A Merciful Fate (Mercy Kilpatrick Book 5) Page 3

“You outdid yourself this time, Bree,” Royce Gibson told her. “You ever going to share the recipe with my wife?”

  Bree laughed. “I did months ago.”

  Royce took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “It doesn’t taste like this at all.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe I left something out of the recipe I gave her. I’ll get in touch.”

  Lucas squeezed his mother’s shoulders, and she gently slapped at his hand as she smiled up at him.

  Looks like Lucas knows Bree doesn’t share her exact recipes.

  “You working with Ollie tonight?” Truman asked. Bree tutored the teenager a few times a week as he worked toward his GED. Bree was an English teacher at the high school but spent her little spare time tutoring.

  “Not tonight,” she answered. “He’s coming along really well. It’s like his brain is a sponge. I don’t think I’ve ever had a student who wants to learn with such enthusiasm.”

  Truman agreed. Ollie was thirsty for knowledge.

  Lucas walked his mother to the door as she said goodbye to the men. Once she was gone he turned to Truman with suppressed excitement. “You gonna tell us about the remains Ollie found?”

  Truman hadn’t told anyone what had happened that morning. “How’d you hear about that?”

  “Ben told me.”

  “I heard about it at the feed store at lunch,” Ben said with a full mouth. “Not sure how it got started there.”

  Truman scanned his four men—his work family. Ben was the oldest, with decades of police work under his belt. Samuel was a solid ex-military man who now lived and breathed law enforcement. Royce was young and rather naive, and barely kept up. And Lucas was Lucas. One of a kind.

  All trustworthy, good men.

  But damned gossips, each one of them.

  “I think we all know the feed store is a front where the men in this town go to gossip,” said Truman.

  “It’s a news source,” Ben corrected him. “Our own little local newsroom.”

  “It’s gossip. And it’s often wrong.”

  “Ollie didn’t find a body this morning?” Samuel asked with a confident look in his eye.

  Clearly they knew the story was true and were deliberately ignoring the point of his lecture.

  He gave in.

  “Ollie found remains in the northern section of Christian Lake’s property. Looks like they’ve been there for years. Maybe decades,” admitted Truman, keeping silent about the bullet hole and the money bags.

  The men immediately turned to Ben, Truman forgotten. “Remember anyone who went missing over the years?” Royce eagerly asked the older officer, who stored most of Eagle’s Nest’s history in his brain.

  Ben swallowed before answering. The seventysomething-year-old looked pleased to be recognized for his longtime-resident expertise. “Well now . . . old Don Ward vanished one day in the 1980s. Don’t know what happened. He lived alone, and one day his mailman went up to the house because his mailbox was overflowing. Never heard a word about what happened to him. Simply gone.” Ben looked at Truman. “Were the remains male?”

  “Don’t know for sure. Odds look good.” How much of this will be repeated at the feed store tomorrow?

  “If it’s female, it could be Harriet Zimmerman. College girl that disappeared while hiking on her summer break . . . I think that was somewhere in the nineties.” Ben rubbed his chin. “Those are the unsolved disappearances I can remember off the top of my head. There’re more. I’ll look into it.”

  “This case is Deschutes County’s,” Truman pointed out, keeping the FBI’s involvement to himself. That fact would come out soon enough, and he didn’t want to answer a dozen questions about why the FBI had been brought in so quickly. A phone call from Mercy after lunch had caught him up on the emerging details of Ollie’s discovery.

  She believed it was related to the infamous Gamble-Helmet Heist.

  “We’ve got our own problems to focus on. Another car at Sandy’s had a window bashed in today. I want everyone driving by her B&B whenever they have a spare moment. Maybe park across the street for a few minutes. Let our presence be seen.”

  Scowls filled all four men’s faces. “Asshole,” muttered Samuel. “I don’t like that someone’s targeting her. I’ll stop by a few times each shift.”

  Sandy would roll her eyes at the testosterone that’d suddenly filled the station.

