A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(55)

“Dammit. I hope she’s still close by,” said Ava.

“I’ll let you know if I hear something, and I’m happy to give you whatever help you need.”

“Can you go to Christian’s home this morning?” pressed Ava.

Mercy thought about the snow-covered roads. The chance that her route to Christian’s had been cleared was extremely small. A challenge.

“I’m on it.”



Mercy unclamped her hands from the steering wheel, turned off the ignition, and exhaled.

It’d been a bitch of a drive to Christian Lake’s home. She’d had to shovel her way out of one snowdrift when an oncoming car hadn’t stuck to its side of the road. Jerking the steering wheel to avoid him hadn’t been a good move. And the asshole had kept driving, not caring that she was stuck.

The things I do for justice. And my own curiosity.

That damned reporter had wanted to use her to interview Gabriel. She had considered calling Michael Brody, simply to have someone with her for the treacherous drive, but she’d rejected that idea immediately. This was an official visit, not a press tour. After Ava’s call she had changed her clothes and then checked the supplies in the back of her Tahoe. Now she looked dressed to go ice climbing instead of to an FBI interview. She’d grabbed a few bottles of water from the break room, not wanting to tap into the water jugs she always carried. A quick inventory of her duffel had assured her she could last a week if she got stranded.

Peace of mind.

But damn, the drive had sucked away her energy. She’d slacked on her exercise over the winter. Her treadmill had been silent for several nights in a row. Staying healthy and fit was an important part of her paranoid lifestyle. Who knew what medical services could be like after a disaster? She was getting lazy.

Unacceptable.

She looked up at Christian’s grand house and sighed. It was as glorious as she’d remembered. Part of her had believed that she’d built it up in her mind since her last visit. Nope.

No vehicles were visible, and she wondered if Ava had ever gotten the warrant to take tire prints from the old Hummer. She assumed it was safely tucked away in the long garage today. Mercy had no idea how to take tire prints, but maybe a photo of the treads could be helpful. Now to come up with an excuse to get in the garage.

Did Gabriel Lake drive out here? Or did Christian send a car to meet him at the airport?

A search on Gabriel Lake had revealed a man who resembled Christian. Attractive and tall. Gabriel headed up a successful law firm, and she discovered many articles singing about his skill in the courtroom.

A man appeared on the front porch. Brent Rollins.

Mercy grumbled. She’d hoped to avoid the watchdog and get to Christian first.

He jogged down the freshly shoveled stairs and strode to her vehicle, a grim expression below his hat brim. Mercy slid out of her Tahoe and closed the door, indicating she wasn’t about to leave.

“Christian and Gabriel aren’t seeing anyone today,” Rollins announced as he drew closer. Recognition flashed in his eyes as he reached her.

“I think Christian will see me.”

“No. We already told the FBI to go through the lawyers.”

Mercy gestured at the snow. “No lawyer is working today. In Bend or in Portland. We’re losing time to find who killed their father.”

“They’re not available.” His gaze was ice as he studied her from head to toe. “You don’t look like an FBI agent.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a standard. And I wasn’t about to tackle that drive without dressing appropriately. I’m lucky I only had to shovel my truck out of one drift.”

Respect flitted across his face.

Mercy seized the momentary dropping of his defense. “Did you ever meet Malcolm Lake?” she asked. “I know he and Christian were estranged.”

“That’s none of your business.” He continued his imitation of a statue.

“Why are you trying to stall this case? Their father was murdered. Some might even accuse you of obstructing justice.” She was fuzzy on the legalities of her statement but didn’t care.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Call the lawyer.”

Mercy played a wild card. “Did you hear about Rob Murray?”

The stocky man showed no surprise. “What about him?”

She stayed silent but raised a brow and gave a half smile. I know something you don’t.

“What about him?” Rollins repeated.

“I think I should tell his boss what happened to him.”

Irritation shone in his eyes as he weighed his choices. The decision was snatched from him as Christian stepped out on the porch and waved. “Hey, Mercy!”

She gave Rollins a satisfied smirk. I’m in.

He deftly controlled his emotions and waved her toward the stairs.

Christian greeted her like a long-lost friend and hustled her into his kitchen, offering her coffee and something to eat. Mercy gawked at the luxury kitchen, which was the size of her apartment. A glassed-in wine room, two huge stainless-steel refrigerators, a cooktop with enough burners for a small restaurant, an island big enough for a king-size mattress, and a built-in espresso machine the size of her SUV’s dashboard. “Jeez, Christian. Do you operate as a restaurant on the weekends?”

He slightly ducked his head. “The builder said it had to match the rest of the house.”