A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(83)

Ollie’s soul echoed her words.



Truman watched Mercy’s sister Pearl slide into mothering mode with Kaylie. He’d informed Mercy’s family of the situation before he told the teens, and asked Pearl to come stay with Kaylie so he could return to the search. Rose and Owen had both descended on their parents’ home with their families, keeping vigil.

He watched Ollie out of the corner of his eye. The young man appeared stoic, but Truman suspected it was a shield to keep Kaylie from seeing his real feelings. Truman knew how to read the teen, and saw he was crushed and worrying inside.

In the kitchen Truman poured a cup of coffee, wishing it were something much, much stronger, and Ollie joined him.

“You told us you went out of town as part of the investigation into the guy I found by the road,” Ollie said quietly as his eyes searched Truman’s.

It felt as if a spotlight were shining in Truman’s face. Even with all the media hype, the ATF had kept the murder of their agent, Timothy O’Shea, out of the news. The media knew the compound was tied to the death of the two ATF agents from the weapons heist but did not know an FBI agent was missing.

But he couldn’t lie to Ollie.

“That murder was related to Mercy’s investigation.” He kept it simple but true.

Ollie was silent, scrutinizing, and Truman felt as if Ollie saw right through him.

“How?”

Truman searched for an explanation that wouldn’t alarm Ollie. “The dead man was from the compound.”

“Why was he murdered?”

“He was against the compound leadership.” Still true.

The teen turned to check on Kaylie and Pearl, who sat on the couch, their heads together in comfort and sorrow. “Did the leadership believe Mercy was against them?” he asked quietly when he faced Truman again.

Pain and regret exploded in Truman’s head. “Yes.”

Ollie’s chest expanded with several deep breaths, and Truman put a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t know that they hurt her.”

Unless you include a beating and being dumped in a storage unit.

“Mercy’s odds aren’t very good, Truman. She should have turned up by now.” The teen’s face crumpled, and he strove to pull himself together.

Truman embraced him, clueless as to what to say, because the same sentence had been on repeat in his brain.

Mercy’s odds aren’t very good.



Truman turned off the rural road in the Cascade foothills onto the long drive that led to Mercy’s cabin.

Our cabin.

He had been compelled to come, driven by an unreasonable hope that Mercy was at her cabin and unable to communicate. The feeling was illogical, but checking the cabin was the only way to eliminate the nagging question in his brain.

The new A-frame stood proudly where her original cabin had burned to the ground last spring. Mercy had crossed paths with an angry serial killer and his intended victim, and the result had been the loss of her cabin and a bullet hole in Mercy’s leg.

Truman parked and stared at the new building. No one came out to greet him or waved from a window, and the hole in his heart ripped a little bigger. Her absence was overwhelming. The home was Mercy, a symbol of her determination, hard work, and obsession. She’d poured her soul into every bit of it.

His heart and feet heavy, Truman got out and went to check the large snow-covered stacks near the storage barn. He brushed four inches off one pile. The stacks were the panels and aluminum framing he’d ordered to build Mercy a greenhouse.

The greenhouse was a secret.

Due to her heavy workload, Mercy hadn’t been to the cabin in three weeks. A record for her. In fact, during the previous two months, she and Truman had had to visit at different times, unable to make their schedules coordinate. She didn’t know Truman had poured a concrete foundation for the greenhouse and started building a knee wall, working like a madman to make progress before the snow fell.

He walked across the foundation, leaving crisp boot-shaped prints in the snow. He tapped the half-built knee wall with his toe. It would be gorgeous when finished. An Eagle’s Nest resident had given him the river rocks for free in exchange for removing them from her property. The greenhouse didn’t need a knee wall. He could have quickly assembled it with the polycarbonate walls simply extending to the concrete. But he’d found a picture of an elegant greenhouse and instantly known it was a perfect way to personalize hers, embedding his love and heart in the construction.

It was her wedding present.

Few people would appreciate a greenhouse as a wedding gift, but it was perfect for practical, prepared Mercy. It would be strong and durable, built to last. Made with extruded aluminum framing and shatterproof polycarbonate panels, it would hold up to four feet of snow on its roof. To him the structure stood for so much more than growing plants. It represented their future, one they’d build and grow together.

Mercy would understand.

He left the concrete slab behind, no longer able to look at his half-finished project, and strode to the house. The interior had finally been finished with a lot of hard work from the four of them. It had two bedrooms, two small bathrooms, a tiny kitchen, and a good-size family space. “Not too big,” Mercy had said over and over, hating the thought of having to heat the cabin during the winter.

Truman smiled, hearing her voice in his head. She’d known exactly what she wanted.