A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(54)

“The padlock on the gate looked new to me,” said the deputy. “The key I had didn’t work, so I cut off the lock. I suspect whoever dumped the truck here did the same thing and then replaced the lock.”

“The truck might not have been found for months,” Mercy murmured.

“We’re lucky a few teenagers got tired of being stuck inside due to the rain. They got their dirt bikes around the gate and tore around in the quarry. I see a lot of it during the summer months.”

“They rode in the rain?” Mercy was skeptical.

The deputy shrugged. “Why not? They’re boys. Anyway, they called in the truck. I suspect they found it a few hours ago but didn’t think anything of it once they’d looked to see if anyone was inside. They got their riding time in and then reported it.”

Mercy eyed the deputy’s waders. “And you checked it out more thoroughly when you got here. Do you always have waders in your vehicle?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “The windows were down on the truck. I grabbed a pole and felt around in the dirty water inside the cab. The boys were right. There’s nothing in there.”

“I bet someone left the windows down to ruin evidence,” said Bolton, glowering at the submerged truck.

A tow truck worked its way down the winding road to the bottom of the quarry.

“We need to drag the pond.”

Neither man replied to Mercy’s statement; they had both been thinking the same thing.

She walked away from the two men, following the edge of the pond away from the bustle around Clint’s truck, her gaze glued to the black water.

Is Truman in there?

Fighting back the urge to plunge into the pond and search, she shoved her hands in her pockets. Tears threatened, but she couldn’t look away from the water. Its surface constantly rippled under the falling rain. Her gaze bounced from one movement on the water to the next, as she hoped to spot something that everyone else had missed.

What’s done is done. If he’s in there, there’s nothing I can do.

Hot tears tracked both her cheeks, and she furiously brushed them away. “Fucking hell. Damn you, Truman! Where are you?”

You can’t do this to me.

With a start she realized she had to contact his family. His parents were in California, his married sister in the Seattle area. Mercy had never spoken with or met any of them. The thought of telling his family he was missing made her tears run faster, and her stomach churned at the thought of making those horrible calls.

I’ll ask Ben to do it.

Guilt shamed her for being too weak to face his family, but right now she was struggling to even stand upright. She took a few steps toward the water, again searching for something . . . anything.

“What the hell?” A hand grabbed her upper arm and yanked her backward.

She blinked at Bolton as she caught her balance. “Wh-what?”

“Don’t go in the water.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

He pointed at her boots, and she looked down. They were wet to halfway up her calves.

She was speechless, blinking at her wet boots. “I didn’t notice,” she murmured.

“Hey.” Bolton took hold of her other arm to turn her toward him. “We’ll find him.”

But there was doubt in his brown eyes. Uncertainty and fear broke loose and roared through her, making her thoughts turn darker.

“You don’t know that,” she whispered. “I don’t know that. No one knows.” Her vision tunneled on his face.

He gave her a small shake, and she broke his grip with a rapid swing of her forearms. “Do not shake me,” she snapped as anger replaced her fear.

Bolton took a step back, his eyes cautious. “I’m sorry. You suddenly went white. I thought you were about to pass out.”

“I’m fine.” She straightened her shoulders, seizing inner strength from her rush of anger. “Back to the truck.”

She marched away.

I can do this.



The scent of coffee woke Mercy.

She stared at the ceiling in her bedroom for two seconds and then snatched her silent phone off the dresser.

Truman?

She scanned for missed calls, missed texts, and relevant emails. Nothing. The silence about Truman was crushing. No news that progress had been made overnight while she slept. She sent Truman her usual morning text and watched the screen, waiting, hoping.

Nothing.

Finally she set down her phone and lay stiffly, searching for motivation to crawl out of bed, since it was nearly seven. Cupboards banged in the kitchen, and she realized she had an important task.

I need to tell Kaylie.

Last night her niece had been asleep when Mercy got home. Mercy had collapsed into bed after several hours at the rock quarry and then proceeded to lie awake forever, her mind spinning as she made a to-do list for the next day. Several times her thoughts had been overtaken by Truman, wondering if he was safe, or warm, or dry, resulting in a desperate need to hit something. She’d considered going to her cabin site and doing something physical, but cell service was spotty up there, and she didn’t want to miss a call.

She swung her legs out of bed and made herself go face Kaylie.

The teenager sat at the table, dressed in plaid flannel pajama pants and a baggy T-shirt, eating a bowl of oatmeal. Dulce sat on the chair next to her. Kaylie glanced up as Mercy walked in and did a double take, concern on her face.