  Her recent issues had struck a chord with his men. You didn’t mess around with one of their residents. Especially a single woman. “I’ll find her some security cameras,” added Truman, glad he’d redirected his men’s focus. They didn’t need to worry about remains in the woods.

  But he struggled to contain his own curiosity.

  Has Ollie discovered the answer to a decades-old robbery?

  That evening, Mercy parked and admired the new structure in the woods.

  Four months ago, Mercy’s secret cabin had burned to the ground. The hidden location had been where she found peace of mind as she stocked supplies for an uncertain future, compelled by a survivalist upbringing that had taught her to prepare for the end of the world. If society collapsed, she’d be ready.

  For years the cabin had been her dirty little secret. She’d been raised by preppers, and though she’d angrily left home at eighteen, she couldn’t shake her deep-rooted need for a safe place. One with a good defense and years of fuel, food, and medical supplies. When she worked for the FBI in Portland, she’d spent her weekends and vacations improving her safety net in the Cascade foothills near Bend, telling no one where she went. Now her new coworkers believed she had a little cabin getaway for skiing.

  She didn’t correct their assumption.

  The destruction of her years of work on the cabin had dismayed her until Truman urged her to rebuild. The new cabin wasn’t finished yet. The inside was bare, but the contractor had completed most of the basic structure. It had solid walls and a fireproof metal roof. The image of flames destroying the old roof was still fresh in her head. She wanted brick walls, but the cost was beyond her at the moment. Someday. She and Truman would try their hands at amateur masonry in the future.

  Finishing the interior was up to her and Truman. The goal date for completion was the end of summer. Three months had sounded doable to her until she landed the Gamble-Helmet case. Her evenings and weekends were no longer her own and wouldn’t be until the case was solved or, if her research produced no leads, downgraded to a back burner. She knew Jeff would give her at least a month to run full tilt at the case.

  She was determined to make the most of it.

  Tonight’s trip to the cabin was to work on her shopping list for the new structure, knowing she might not be back for a few weeks.

  Infrared floodlights. Night vision goggles. A few infrared break beams for the long driveway to warn her of visitors.

  The photovoltaic solar power system had been ordered, along with a new gun safe. A bigger one.

  She also needed to buy the basics. Beds, chairs, a table, kitchen supplies.

  Getting out of her truck, she noticed Truman had arrived first and parked around back, closer to her big storage barn. Thankfully, the barn’s contents had been spared during the fire. It held her years’ worth of stocked food, medical supplies, tools, fuel, and batteries, and a backup generator. The knowledge that her reserves and larder were safe had kept her from completely falling apart as her cabin went up in flames.

  She went up the steps and opened the front door. A heavenly scent greeted her, and her jaw dropped open as she stared at the scene inside.

  A plywood board was balanced on sawhorses and set for dinner for two, complete with lighted candles and paper plates. Two large bags from her favorite Italian restaurant sat at one end of the table.

  Her mouth watered.

  The sight of the man unpacking the bags also made her mouth water and her heart swell with happiness. Truman brought excitement, laughter, and love to her everyday life. Things she had rarely experienced before she moved to Bend.
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br />   He grinned at her with a smugly pleased expression. Surprising Mercy wasn’t easy.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “I didn’t eat dinner.”

  “I figured that would happen.” He spread his arms to indicate the makeshift table. “I thought I’d arrange a little surprise.”

  “You got food from Marta’s?”

  “Where else?”

  The tiny Italian restaurant had yet to be discovered by the tourists, and Mercy hoped it’d stay that way. It was cozy and quiet, with impeccable service and food. Marta, the Italian owner, would talk to her customers and pour more wine. If you hadn’t ordered wine with your meal, she’d wink and pour you a small glass “for just a taste.”

  Which always inspired Mercy to buy the exact bottle from Marta’s tiny Italian food market next door.

  Marta knew how to drive sales.

  “Sit,” he ordered.

