A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(79)

“I’ll shave it tomorrow.”

The doorbell rang, and she reluctantly pulled away to answer it. He was instantly cold, his body wanting her back.

“I don’t think you need any more food dropped off,” she muttered as she went toward the door.

He agreed.

It was Rose and Nick Walker. Truman watched Rose greet Mercy, her hand gently touching Mercy’s cheek. Rose’s pregnancy was highlighted by her formfitting top and the fullness of her face. As usual, Rose brought light and serenity to the room. Her smile and warmth were contagious, and Truman always felt peace in her presence. No wonder Nick was addicted. Truman shook hands with the lumberyard owner and then turned his attention to Rose.

Her resemblance to Mercy was strong, but the coloring was different. And Mercy exuded focus and intensity, not Rose’s softness.

That was fine with him.

“Oh, Truman.” Rose touched his arm and moved her hand to his face. She froze as her fingertips found unexpected facial hair. Then she grinned. “That’s a change.”

“It’s temporary,” he asserted. What is the fascination with the beard?

“We were thankful to hear you were okay,” Rose said with a wide smile.

Some of Truman’s anxiety immediately floated away. It was a skill of hers.

The four of them talked for a short while, and then Rose and Nick left.

“They’re crazy about each other,” Truman commented. “I see it in both of them.”

“I agree. Rose has had a few insecure moments, but she’s learning to trust him. We’ve talked about how she can communicate better with him.” Mercy grimaced. “Speaking of communication, do you know what ate away at me while you were gone?”

He knew instantly. “The fact that we argued.” It’d ripped up his insides too. “I overreacted about the cabin decisions. You should have the lead on that project.”

“You didn’t overreact. I need to be more aware of your feelings,” she said earnestly.

He kissed her to stop her from talking about it. It was such a small thing in the scope of what had happened.

“I know what’s truly important now,” he said against her mouth.

He felt her lips curve. “Me too.”





THIRTY-EIGHT

Truman went to the police department the next day. He couldn’t stay away.

Now that he’d been back in civilization for more than a day, his brain had shifted into fast-forward and he needed to know what he’d missed at work. Mercy had helped him get dressed, and he wore a clean splint and sling for his arm. He had shaved, and now his face looked and felt naked. At breakfast Ollie had looked at Truman as if he didn’t recognize him. Truman’s father had taken the teen to get a haircut the previous afternoon, and Truman had stared at Ollie in the same manner when he returned, embarrassing him.

Their hair was a symbol of deeper changes. Truman wasn’t the same man he’d been weeks earlier, and he planned to transform Ollie’s world for the better.

The Eagle’s Nest Police Department building felt welcoming and slightly foreign at the same time.

But damn, it was good to be back in his chair.

After catching up on a mountain of paperwork and eating lunch, he saw he had time for an errand before Mercy stopped by. She’d insisted on checking up on him, and he couldn’t say no; he had a deep need to see her too. Their separation had left both of them rattled and needing occasional visual reassurance.

Truman walked down the street to pick up more paper for their printer. Lucas had planned to do it, but Truman was ready for a breath of fresh air, rain or not. The outside chill felt good on his bare cheeks. His town was quiet and peaceful, and the stress of his time in the woods was fading.

I’m a lucky, lucky man.

He froze as up ahead a man abruptly lunged out a store door and tripped over his own feet, falling into the street at the curb. A black dog burst out of the store and circled the man, barking madly, and a woman followed. She stopped and stood tall over the man in the street, her hands on her hips, not offering to help. Truman jerked into motion and ran to give a hand.

Not-so-quiet town.

“—following me!” the black-haired woman was shouting at the man.

Truman recognized the nearly bald-headed man on the ground. Steve Harris. The man he’d recently interviewed because he’d found the murdered Verbeek family two decades earlier. Truman halted as the dog planted its feet, made eye contact with him, and growled. The woman grabbed its collar. “Sit.” The dog sat, dividing its attention between the man on the ground and Truman.

“Zara won’t bite,” the tall woman told Truman. “But she isn’t fond of men.”

“She should be leashed.”

“Yes, she should.” She released the dog’s collar and the animal stayed motionless. The lean woman was dressed from head to toe in black and exuded an alertness and tension that reminded him a bit of Mercy.

“You okay, Steve?” Truman knelt, using his one good hand to help the man up.

“Tripped,” he muttered, keeping an eye on the dog.

“He’s been following me for days,” the woman announced. “Zara picked up on my nervousness in the store and lunged at him. She would never bite,” she quickly added.

“Leash her now,” Truman ordered. The woman had ignored Truman’s first hint to secure her dog. She pulled a leash out of her bag and snapped it on.