A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(3)

Olivia’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. “Stay.”

Mercy froze. And then slowly sank back to her knees, taking the bleeding hand again and holding the dying woman’s gaze. She doesn’t want to be alone. An inner calm flowed from the woman’s hand to Mercy’s and quieted her nerves.

I will do this for her.

Olivia looked from Mercy to Morrigan and then closed her eyes. Mercy watched her chest rise four more times before it stopped.

Numb, she held the woman’s hand and listened to Morrigan wail.





TWO

“Sorry about taking your clothes, Special Agent Kilpatrick,” a Deschutes County deputy muttered as Mercy dropped her coat, sweater, and jeans into his paper bag after changing in Morrigan’s bedroom.

“No problem. I always have another set of clothing with me.” Once she’d gotten a look at her bloody sweater, she’d known the investigators would want everything she wore, but before she’d changed, the crime scene tech had photographed her in the stained outfit.

Mercy had stood and stared straight ahead as the young man circled her, snapping photos. He’d moved closer to photograph her face, and she fought down the guilt that crawled up the back of her throat over her inability to save Olivia. Awkwardly he asked permission to cut a chunk of her hair. Mercy nodded and watched as strands of her long black hair, thick with congealed blood, fell into his waiting envelope. Then he’d taken out a swab, dampened it, and touched it to her face. Olivia’s blood was crusted on her cheek. The drying blood had pulled Mercy’s skin, and she’d briefly scratched it before comprehending what it was. It was still under her fingernails, even after the tech had scraped them.

I did everything I could.

A shiver shot through her muscles, making her entire body spasm as she watched the deputy seal the bag. He gave her a quick glance, sympathy in his eyes.

She’d seen death up close before. Even clung to her brother’s hand as he’d passed.

But this was different. Olivia’s need for human touch, her need for someone to stay and not let her slip into death alone, had ripped open Mercy’s heart.

The moment would stay with her forever.

She had sat with Olivia for a few minutes after she’d passed, and then Mercy had pulled Morrigan onto her lap and simply held her until she stopped crying and drifted off to sleep. She put a thick coat on the girl, carried her through the snow back to her Tahoe, and then drove until she found a cell signal. Exhausted, Morrigan had dozed in the back seat, her head bobbing on her chest. Mercy reported the death and tried to drive back to the house. She’d had to wake up Morrigan for directions. Morrigan had been right. The twisting side road to the little house took forever.

Now Deschutes County detective Evan Bolton waited for Mercy in the living room of Olivia’s home. The detective was young, probably younger than Mercy, but his eyes were old and cynical, as if they’d seen every horror in the world. When he’d arrived at the crack of dawn, he’d silently listened to Mercy’s brief story and asked minimal questions, but she’d had a gut feeling that he missed very little. Sympathy flashed in his brown eyes as she approached.

No doubt twenty-four hours without sleep showed in her face.

“Where’s Morrigan?” she asked him.

“Showing one of the deputies her chickens and goats.”

Mercy relaxed a fraction. She’d kept Morrigan close to her for the last four hours as they waited for Deschutes County to respond. She glanced out the window and saw the tech taking pictures inside her brand-new FBI Tahoe. It was bloody too. In her exhaustion Mercy had transferred Olivia’s blood to Morrigan’s coat and to her vehicle.

Rustling noises behind Mercy told her the techs were still collecting evidence in the tiny house. More than anything she wanted to leave the scene behind and sleep for a week, but the detective’s eyes indicated he had other plans. “You want to interview me now, don’t you?” she asked.

“I know you’ve been up a long time, but I want to hear the details again while they’re still fresh in your mind.”

She understood. “No one has reached Morrigan’s mother?”

“Not yet. The phone number she gave us goes straight to a full voice-mail box.”

“Did Morrigan say where she is?”

“She told us she went to town. When I asked how long ago she left, she said she didn’t know. It could be a week or a day.”

Mercy frowned. “When is child services getting here?” she asked.

The detective scowled. “We’re working on it.”

“Then I have plenty of time to talk, because I’m not going anywhere until Morrigan is taken care of. How long until the ME arrives?”

He raised both brows. “Within the hour. I thought I would be the one asking questions.”

“Where do you want to do this?” Mercy glanced around at the crowded living area. Now that some daylight was coming in the windows, she saw the room was very clean, but the furniture upholstery was patched and the scattered rugs were worn down to the backing in several areas. The cabinets in the kitchen were missing several doors, but the dishes were in perfect even stacks on the shelves.

“Let’s step outside,” he suggested.

The two of them moved out of the cramped house, and Mercy sucked in a deep breath of icy air. Looking up, she saw the snow-frosted pines against a clear blue sky. It must be less than twenty degrees. Three days earlier the area had been hit with a snowstorm that had rapidly dumped six inches of white fluff. Since then every day had been gloriously clear but bone-chillingly cold. Typical for a Central Oregon winter.