A Merciful Secret Read online

  “And that was a dozen years ago, right?”

  “Right.”

  “No more fallout from the case since then?” Mercy included Christian in the question.

  He took a quick look at his brother and shook his head. “Not that we’re aware of.”

  “That’s the only case you recall where people bothered your father?

  Gabriel threw up his hands. “We don’t know. He didn’t tell us anything. Neither of us have lived with him since I was twelve and Christian was eight.”

  “Your mother never remarried,” Mercy stated, jumping to a different subject. “And you just said she still cares about your father. Thirty-two years is a long time to carry a torch for someone.”

  “She’s not in love with him,” Gabriel said. “Not after what he did to her and us. She simply acknowledges that he helped bring their children into the world.”

  “She can’t stand to be in the same room with him,” Christian clarified. “Or the same city.”

  “Leaving your wife and kids for another woman is a pretty low thing to do,” Mercy said. “She must have been very angry.”

  Gabriel grinned. “I can see what you’re doing. I’m a lawyer, you know.”

  “It’s a fair statement,” said Mercy. “You can’t tell me it was rainbows and ponies during their divorce.”

  “More like hurricanes and alligators,” said Gabriel. “Our mother wouldn’t wait over thirty years to murder our dad. She would have done it back then. And made him suffer.”

  He did suffer.

  “Is the FBI ready to start looking for the real murderer?” Gabriel asked. “Are you done hounding our family yet?”

  Mercy smiled at him. “I can see what you’re doing. I’m an investigator, you know.”

  Christian laughed. “She got you, Gabriel. This is the first step and you know it.”

  Gabriel took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “You’re right.” He opened his eyes and a contrite gaze met Mercy’s. “I’m being a jerk. I haven’t slept in three days and my patience is wire thin. I know you’re just doing your job.”

  She agreed he looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot and his shirt limp and wrinkled. He didn’t seem like the type of man who would let himself appear so disheveled.

  “Can we start over? I’ll cooperate.”

  She raised a brow at him, slightly skeptical.

  “Truly. The FBI was involved in a case of mine a few months ago. You could say I got my ass handed to me. When you said you were with the FBI, every defense I had shot up.”

  Christian nodded. “I’m surprised Gabriel had any ass left after that trial.”

  “Don’t fight us,” Mercy said. “We’re trying to find your father’s murderer.”

  “I know.” He straightened his back, his gaze clear. “Everything I’ve told you is accurate. And again, I apologize for the attitude.”

  “Do you know Olivia Sabin?”

  Gabriel’s gaze intensified. “Christian told me you think her murder might be related to our father’s. Who is she? What’s their connection?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

  He was silent as he held her gaze, and she could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Being a lawyer, he wouldn’t jump to conclusions—which she appreciated. He’d want to know all the facts once the FBI had them.

  “Do you have a service planned for your father?” Mercy asked.

  The brothers exchanged a glance. “We’re hoping to hold it three days from now in Portland. We haven’t made a formal announcement because we’re watching the weather.”

  Mercy felt an affinity flow between Malcolm Lake’s sons. They grieved in different ways, but they were still sons of a murdered man. She suspected this was the first thing in a long time that had brought them together.

  Time lost.

  Her own strained relationship with her family popped into her mind.

  I’m glad I’m not wasting any more time.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “Tell no one.”

  The detective’s warning raced through Truman’s head as he sped to the hospital in Bend. Last night Michael Brody had been shot in a Bend park. No one had known who he was until he woke up today. His wallet was missing and his vehicle gone. If some late-night snowstorm partiers hadn’t stumbled across him in their drunken wanderings, he would be dead.

  A Bend detective had called Truman because Michael requested it. He told Truman that Michael had first asked for his wife to be called and then ordered that his shooting stay out of the media. His third request was for the detective to call Truman.

  “What happened? Is he okay?” Truman had asked the detective.

  “He’s gonna live. He’ll have a scar to show off near his collarbone and he lost the top part of an ear and some of his scalp when the guy tried to shoot him in the head.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “The guy shot him while he was down in the snow and I suspect he believed he’d put one in his brain.” The detective paused. “Brody wouldn’t tell me why he wanted to see you, but he kept emphasizing for you to tell no one.”

  Truman didn’t understand either. It would have been more logical for Michael to make a call to Ava or Jeff. But Truman believed Michael’s message of silence was an order for him not to notify the Bend agents. Including Mercy. He’d respect Michael’s wish until he heard the reason.

  The reporter did things his own way.

  “I don’t have an answer for you,” Truman told the detective. “But I plan to find out. I just met the guy this week.”

  “Hmmph. Did you know this guy is the son of Maxwell Brody?”

  Truman searched his memory for the familiar name. “The former governor—No, he was the United States senator. That’s news to me.” Brody was full of surprises.

  “His uncle was the governor. Now he’s sitting in prison.”

  A jumble of old news reports flashed through Truman’s brain. Something about the death of the senator’s other son and the governor being behind it. The Brodys weren’t your everyday family.

  “I’ll have to ask him about it,” said Truman.

