, worried, her tone slightly higher than usual. He wasn’t surprised. Their jobs came with twists and turns. Shit happened, and both of them knew how to roll with the punches.

He scooped two cheese enchiladas from the huge pan Kaylie had baked and popped them in the microwave. Mercy’s teenage niece was a damned good cook and baker. Truman was pretty good with a grill, but whenever he heard Kaylie was cooking dinner, he always tried to eat at their apartment. Usually with Ollie, his eighteen-year-old ward, in tow.

Tonight the two teenagers were at the library. Kaylie was working on college applications, and Ollie was studying . . . something. Truman couldn’t keep track of the teen’s classes. The boy was driven. He’d grown up isolated in the forest until he came to live with Truman last spring and had attacked his education like a starving child. In a way, Ollie had been starving, and information was the only thing that satiated him. He would have his GED by Christmas, and then he planned to study to become a teacher.

Truman leaned against the counter and waited, watching the front door as Kaylie’s cat, Dulce, figure-eighted around his ankles. Truman vibrated with energy. A common occurrence when he knew Mercy was about to arrive. From the first day she’d appeared in his life a year ago, he’d looked forward to every minute with her. Now they were planning their Christmastime wedding.

The doorknob rattled, and Dulce abandoned him, dashing to leap onto the back of the chair next to the door and stretch toward the woman who stepped through. Mercy’s gaze immediately went to Truman, love and exhaustion shining in her eyes.

A smile stretched across his face, triggered as usual by the sight of her.

She dropped an unfamiliar duffel from her shoulder and had her arms around him, leaving Dulce to meow in protest on her perch.

Something relaxed in his spine as he kissed her, and he caught a hint of her usual light lemon-bar scent as he inhaled deeply against her hair. She leaned into him, taking longer than usual with their evening greeting.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Mmmhmm,” she vibrated against his neck.

He held her several more seconds, absorbed in the headiness of her touch, the simple act of being in each other’s presence. They knew each other inside and out, enough to speak without words.

Pulling back, she met his gaze. Her green eyes were slightly bloodshot, and her lips curved to one side as she studied his face as if memorizing it. “Kids?” she asked.

“Library. Kaylie left enchiladas.”

“I need food.”

They reluctantly pulled apart, and he removed the enchiladas from the microwave as she took a seat at the kitchen bar with a sigh, her glass of wine in front of her. She rested on one elbow, her chin in hand, watching him intently.

“Yes?” He set the plate before her as she sipped her wine, her eyes never leaving his.

She set down the glass. “They’re sending me out of town.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. Six a.m.”

So far this wasn’t a big deal, but the uncertainty in the tilt of her head told him she hadn’t shared all the details. He leaned on the bar, his weight on his forearms, his eyes level with hers, studying her face. She’d pulled back her long, dark hair and secured it in a messy knot at her neck, indicating it had been a tough day.

He savored the intensity of her green eyes. She was the queen of the poker face, but he knew how to read her.

Something was bothering her.

He waited.

“They don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Might be two weeks . . . possibly three.”

Surprise struck him. “That’s long.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“Where are you going?”

She spun the wineglass stem with her fingers and dropped her gaze. “They won’t let me tell anyone,” she said softly and looked up at him again.

He felt as if he’d been punched in the chest. He searched her face. Misery shone.

“It’s that important?” he asked.

“They believe so.” Her attention went back to her wine.

“Is it dangerous?” He held his breath but tried to sound nonchalant. Every part of their jobs held an element of danger. His question wasn’t fair.

She shrugged. “It could be. No more than usual, I guess.”

Her answer felt incomplete. The duffel on the floor caught his attention. “You’re already packed?”

Her lips twisted. “They packed for me—well, they tried to pack for me. I have a few more alterations to make.”

He understood. No one knew better than Mercy what she must have with her at all times.

“Jeff and Eddie packed for you?”