A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(65)

How does he do this to me?

Whenever he appeared, she became whole. The moment they locked eyes, she’d feel the physical change. A piece she’d never realized was missing audibly snapped into place when he was close. Every. Single. Time.

Now that he’d been in her life, she would always be less of a person without him.

How did I not know I was missing a vital part of myself?

But she had known something was lacking. She’d chalked it up to the burden of being an introvert. The hours spent toiling through school by herself, developing her peace-of-mind cabin on her own, and completing assignment after assignment at work. She’d been driven, determined to fill that gaping hole with satisfaction from work and activity. All that time she’d been pursuing the wrong leads.

She pulled back and smiled, feeling the happiness in her chest grow as if he’d sprinkled Miracle-Gro, rain, and sunshine on her. Her breath caught at a shadow in his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

The shadow vanished.

“Nothing. Except murders and gunshot victims.”

He’s not telling the truth.

“How long will Michael be in the hospital?” she asked, feeling off-kilter at the discord between his eyes and his answer.

“They don’t know yet. A few days at least. I came here before I headed back to Eagle’s Nest because I wanted to get your take on something. I’m thinking it could be related to your case.”

“Not my case,” she automatically stated, knowing she was up to her neck in it.

A twist of his lips acknowledged her weak assertion, and he told her about a visit with the Eagle’s Nest librarian.

“You’re not positive it happened on the same night as the church break-in?” she asked.

“There’s a fifty-fifty chance it did.”

“When did you last have a business report a break-in?”

“Months ago.”

“Have you looked through the film?”

“I haven’t had time, but when I do I’ll start with the local paper film and focus on the months that correspond to the roll of The Oregonian.”

“What months are on The Oregonian roll?”

He told her and she did some quick math. “That’s forty-one years ago.”

“Almost exactly.”

“Isn’t Salome around forty? She’s still the main suspect for the first break-in, right? Could she have been looking up something around the time of her birth?” Mercy knew it was a giant leap of logic.

“I thought of that too and checked her birth date. She was born the year after the one on the rolls. I’m still not sold on the claim that it was a woman that night at the church. The witness doesn’t have the best vision.”

“Well, don’t churches store records? Especially small-town churches? Births, baptisms, marriages. Maybe big-town events? Could someone have been looking up the same time period at the church?”

He stilled. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’re a sinner who’s never stepped foot in a church?”

“Not true. My parents dragged me to church until I moved out. But it was a huge city church.” He gave her a smacking kiss on the lips. “Thank you for the idea. I’ll stop by and talk to David Aguirre again, although I don’t know what to look for during that time period.”

“I would help you, but I can’t get away this afternoon. Would your librarian let you use the microfiche after hours?”

His face stated he sincerely doubted it. “I’ll check.”





TWENTY-SIX

Truman decided to walk to the church from the Eagle’s Nest library. Ruth had grudgingly given him a spare key, promising to make his life hell if he forgot to lock up.

He told himself the walk was a chance to get a close look at how his town was handling the snowstorm. But the truth was that he needed to exorcise a memory he’d suppressed for days. He’d refused to let his mind explore the path that Salome Sabin had led him down nearly two decades earlier. When David Aguirre had admitted that he’d met Salome in the past, Truman had seen the same cautionary fear in David’s gaze that Salome had triggered in Truman’s gut.

His breath fogged in the cold air as he exhaled and thought back to that night.

It’d been a hot summer night when Salome had led him out of the party like a dog on a leash. Mike Bevins’s warning was a fading voice in his mind as Truman followed her out the door, his gaze glued to her ass under her snug short skirt. They both carried cups of beer, their other hands clasped together, and she’d looked over her shoulder back at him, dark eyes dancing with promises of pleasure. Truman stumbled over his own feet as he panted after her.

Outside she led him past the pool to a lounge chair near the fire pit. Someone had lit a fire, but it’d burned low as the partiers stayed in the air-conditioned home, avoiding the stifling heat. The outdoor lights were off except for the underwater lights of the pool, and the low flames of the fire added to the arousing ambiance. Never letting go of his hand, Salome lay down on the lounger and pulled Truman on top of her. His beer cup hit the ground as his hand shot out to prevent him from crashing into her chest. She laughed, a low, sex-filled sound that made his muscles tighten down low.

Every cell of his body wanted her.