  She sat on a stool that was too high for the makeshift table. She didn’t care. They could sit on the ground and she’d be happy with Truman. Currently the home had plywood subfloors and open framing, but part of Mercy loved the empty, bare look; it promised that something fabulous was coming.

  Fabulous and practical.

  Truman leaned over and poured red wine into the plastic cup by her paper plate. Mercy spotted the Italian label and knew Marta had recommended the wine. She sighed and buried her nose in her cup. The fragrance was deep and bold, with hints of plum and smoke.

  “Italy,” she mumbled into the wine.

  “What?” asked Truman.

  “I want to visit Italy. How does a honeymoon in Italy sound?”

  A grin filled his face, and the sensation of butterflies fluttered up her spine.

  Or maybe it’s the wine.

  She took a sip of her wine as she studied his face. So familiar and dear to her. A smile to stop traffic. Eyes that crinkled in happiness. Several scars that testified to his love of law enforcement. Her attraction to him was more than skin deep. She was in love with the person he was. He was a natural leader and easily commanded respect. His people turned to him, followed him, admired him. His natural sense of honor was a magnet for her.

  No. It’s not the wine.

  He gets me.

  He understood how her mind worked, and they fit together like a couple of complicated puzzle pieces. She’d been painfully aware of her missing puzzle piece when he’d been taken away, chained by men planning to kill him, and then rescued, thanks to Ollie. The two weeks when no one knew his fate had been the worst of her life. When he’d been returned to her, she’d known she couldn’t waste any more time.

  He’d been of the same mind-set and proposed.

  “I’ll try Italy.” He dished spaghetti carbonara onto their plates. “Especially if the food is half as good as Marta makes.”

  “We can ask Marta for travel suggestions,” she stated, pleased with her honeymoon idea.

  Traveling abroad had never been an option for her. What would she do if society collapsed while she was in another country? No resources. No preparation. No escape. She’d be dependent on the kindness of others. Mercy waited for the knot to start in her stomach.

  It didn’t come.

  She hid her shock with another sip of wine. Am I getting soft?

  Truman reached across the table and took her hand, giving a knee-melting smile.

  No. Something else has shifted to the top of my priorities.

  “What’s Kaylie up to tonight?” he asked as he ran his thumb over the ring on her fourth finger.

  He’d picked out the engagement ring. It was a platinum band encircled with diamonds in a channel setting. “I knew a big solitaire wouldn’t be practical,” he’d told her when he slipped it on her finger. “I saw this and I knew it was right. With this setting the diamonds can’t get caught on anything . . . even while chopping wood.”

  He gets me.

  “Kaylie is at Pearl’s, working on a gluten-free lemon bar recipe for the café.” Mercy’s seventeen-year-old niece had lived with her since her father died last fall. Levi’s dying wish had been for Mercy to take in his daughter. The teenager didn’t need much supervision. She managed a coffeehouse, went to school full-time, and got great grades.

  Taking in Kaylie had been one of the scariest decisions of her life. It’d felt as if she had stepped off a sky-high ledge into an unknown world, but now she wondered how she’d lived without the girl.

  I didn’t know I had a Kaylie-shaped hole in my heart.

  “Kaylie’s hair is no longer pink,” Mercy added as she took a bite of the carbonara. Her niece had surprised her with the cotton candy color a month ago. It’d been cute. But Kaylie had quickly tired of it and didn’t like the brown roots that had started to appear.

  “Blue?” guessed Truman. “Or striped?”

  “Normal. It’s as dark as mine now.”

  He exhaled in relief. “That’s good.”

  Mercy grinned. “Old-fashioned? Too crazy for you?”

  “She looked like an anime character.”

  Mercy laughed and nearly spilled her wine.

  “And what’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” he asked over the rim of his plastic cup.

  She perked up. “The bank confirmed the money bags are from the Gamble-Helmet Heist. And I have the go-ahead to visit Shane Gamble at the Two Rivers prison tomorrow.”

  “What are your thoughts on the remains?” Truman asked. “Did the medical examiner get to them yet?”

