A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(80)

“He’s been harassing me. I keep seeing him everywhere.”

Steve fixed his gaze on the dog. “I didn’t touch her or say a word to her,” he claimed.

Truman noticed he didn’t say he hadn’t been following her. “What’s your name?” he asked the woman.

“Britta.”

He blinked and focused on the tattoo peeking out from under her high collar. He looked questioningly at Steve, who nodded back. “Britta Verbeek—Vale?” he asked her.

Annoyance flashed on her face. “I don’t know you,” she told Truman. She tightened her grip on the dog’s leash.

“I know about you,” Truman admitted. “I’m Truman Daly. Chief of Eagle’s Nest PD. Mercy Kilpatrick is my girlfriend.”

Britta pressed her lips together, agitation present in her expression.

I don’t think I just did Mercy any favors.

Truman looked between the two tense people, wondering where to start. He jerked his head at Steve. “You know he’s the one who originally found your family?”

Her face cleared and then went dark again. “Why the fuck are you following me?” she said in a low tone to Steve.

“I saw you for the first time today—a few minutes ago. I heard the clerk call you Britta when he thanked you for your purchase. I came closer to see if it was really you, because I’d heard you were back in town.” He looked at his feet. “I’ve always wondered what happened to you. If you saw me previously, it’s only because I’m always in town.”

“That’s true,” said Truman. “I stumble across him almost every time I walk down the street. Did he do anything to you?” he asked Britta.

“He looked at me,” she muttered, glaring at Steve. “I could tell he recognized me.”

Not against the law.

“I’ve been on edge lately,” she admitted.

“I know,” Truman said. “You have good reason.” He looked at Steve. “Do you have your confirmation that she’s fine now?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at Britta.

“Don’t ever approach me again.” Britta’s eyes were pale-blue flames.

Not if Steve wants to keep his head.

“Go home, Steve,” Truman ordered. The man was happy to leave, and Truman watched him rapidly make his way down the sidewalk.

He turned back to Britta, who also watched him leave. “Why don’t you come chat with me a bit?” Truman asked her. “I’m expecting Mercy any minute. I know she’d like to see you.”

Indecision flickered on her face.

He held his hand out to the dog, who leaned forward to sniff it and then enthusiastically licked his fingers.

Truman had eaten a bacon cheeseburger for lunch.

“All right.”



Mercy was joking with Lucas when Truman walked in the door with Britta and a tail-wagging Zara.

“What happened?” she instantly asked, spotting the restrained fury in Britta’s eyes. She wants to kill someone.

Truman gave her a rundown of Britta’s encounter with Steve Harris.

“You think he’s safe?” Mercy asked Truman. “I don’t like that he approached her.”

“Me neither,” added Britta. “I saw him twice earlier this week. Once in the diner and then at the post office. Today made the third time.”

“I know it looks bad,” Truman admitted, “but I really think he’s harmless. When I originally asked him about finding . . . your family, I could see that it had haunted him most of his life. His concern that day for you as the survivor felt very genuine. I’ve always dealt with him in tense situations because of the fire hydrant in front of his house, so I’d never seen him distressed like that before.”

“He’s creepy,” Britta said. “I need to seriously consider moving. I feel like I’m under a spotlight in this town . . . too many things from the past.”

Mercy understood the woman’s concern and hated that she was about to make Britta feel even more on center stage. “Britta, do you recall Janet Norris? She was a friend of your mother’s.” It feels good to focus on my cases instead of worrying about Truman.

“I do. They worked together for a little while—the one time Dad allowed her to get a job. Janet talked a lot.”

Mercy tried to think of the softest way to deliver her news. “I was going to call you about this later today, but do you remember when I told you a second family had been murdered here recently?”

“Of course,” she snapped. “Later I saw it in the news. The Jorgensens. They had two children.” Her jaw quivered.

“Janet Norris was their closest neighbor.”

The muscles in Britta’s jaw clenched as the rest of her went very still. “That’s fucked up,” she whispered. “How . . .”

“I know. The possibility of her being tied to the two similar murders decades apart boggles my mind.”

Fear flickered on Britta’s face, and she steered Zara toward the door. “I need to go—”

“Don’t leave yet.” Mercy stepped after the woman but stopped, knowing she’d bolt if Mercy touched her.

Britta looked over her shoulder. “Today has been too much . . . too many people . . .”