A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(71)

Yes, there is. A grumpy mood settled over him. He was tired of sleeping alone and making phone calls to schedule their time together. He wanted to share a home with her. Blend their lives together. See her every day. “I can break the lease.”

This time she turned her chair to face him. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Isn’t it obvious? “I want to buy a house with you.” Do I need to make a sign?

Caution appeared in her eyes. “You do?”

“You didn’t pick up on that?”

“But we aren’t even . . .”

If she wouldn’t say it, he would. “Married? Engaged?”

“Yes.”

“But we will be.”

“Which one?”

“Both.” He took her hands. “I’ve known for a long time that I need you in my life. Permanently. But I also know you like to take things slower.” She opened her mouth, and he quickly added, “And there’s Kaylie to consider. But frankly, I think if you told her, she’d be excited and happy for us.”

Waves of different emotions crossed her face. Usually Mercy was a master of keeping her thoughts to herself. But at the moment all her walls were down, and Truman liked what he saw.

She wants it too.

He leaned forward and kissed her, his doubts of the last few days gone. “You don’t have to say anything right now. There’s no rush. I just wanted to be certain we’re moving in the same direction.”

She exhaled. “We are. But you’re sprinting and I’m pacing myself.”

She calls this a sprint? “I’ll wait patiently for you at the finish line.”

“Good. Now, keep reading. I don’t have much time.”

Back to business. He respected that. She was one of the most driven people he’d ever met. She set goals and smashed the hell out of them.

College on her own? She graduated at the top of her class.

Get accepted to the FBI? Again, she graduated at the top of her class.

Give her orphaned niece a home? Boom . . . done.

Find a killer? She didn’t hold back.

Truman scooted his chair closer to hers and kissed her temple. “Whatever you say.” He focused on the screen, and they fell back into their rhythm of skimming and advancing. “Was Rose okay after the fireworks with your father the other night?”

Mercy kept her gaze on the screen. “She is. Her ultrasound appointment for today was canceled because of the weather, so she’s disappointed.”

“Does she know if she wants a boy or girl?”

“I don’t think she cares. She’s got names lined up for both. Iris Joy if it’s a girl and Henry James if it’s a boy.”

Truman’s breath caught. “Henry James?”

“It’s the name of a baby my parents lost. He was stillborn a year after Owen.”

Mercy did know. “I’m so sorry. You never mentioned that before.”

She nodded at his condolence. Her gaze was still on the screen, but there’d been a hitch in her voice as she spoke of the baby. “It was a long time ago. I wasn’t even born. But my parents knew the baby was dead. His heartbeat had stopped early in the third trimester, and she carried him to term.”

“How horrible for your parents.” Truman felt ill.

“Yes, but I think it’s what steered my mother toward midwifery.”

Truman’s respect for Deborah tripled. “Your mother is amazing.”

“Look at this.” Excitement filled Mercy’s voice as she tapped the monitor screen.

Truman skimmed the article she’d indicated. It was about a local trial that’d just finished. Antonio Ricci had been convicted of three counts of first-degree murder and four counts of battery. The photo with the article was a mug shot of an angry man in his thirties. “I don’t see what caught your attention.”

“His wife testified against him,” Mercy read. “Describing his frequent assaults. The jury struggled to understand her as she spoke through a wired jaw, reportedly broken by her husband.” She paused. “The wife’s name was Olivia Ricci.”

Could she be Olivia Sabin?

“And look at the name of the presiding judge near the bottom of the article.”

“Malcolm Lake.” Truman’s mind began to spin. “Holy shit. If that’s our Olivia, here’s a connection to the judge.”

“I’m calling Dr. Lockhart. She’d know if Olivia’s jaw had been broken.” Mercy punched numbers on her phone.

Truman read the article again. Slowly this time. It was never clearly stated, but he gathered from the reporter’s inferences that Antonio Ricci was some sort of enforcer. Someone who did the dirty work for his boss. But the boss was never named in the article. The Sopranos in Central Oregon? Truman shook his head. Not possible.

“Thanks, Natasha.” Mercy ended her call. “Olivia Sabin shows evidence of an old break in her mandible. Natasha added that there were several old healed fractures in the other bones of her face. She has to be the Olivia in this article.”

“That’s terrible.” Truman enlarged the old photo of the wife beater, seeing the evil in his eyes. What kind of man has to beat on a woman? “I think being sent to prison is motive for killing both Malcolm Lake and his ex-wife. Is this guy still locked up?”