  “I don’t recommend it,” said the detective. “He nearly bit my head off when I asked about his uncle. For a guy who was shot twice and nearly bled to death, he’s still got a mouth on him.”

  “Noted.” Truman wasn’t surprised.

  At the hospital, Truman showed ID twice to get to Michael Brody’s floor. Then he showed it a third time to the Bend officer at Michael’s door, who looked seriously disgruntled to be standing guard in a hospital hallway.

  Inside, Michael’s green gaze immediately locked on to Truman. His head was covered in bandages, as were half of his chest and left shoulder.

  “Did you tell Mercy?”

  “Nice to see you too, Brody.”

  Annoyance flashed in his eyes. “This is an opportunity, and I didn’t want to risk any leaks reaching the media from the Bend FBI office.”

  “No one at the FBI office would leak something.”

  “I don’t know everyone there. They have support staff that might talk,” asserted Michael. “If the media doesn’t get any information about my shooting, then the shooter will probably assume I’m dead.”

  Truman didn’t understand the reporter’s thinking. Maybe it’s the head injury? “And?”

  “I was making him nervous.”

  “Who?” He wondered how much medication the reporter was on.

  “The only thing I’m working on is the Lake and Sabin shootings. Someone didn’t like me nosing around.”

  “And so they shot you? You think whoever killed those two decided to shoot you too?”

  “I find it logical.”

  “Knives were the murder weapons in both,” Truman pointed out. “And did you know one of Christian Lake’s employees, Rob Murray, was found murdered yesterday morning? Guess what the weapon was? It wasn’t as orchestrated as the other two deaths, but there are enough similarities
that it can’t be ignored.”

  The reporter’s eyes widened. “No one told me.” His brows came together in deep concentration.

  “Now he decides to change it up and shoot you? What other kind of trouble did you stir up around here?”

  “I want him to think I’m dead. It’ll make him comfortable, and perhaps he’ll screw up or get cocky. The detective asked the hospital to notify them if anyone calls and asks about a shooting victim from the park. And the Bend Police Department is keeping it quiet. There’s still an investigation at the scene, but the cops have been ordered to share no information with curious gawkers. Not even to say if someone died or survived.”

  Brody closed his eyes, suddenly looking pale. “Fucking room is spinning.”

  Truman cast around for . . . anything and grabbed an empty water pitcher. “I’ve got you covered if you’re gonna puke.”

  Brody took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and attempted to focus on Truman. “I made a dozen phone calls in the hours before I was shot. I gave a list of the calls to the Bend detectives this morning. You can get the numbers from my phone—fuck. I keep forgetting that my phone was stolen.”

  “Along with your wallet and truck.”

  “Right . . . but they found those. Right before you came in I was told my truck turned up in the Walmart parking lot with the wallet on the seat. Of course, the cash and credit cards were missing. The police didn’t know to look for my vehicle until I told them.”

  “One positive thing.”

  “I’m still breathing. I’d also call that a positive. Although by the way my wife reacted when I talked to her today, you’d think I’d be better off dead.”

  “A little upset?”

  “Furious.” He grinned. “Jaime’s always claimed I’m going to piss off the wrong person and get shot one day.”

  “Smart lady. Now who did you call yesterday?”

  He closed his eyes again and recited, “I called Ava, I called the Bend FBI office, the Portland Police Department, Detective Bolton at Deschutes County, the Bend state police office, and Judge Lake’s assistant in Portland. I called Brenda Lake and tried to reach Gabriel Lake—”

  “What did you get out of Brenda Lake?”

  “She told me to stop calling or she’d call her lawyer.”

  “Who I assume is Gabriel Lake.”

  “Most likely.”

  “But nothing came out of those phone calls that you think would make someone want to shoot you?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then perhaps you were the victim of a robbery, since your cash and cards are gone. We can’t rule that out.”

  “Too reasonable,” muttered Michael. “I don’t like it.”

  “It doesn’t seem likely, but I can’t disregard the possibility. Why were you at the park?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What?”

  Michael grimaced and shifted his legs under the hospital blanket. “I don’t remember going there. The last thing I remember is driving in town.” He pointed at the wrap on his head. “I suspect this has something to do with my short-term memory loss. I’m stunned that I can remember every phone call from yesterday but can’t remember anything I did past four o’clock.”

  “So the identity of your shooter might be buried in your brain.”

  “They say I was shot from the back, so maybe I didn’t see him.”

  “Or her.”

  “Or her,” Michael agreed. “Apparently I have a hard skull. Tough enough to deflect a bullet . . . a poorly aimed bullet.”

  “Something to brag to your wife about.”

  “I think she already knows. The doctor said even though the bullet didn’t crack the bone, the deflected impact was enough to cause swelling inside my skull. Hopefully after the swelling goes down, I’ll get that chunk of memory back.”

  “How much pain are you in?”

  “A lot. And my ear is constantly ringing, and each time I turn my head, fireworks go off in my brain. You try getting shot in the head.”

  “I’ve had my share of near-death experiences.”

  “That’s right. I remember reading your history.”

  “Try to remember who shot you.”

