A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(88)

He sucked in a few deep breaths to slow his heart. At least the bullets are in my vehicle, not my brain.

A memory of Brent Rollins’s injury flashed. He shut it down.

He wiped the moisture off his forehead, got out with his rifle still in hand, and walked around his vehicle. Two deflated tires greeted him. “Fuck.” He surveyed the property. It was quiet, but that didn’t mean he was alone.

Ten minutes later he’d cleared the house and barn and knew he was alone except for the animals. He’d checked their feed, and everyone had fresh food in their pens.

Does that mean it was Salome who was here? And shot at me?

Would Christian have bothered to feed the animals? Unanswered questions crowded his brain.

He tromped back into the house, something niggling at him. He’d gone through the house to rapidly clear the rooms, but now he took a closer look in Olivia’s room. The drawers had been emptied onto the floor and the candles knocked to the ground. Would the evidence team have done that? He shook his head. There was no reason to throw the candles on the ground. A piece of art lay on the floor, its glass shattered. Truman glanced in the other bedrooms and saw more of the same carelessness.

He checked the knife room. It hadn’t been touched. Its glass containers were still neatly lined up on the shelves and the knives in orderly rows. Odd.

In the barn the craft room hadn’t been damaged either.

Was someone looking for something? Or had the destruction been done out of anger?

As curious as he was about the damage and who’d shot at him, Truman had a more current problem.

How am I going to get out of here?



Mercy was on full alert, prepared not to believe a word from the two people across the table. Salome had been silent, her dark eyes assessing and evaluating Mercy and the surroundings. The first time they’d met, Salome had been fired up and stressed about her daughter. This woman was coolly calm and in control. Mercy wasn’t sure which side she preferred.

Mercy had been pleased to see that Kaylie waited until Mercy hopped out of Christian’s Hummer before coming out of the barn to see who’d arrived. She’d heard the strange engine but had stayed hidden until she knew it was friendly.

Now her niece was distracting Morrigan by asking questions about homeschooling as she made coffee and pulled out homemade cookies for their guests.

Guests?

Mercy asked Kaylie to show Morrigan her washing machine project in progress. Morrigan looked to her mother, and Salome nodded. A flicker flashed in the mother’s eye; she wasn’t entirely comfortable letting her daughter out of her sight. Kaylie took the young girl’s hand and they went out the back door. Salome stared at the wooden door after they left, as if wishing she could see through it.

There weren’t pretty glass French doors at the rear of Mercy’s home. Too easy to break through. Her doors were solid and heavily reinforced, and had multiple locks. She had high windows that let in the sun. Breakable but not easy to access.

Preparation.

Mercy caught Salome’s gaze. It was time for answers. “Where have you been?” She was proud that she didn’t yell the question at the woman.

“I’ve been staying with Christian,” Salome said quietly.

“Were those your Hummer tracks at her home after she vanished on us?” Mercy asked Christian.

“Yes, we went to get a few of her and Morrigan’s things.”

His calm tone didn’t help the frustration building in Mercy’s chest. “You know the FBI is looking for her, right? She’s a suspect in your father’s murder.” Mercy threw the words at Christian, not caring how harsh she sounded. The two of them had deliberately tied up the investigation, and Mercy was steamed.

“I didn’t kill Judge Lake.”

Mercy looked at Salome. Damn, she’s a cool customer. Not a hair ruffled.

“Why were you at his office the day he was murdered?”

Color rushed from Christian’s face, and he went very still.

Aha. News to him.

“I always see him when I’m in Portland.”

“You do?” Surprise rang in his voice as he turned toward her.

“You know Judge Lake?” Mercy asked.

“I’ve known him since I was small. My mother credits him for saving us from my father. They’ve kept in touch all these years, and I often have lunch with him when I’m in Portland.” She ducked her head. “I never told you, Christian, because I know how you dislike him, and my mother has always put him on a pedestal. He was important to her.”

“What did he tell you?” Christian choked out the words.

Mercy took control of the conversation. “If Salome didn’t kill the judge, who did?”

“When I first heard about my mother’s and the judge’s murder,” answered Salome, “I was positive my father had done it. He swore revenge against the judge who put him away and my mother for testifying against him. It’s why we’ve hid most of my life.”

“Antonio Ricci,” Mercy stated, pleased at the way Salome’s eyes widened. “That’s not possible. He’s currently sitting in prison.”

“I assumed he’d gotten out, and I immediately took Morrigan into hiding. I went to Christian, and he let me stay in one of the cabins on his property. I believed it was my father until yesterday when Gabriel shot at us.”