A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(31)

Relieved, he got back in his vehicle and took another look at the name and address of the registered owner.

Christian Lake.

Bells rang in his head. There was a victim named Lake who might be tied to Olivia Sabin’s murder. But the victim was a judge who lived in Portland. It was the similarity of the two murders that had sparked the interest of the FBI.

This vehicle can’t be related.

Truman started his SUV, plugged the owner’s address into his GPS, and pulled back onto the plowed road, his curiosity growing. He’d see if the owner was related to the victim before calling the FBI.



Christian Lake’s home was stunning. Truman wouldn’t call it a mansion, but it was pretty damned close. The huge mountain-cabin-on-steroids-style house sat on a high ridge, overlooking a lake. A location Truman found mildly amusing considering the owner’s last name.

He parked, noting the six-car garage connected to the giant home by a long covered walkway. An old Hummer was parked in front of the closest garage door, an early model Truman recognized as being desirable among collectors, and he wondered what other types of classic vehicles were hidden behind the doors. He called in his location and got out of his SUV.

“Can I help you?” A stocky man had emerged from the home’s end of the walkway. He looked about Truman’s age and wore a Mount Bachelor cap and thick black jacket. His breath hung in the cold air.

“Are you Christian Lake?”

“No. Mr. Lake is a bit busy. Can I give him a message, Officer?”

Truman pulled off his gloves and dug a business card out of his pocket. He held it out to the man, noting he could be actor Jason Stratham’s twin. He even had the beard stubble and scowl. “Is he missing a black Lexus SUV?”

The man frowned at the card. “Why are you asking?”

“Because it’s been sitting on a road’s shoulder for a few days.”

“What? Hang on a minute.” He strode to the garage, punched a code into a keypad, and vanished through the door that opened.

Truman waited. He has to take inventory?

The man reappeared five seconds later. “Where is it?”

“I’d like to talk to Christian Lake. He’s the registered owner.” Truman wasn’t budging until he talked to Lake.

The man glanced at Truman’s department SUV and back to the card. “Okay, Chief. I’m trying to keep people out of his hair today, but I think he’ll talk to you.” He gestured for Truman to follow him into the home.

Truman gaped as he entered.

Golden wood gleamed. Everywhere Truman looked, he saw polished wood and glass. Tall wainscoting, custom cabinets, end tables, and elaborate baseboards. The ceilings were sky high and decorated with rustic beams, amplifying the multimillion-dollar-cabin feeling. In the middle of the open common area, a three-sided fireplace made of river rock immediately drew his gaze. It was the centerpiece of the room, stretching up to the grand ceiling. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out to the lake and showed off a giant deck that appeared to surround the entire home. Truman felt as if he were indoors and outdoors at the same time.

“Nice home.” An understatement.

The other man glanced back at him. “It is. Wait here and I’ll get Christian.” He pointed at a sitting area and then jogged up a curving wood staircase.

Mercy would love this.

Actually, she’d say it was too big to maintain in an emergency. Although she’d like the remote location.

Truman suddenly looked at the home with new eyes, wondering about power and heat for the home if society collapsed. He didn’t know whether to appreciate or be annoyed that he viewed the world a bit differently since Mercy had come into his life.

But he could still acknowledge an incredible home.

The interior was ornate but welcoming and casual. The overstuffed furniture had been arranged to create several different seating areas that begged for conversation and friends and wine. Scents of coffee and cinnamon created a homey ambiance, softening the fact that the room was devoid of people. Except Truman.

Instead of sitting, he walked over to the tall windows and looked out at the lake. Standing closer, he realized they weren’t just windows . . . they were glass panels that slid to the sides when the owner wished to open the entire back wall to the outdoors. I’d love to see this during the summer.

Footsteps sounded, and two men came down the stairs. Christian Lake was around forty and tall and clearly spent time in a gym, the muscle definition in his arms showing through his long-sleeved shirt. Truman wasn’t one to judge another man’s looks, but he suspected Mercy would do a double take if Christian Lake walked by. If the first guy looked like Jason Stratham, Lake resembled Ryan Reynolds.

Truman felt as if he were on a movie set.

Christian Lake’s brown eyes were bloodshot, and he looked exhausted. He held out his hand to Truman. “I’m Christian, Chief Daly. I understand you found one of my vehicles?”

His handshake was solid and his gaze direct. The man Truman had met outside hovered several feet behind Christian, his arms loose at his sides, his gaze watchful and assessing. Bodyguard? He could easily hide a weapon under his heavy coat. Truman studied Christian Lake. Why does this man need protection?

“I found a black Lexus SUV registered to you out on Goose Hollow Road. It’s been sitting there for a few days.”

Christian briefly closed his eyes. “Oh crap. I loaned it to Rob Murray a while back. I’d forgotten with all the—” He turned to the man behind him. “Rollins, can you give Rob a call?” Christian looked back at Truman. “Was it wrecked?”