A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(81)

The men returned and started to dig, immediately finding results. Parts of severely decomposed bodies began to appear. Twice Truman had to stop digging to lunge away and vomit. Gorman tried to make him return to the compound. He wouldn’t.

“The decomposition is far too advanced,” one agent stated, holding his collar over his nose. A half hour of digging had determined the dog had hit on a shallow grave containing three bodies. “These have been buried for months if not longer.”

Relief sent Truman to his knees, and he was not ashamed that he cried.

The canine’s handler made increasingly wide circles around the grave, trying to find another trail. The dog didn’t catch Mercy’s scent, and the search was temporarily halted to recover the dead.



The next morning Truman and Agent Gorman followed the K9 team again. The other agents who’d searched with them yesterday had been pulled to help the investigation inside the compound. Truman felt slightly abandoned, but he knew the dog was what was important. A dozen men could follow the dog, and it wouldn’t speed up the search.

The Labrador started where they’d left off yesterday and spent two hours in the ravine without results. The handler took the dog on a slow, thorough search around the perimeter of the camp, hoping to pick up another trail. The dog’s tail didn’t wag as it had the day before, and the handler took more breaks and played more games, trying to keep the Lab’s spirits up. The dog seemed nearly as down as Truman felt.

No more trails were found.

After a long afternoon, the K9 handler told him he didn’t believe there was anything else to be found outside the compound. His eyes were cautious as he spoke to Truman, offering to try again tomorrow but stating he had faith in his dog’s abilities and believed any further search time would be a waste. Truman told him he didn’t care, and two days with the canine was not enough. The handler pressed his lips together but didn’t argue.

That evening, back at the base camp, Truman rubbed his face with his hands as he paced outside the camp in the heavy snowfall. A tiny voice in his head told him the K9 handler was right, but Truman refused to admit it. He wasn’t ready to stop.

He unzipped an inside pocket in his coat and pulled out her engagement ring, staring at the piece of metal and diamonds.

She’ll wear it again.

Truman no longer felt the cold. He wanted to scream. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to get drunk. He wanted to feel her in his arms. And never let go. He shoved the ring back in the pocket and carefully zipped it closed.

“Truman.”

He whirled around to find Agent Ghattas watching him. Jeff and Eddie were behind him, snow speckling their hats.

“What happened?” Truman choked out.

“Nothing has happened. We just need to talk.”

Fear overcame him, and he held his breath. No good news ever came out of that phrase, and Eddie and Jeff wore faces of stone. Whatever Ghattas had to tell him didn’t please them.

“For the last few days we’ve covered every inch of this compound,” Ghattas began. “Actually, we’ve covered every inch multiple times, and the snow keeps getting deeper. The K9 has thoroughly covered the area outside the compound more than once.”

“Send up a drone with FLIR. It can cover—”

“Have you even noticed the weather, Chief?” Ghattas held out a hand, and snow accumulated in his palm. “The snow screws with the infrared.”

Truman held very still, his vision tunneling on the agent.

Don’t . . .

“The forecast for the next few days isn’t any better.” Ghattas looked aside and rubbed his neck. “The Labrador’s handler is concerned about a third day of work in the snow. It’s hard on the dog. It needs some downtime.”

“Don’t do this.” Truman could barely speak.

Regret filled Ghattas’s face, his gaze soft and his mouth turned down. “I gotta put a halt to the outside K9 search for now—”

“No!” Rage and despair lashed out in his shout. “Not yet!”

Jeff and Eddie stepped forward, concern in their eyes.

“Don’t come any closer.” Truman pointed at them, his arm stiff. “Do something, Jeff! You know this isn’t right!” He inhaled, air rasping in his dry throat. “Mercy’s out there somewhere, and we’re not going to pause. Not now. She comes first!”

“Truman . . .” Eddie’s eyes were wet behind his glasses. He clamped his jaw shut and turned away, wiping his face.

Truman stared from one of them to the other.

This isn’t going to happen.

“Fuck you,” he said in a low tone as a mad upheaval rose in his chest and turmoil boiled over in his nerves. “Fuck you,” he yelled directly at Ghattas. “You tell whatever asshole sits above you that you’ve got a missing agent, and you’re not stopping until she’s found!” He lunged into Ghattas’s personal space, making the man raise his hands in defense. “You can spare men to search for her. I don’t care what the weather is supposed to do. It doesn’t matter. Get more dogs—”

“I’m working on getting more dogs,” Ghattas shouted, moving closer until Truman could feel his breath on his face. “Chief Daly, I sympathize, and you have no idea how much I hate to do this.” His eyes narrowed to angry slits. “But you are out of line. Go home.”