  An annoyed glare was his answer.

  Questions ricocheted in Truman’s brain. Is Michael’s shooting related? Did he rattle the Lake and Sabin killer? The whole situation made him very uncomfortable, and he knew the FBI would want to know as soon as possible.

  “Are you okay with me notifying Mercy, Ava, and Jeff now? I’ll give them your reasons for keeping it quiet.”

  “Yes, let them know. I think it was our murderer trying to add one more victim to his list.”

  Who would shoot the reporter?

  Mercy understood how Michael Brody could annoy a lot of people, but enough to kill him? As she drove back from Christian’s home, her mind attempted to process why their killer would shoot Michael. According to the phone call she’d just had with Truman, Michael believed he pushed someone’s buttons with his investigation of the deaths.

  He might have been very close to an answer.

  Entering her office, she pulled off her coat and scarf, and her cell phone rang.

  Ava.

  “Did you hear about Michael?” were the first words out of Ava’s mouth. Elevated concern rang in her tone.

  “I did. I talked to Truman a few minutes ago.”

  “Michael has a good point about keeping the shooting quiet,” Ava admitted. “I like the thought of our murderer getting cocky, believing he’s cleaned up behind himself. Maybe he’ll make more mistakes. The fact that he shot Michael instead of taking his time with a knife could mean he’s getting impatient.”

  “Was Rob Murray killed because he caused him a problem too?” asked Mercy.

  “I think so. Either Rob saw or knew something about one of the first two deaths. I suspect it was Olivia Sabin’s death, since hers was in his vicinity. I’m surprised he didn’t say anything when Truman showed up on his doorstep.”

  “I think that indicates Rob wasn’t aware he’d seen something important to the killer.”

  “Could Rob have been involved with the murders?” Ava wondered.

  Both women were silent for a moment as they processed theories.

  “The doctors say Michael will be okay.” Relief filled Ava’s tone. “He might never get that chunk of short-term memory back, but it appears to be a small time period that is missing. He can deal with that.”

  “He got too close,” stated Mercy. “Just like Rob.”

  “I agree. I told the investigating detective that the FBI is interested in his shooting and he gave me a list of phone calls Michael made yesterday. I hope I can shake something loose. This investigation is taking too long.”

  Mercy remembered Olivia Sabin’s hand in hers and shuddered. “I don’t disagree with you. No one wants this killer found more than me.”

  “How was your talk with Gabriel Lake?”

  She gave Ava an overview, summarizing that Gabriel had no information about his father’s activities before his death.

  “Did you talk to Judge Lake’s assistant yet?” Mercy asked hopefully. She was tired of dead ends.

  “We did this morning. She swore there were no off-the-book visits and that every visitor and meeting had been logged.”

  “Maybe Michael’s information was wrong,” said Mercy. “He didn’t have anything to back up his claim about a mystery guest.”

  “True, but I’m going with my gut that there’s something here. Eddie’s finally been able to view the video from the hall outside the judge’s office door and compare the people to the visitors list.”

  “Sounds dull.”

  “He’s made that very clear.” Amusement rang in Ava’s voice. “He told me that it’s not as simple as it sounds. Various office workers from all over the big building are in and out of the office nonstop, and of course they aren’t logged in. He had to recruit an employee from one of the other offices to h
elp identify them. Delivery people are causing issues too. Eddie was momentarily excited about a lunchtime visitor with long, dark hair who wasn’t logged in until his helper identified the Thai delivery bag in the mystery woman’s hand.”

  “Ugh. Do you think the judge’s assistant is lying?”

  Ava was silent for a moment. “I’m not sure. I’d like to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Could she be in danger?” Mercy asked. “I know Michael’s attack was quite different from the three murders, but if our killer is getting desperate and cleaning up his tracks, she could be a target.”

  “Dammit. I didn’t think about that. I’ll get the local police involved. At least it appears our killer is currently on your side of the mountain range. He won’t be getting back to Portland anytime soon.”

  “I heard they should have at least one of the passes open tomorrow,” Mercy told her.

  “And I heard the week’s weather forecast. They’re wasting their efforts, because the range is going to get hit again.”

  “Looks like Eddie won’t be back for a while.”

  “I might keep him. He’s a sharp one. I’m trying to convince him to come back to the Portland office.”

  Possessiveness rolled through Mercy, surprising her. She’d miss his jokes and friendship. “Good luck with that. He’s sold on the Bend branch.”

  “For now,” stated Ava.

  A few moments later Mercy ended the call, still rattled at the thought of losing Eddie back to the big city. There’s no way. He loves it here.

  A rap on her door frame caught her attention and her mood immediately lifted at the sight of the tall man holding a cowboy hat. She felt like the only woman in the world when Truman’s intense gaze focused on her. His dark eyes were expressive, reflecting his immediate thoughts. And right now he appeared to be thinking about their time in her apartment last night.

  Heat flooded her face, and he grinned. “You too, huh?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and then took two quick strides, then sank his hands into her hair as he covered her mouth, indicating he’d seen no one watching. Trusting him, she melted into his touch.