A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(95)

Britta sighed. “I’ve wavered back and forth on a decision. A lot of my reasons to leave are now . . . moot. I’ve discovered I still love this area. More than anywhere else I’ve lived. But I don’t know if I can live on that property. Sometimes I never want to see it again, but then I think it’s a good reminder of what I’ve survived.”

Mercy wanted her to stay. “I can help you look for another place.”

A genuine smile lit Britta’s face, and Mercy realized with shock that it was the first one she’d seen. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Britta said. She suddenly straightened up in her bed. “Zara!”

Kaylie had slipped into the room with the dog. She shut the door behind her, breathing heavily and grinning like a crazy person.

“How did you get her into the hospital?” Mercy asked in amazement as the dog darted to Britta’s bed and put her paws up on the side, trying to pull herself onto the bed. Britta rubbed the dog’s head and ears as happy tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Very carefully,” Kaylie admitted. “I know a guy who works in the cafeteria, and he helped me sneak in a back way. The nurses on this hall spotted us but then deliberately looked the other way. I suspect they’ll give us a few minutes before they kick us out.”

“Has she been good?” Britta asked, her delighted focus on Zara. Kaylie had taken charge of the dog, bringing her to the vet and then back to Mercy’s apartment. Zara had some bruised ribs but no broken bones.

“She’s been great. Dulce and she are fascinated with each other.”

Mercy had stepped back, enjoying Britta’s transformation as she tried to pet every part of her dog.

I worried neither would survive that night.

Two of the responding deputies had found Britta in the house and loaded her into an ambulance as more rescued Truman and Mercy from the water. Truman had been so weak, they’d used a stretcher to get him up the bank and into another ambulance.

The FBI and the Deschutes County sheriff were working on connecting Ryan Moody to the Hartlage and Jorgensen murders. Mercy had shared Ryan’s confession and directed them to take another look at Grady Baldwin’s conviction from twenty years ago. Just as Britta said, the Moodys had lived in the vicinity of the two old mass killings. A brief interview with Ryan Moody’s father was even in the Verbeek case files. He’d claimed he knew nothing about what had happened.

Mercy had unearthed the police report of Ryan’s father’s suicide. The responding officer had made a note of Mrs. Moody’s bruised face, but she and both her sons swore the father was unstable and had shot himself. His medical history revealed PTSD and severe chronic depression. Mercy had stared for a long time at the comment about Mrs. Moody’s bruises.

Did she or one of her sons kill him?

Mercy would never know.

The investigation of the sovereign citizens’ forgery ring had opened a can of worms. Several men, including Kenneth Forbes, were currently sitting in jail, a litany of charges being assembled against them. Mercy was pleased to hear Kenneth Forbes was also being investigated for receiving disability payments from the government. His son, Joshua, would be the prosecution’s prime witness. The forgers—including his own father—had threatened to kill Joshua Forbes. The son’s anger at his father had loosened his tongue. He’d told the police everything and would get a deal from the prosecutor. Truman wasn’t happy about his own role as a witness in the prosecution’s case. He’d wanted to forget his time in captivity, stating the men would go to prison for long enough with the other stacks of charges, but Mercy was determined to see the men who’d abused him face the consequences.

Ground-penetrating radar had revealed three bodies buried on the grounds where Truman had been held captive. Tests were under way to see if one was Ollie’s grandfather.

The teenager had simply nodded when Mercy told him the news, and her heart had contracted at the flash of pain on his face. She understood he’d already mentally buried his grandfather. Now a painful part of his past was being dug up. He’s tough. He’ll get through it.

Ollie joined her in the kitchen.

“How’s Truman doing?” she asked, pretending she hadn’t been spying on them minutes ago.

“Good. He says he wants one of Kaylie’s snickerdoodles.”

“I’ll do it.” Mercy grabbed a half dozen, taking a bite of one as she went to join Truman. The home was overflowing again with baked goods and casseroles. She stopped in the doorway to his study. He had his eyes closed as he reclined in the big chair. Something inside her burst with happiness at the sight of him safe and in one piece.

My man.

His eyes opened, and he caught her staring at him. “I smelled the cinnamon from the cookies,” he told her.

She sat beside him and set the remaining five cookies on the small table.

“I told Ollie a cookie,” he muttered.

“Like that would satisfy you.”

“True.” He took a giant bite that left less than half a cookie in his hand.

Thankfulness washed through her at the calm of simply sitting with him and eating cookies. He was her heart. His absence had made that clear to her.

Does he know I feel that way? How many times have I passed up the chance to say so?

An overwhelming urge to tell him opened her mouth. She wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. “You know . . .” Her mouth went dry. Why is this so hard?