A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(60)

She put a fake smile on her face. “What is your problem with Britta, Chuck?” she asked in a saccharine voice, determined not to yell or curse at the man. Two witnesses were working on his leg. They would confirm that she’d been polite if Chuck tried to claim she’d threatened him. “First you publish her new name and her website online, nearly accusing her of hiding something about her family’s deaths. Now you’re caught in her house?”

Another plastic smile.

Chuck looked away, but the responders glanced at her, obviously listening.

“Do you have any idea how much online harassment she’s dealt with since you did that?”

No answer.

“She feared people would come to her home. I guess you were the only one she needed to fear.”

Silence.

“I assume you were her night prowler three nights ago. Her dog followed your trail back to the road.”

He jerked his head to look at her, eyes flashing. “That wasn’t me. I’ve never been out here before.”

The only accusation he denies.

“We’ll see.” Mercy passed him to join Britta and the deputy. A huge wash of pain took her breath away as she focused on the deputy’s uniform, a visual reminder that Truman was still missing. There was one positive aspect to Britta’s problem; it’d taken Mercy’s mind off Truman for several minutes.

I need to get back to his case.

She forced herself to keep walking and greet the two of them. Britta was tense, like a panther waiting to pounce. She was all black. Boots, jeans, sweater, and her long hair. For the first time, Mercy could read the large, ornate tattoo covering the front of the woman’s neck. ASTRID&HELENA.

Her murdered sisters.

Every day she sees that in the mirror.

No wonder she carried survivor’s guilt. She wore a constant reminder.

Today she’d skipped the thick black eyeliner, and her pale-blue eyes seemed lost in her face.

“It’s pretty clear from the shots still in her wall that the man was in her home,” the deputy said to Mercy. “But I’ll have a detective and evidence team examine it.”

“Good,” said Britta. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say exactly that. He does have a leg full of buckshot,” Mercy pointed out. “He refused to say anything to me except to deny that he was your prowler the other night.”

Britta stilled, her breathing silenced. “Then who was it?”

Mercy knew it was a rhetorical question.

“I’m sorry about Truman,” the deputy said to Mercy. “We’ve got every available patrol keeping an eye out.”

“Thank you.” Emptiness swamped her as the deputy excused himself to talk to Chuck.

“Who’s Truman?” asked Britta, her pale gaze locked on Mercy.

“He’s my . . . We’re a couple.” Boyfriend sounded juvenile. Kaylie had boyfriends, not Mercy. “He hasn’t been heard from since yesterday morning.” The words were awkward on her tongue.

“That’s horrible. They’re already looking for him? I thought they waited forty-eight hours.”

“He’s the chief of police for Eagle’s Nest. They found blood . . .” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t physically say more.

Understanding flashed in Britta’s gaze, and Mercy broke eye contact. “I think everything will be fine for you,” Mercy said to the woman, forcing Truman out of her immediate thoughts. “Chuck will go to the hospital, and they’ll talk to you some more, but even the deputy could see the evidence backs you up. Did Chuck say why he was here?”

“He claimed he wanted an interview.”

“People who want interviews call you. They don’t break into your home. How did he get in?”

Britta looked at the ceiling. “I left the door unlocked. I’d had my arms full when I got home, and I kicked the door closed behind me.”

“He got lucky with his timing.”

“He’s lucky I was in a good mood.”

Mercy held back a smile at the snark in Britta’s tone. Her respect for the woman grew each time she encountered her. “I don’t think you’ll need me anymore. That deputy has your back.”

“Thank you.” Britta’s eyes narrowed. “I hope your man turns up all right.”

“Me too,” she whispered, and she turned around to leave before she made a fool of herself in front of the tough woman.

Mercy moved down the stairs, passing Chuck. “Good luck with that lawsuit, you stalking creeper.”

She didn’t wait for his answer.





THIRTY

Truman lost track of the days and nights.

He speculated that two nights had passed, but it had felt like a week. He slept and woke with no discernible pattern. Sometimes he could see light through the cracks around the door; sometimes it was dark. The rain came in showers, pounding on the roof for a long time and then going silent. His dreams were full of Mercy and the tall stranger. He dozed as much as possible. If he couldn’t be with Mercy, dreaming of her helped a little.

His longing to see Mercy had settled into a dull pain in every muscle. Or maybe the aches were from his beating. Either way, he knew that if he could hold her, the pain would go away.