A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(14)

Britta noticed her scan of the first floor. “I travel light. I don’t like clutter.”

Mercy’s gaze went to the crowded tattooing of her arms. Britta stored her possessions on her skin.

“Yesterday I read the reports from your family’s death,” Mercy said. “But I’d like to hear your words.”

“I was interviewed dozens of times. Surely you read those.” Britta’s spine was rigid, her chin up, her lips pressed in a line.

“I did.” Mercy had been up half the night reading. “But you were ten years old. Looking back as an adult, what goes through your head?”

Britta looked away. “I’m not doing this today. I’m sorry, Agent Kilpatrick, but you can’t show up on my doorstep and expect me to unload. I spent a decade in therapy learning how to survive with my memories. They’re all neatly packed up in manageable boxes. You’re asking me to rip them open and scatter my emotions across the floor. I can’t do that.”

She slid her chair back and stood, her face carefully composed in a blank shield.

I pushed too hard.

Mercy fingered the handle on her mug of tea. “That was rather presumptuous of me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I apologize.” Mercy stood and set her card on the table. She held Britta’s gaze. “I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through—”

“No, you can’t.” Britta leaned closer, holding Mercy’s gaze. The lamplight gave her eyes an eerie glow. “There are few people in this world that know what it’s like to wake up and find out your family has been murdered and that you are now alone. It never leaves you. The survivor’s guilt eats away at your brain until you’re convinced you’ve pissed off death and it will return one day for painful revenge. Every noise in the night. Every person who knocks on my door. I wonder if my borrowed time is up.”

Mercy held her breath, unable to break eye contact. Anger and pain fueled Britta’s words.

“I can state out loud that I won’t be punished for surviving. Therapy taught me to say and believe those words, but my heart doesn’t trust that belief. My heart trusts nothing. And do you know what? It’s my heart that gets me out of bed every day. It drives me forward. I’m too damn stubborn to let fear overtake every aspect of my life. When the fear does strike at night or when a federal agent shows up on my doorstep, I power through. It may take a few minutes, but every time I come out on the other side.”

Mercy couldn’t speak.

“You’ll leave here today and go back to your office to see your FBI buddies and go on with your normal life. Maybe you’ll hit a Starbucks drive-through. Get coffee orders for everyone. Be the office hero for the afternoon. You know what I’ll do? I’ll take Zara on a run. We’ll run and run until I can’t breathe or think about the demons you stirred up with your visit today. I don’t care if it’s raining. All I want is to be damned exhausted when I crawl in bed.” She straightened, briefly looking uncertain, as if she’d just realized how close she’d leaned to Mercy. “That will be my evening.”

Mercy waited a long moment. “Are you done?”

Britta nodded.

“My evening will be spent digging through the dozens of case boxes from the Deverell family and yours—just like I did last night until two a.m.—searching for a needle in a haystack that might point me in a direction to solve the current murders. That’s after I stop at the morgue to see skeletal remains again. No Starbucks. No office hero. I’m just doing my job.” She kept her tone light and matter-of-fact. Britta didn’t look away.

“You’re not the only victim here, Britta. I respect everything you’ve gone through. But you’re upright and walking. My priority is the people who can no longer do that. I’d appreciate any help you can give us. Someone else has committed murder, and I doubt they are finished. A small fact might be tucked away in your memory to help us figure out who it is.”

“I’m not opening my brain up for your perusal.” Britta’s hand crept up and touched the side of her head where Mercy knew the killer had hit her with a hammer.

“Think about it.”

“I just did.”

Her resolute expression stated she was done with the topic.

But there was a streak of honor in Britta that hovered underneath the tough exterior. One that Mercy hoped would step forward to prevent another human from experiencing her horror. Mercy prayed she hadn’t overstepped her bounds and scared Britta further away.

One step at a time.





EIGHT

Lucas handed Truman an envelope as he walked into the Eagle’s Nest station for work that morning. “This was taped to the front door.”

Truman noted his name on the outside and opened the envelope as he strode down the hall to his office.

He studied the single piece of paper and halted. What the fuck?

He laughed and then read it again. Is this for real?

Joshua Forbes claimed that Truman had trampled on his God-given rights and he wanted $3 million in compensation. Truman had heard of judges and police officers receiving this type of letter. It was a jumbled mess of legalese and fantasy.

The signature at the bottom captured his attention.

joshua; forbes SLS