  “Yes. They spent the afternoon removing the remains, and Dr. Lockhart was going to start an examination tonight. The woman never takes time off.”

  “Same could be said for you.”

  “Only when I’m deep in a case.”

  “I guess this means your weekends are booked for a while?”

  Mercy sighed. “I know. The two of us are supposed to be working on the interior of this place . . . We’ll get it done at some point. It’ll have to wait awhile.”

  A grin filled his face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You’re not the same person I met last fall. Back then, if the cabin had been in the half-completed state it is now, you’d be climbing the walls with anxiety because your safety net wasn’t perfect.”

  “You’re right,” she agreed. “I had a similar thought earlier, but nearly all my supplies are still intact, so it’d be rough living but doable. I can temporarily live with that for now. Especially with this case to distract me.”

  His lips twisted.

  “Jealous?” she asked with a grin. “It’s an amazing case, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Considering there have been no leads for decades, and the robbery is practically modern folklore. It’s like a buried treasure hunt, and Ollie found the first clue.”

  “Is Ollie okay after his morning?” she asked with a small wince. She’d nearly forgotten the teen had made the grisly discovery.

  “He’s okay. I spent some time with him and he was very quiet, but I could tell he was processing it. He’s dealt with death before.”

  “He’s been through a lot,” sympathized Mercy.

  They silently ate for a few moments until he glanced up and caught her staring at him. Longing shone in his eyes, an appetite and craving that had nothing to do with food, and she struggled to find her breath.

  How does he do that to me?

  “You know,” he said, his voice low and tempting, “this place hasn’t been christened yet.”

  Mercy blinked. “People do that to homes?”

  Patience filled his features. “That’s not what I meant.” His brown gaze held hers.

  “Ohhh,” she breathed as heat flashed through her.

  “Dessert.” His smile was sinful, and energy pulsed between them.

  She melted. “Yes. Dessert.”

  FOUR

  The guard who escorted her into the Two Rivers prison warned her that Gamble liked to toy with people. “He’ll say whatever he can to get under your skin,” the guard stated
as they waited for clearance at a third set of electronic doors. “It’s how he entertains himself. I swear he must sit around for hours thinking up ways to bug everyone.” The guard looked at her. “Show no fear.”

  “Not a problem,” Mercy promised.

  “They say he’s some sort of genius,” the guard went on. “Scored a 130 on an IQ test a long time ago.”

  “Isn’t that nearly Mensa level?” Mercy hadn’t seen a mention of an IQ score when she reviewed Gamble’s file.

  “Dunno. But he acts like he’s smarter than everyone here. His social status in prison is unusual. He can get anyone to do anything for him, but he doesn’t run around with a flock of followers. He keeps to himself.” A buzzer sounded, and the door slid open.

  “Does he create problems?” Mercy asked.

  The guard blew out a breath. “Yes and no. He’s never at the center of a problem, whether it’s a fight or missing items. Evidence always points at someone else, but those of us who know him are positive he masterminded things that got other inmates in trouble. It makes me believe the IQ score. He reminds me of a lazy genius—getting everyone else to do his dirty work while he sits by and enjoys watching the repercussions that never involve him. It’s like he’s Teflon coated or something.”

  “He has help from higher up in the prison system?” she questioned.

  “Oh, hells no. We all know better than to let him get in our heads.” The guard’s tone left room for doubt. “It’s amazing that he can be the nicest, most personable guy and can carry on a friendly conversation about the latest basketball game. But then I’ll see him study a group, and I just know a different part of his brain has taken over. It’s like he’s two people.” He leaned closer to Mercy. “You know he killed an inmate, right?”

  That piece of information had been in Gamble’s records. It’d happened during his first year of prison, when he was still at the Oregon State Correctional Institution, and the act had guaranteed he’d die an inmate.

  That murder was foremost in Mercy’s thoughts as she took a seat across from Gamble.

  He didn’t look like a killer. He looked like the next-door neighbor who was happy to loan you his tools. He was tall, with long arms and salt-and-pepper hair. If they hadn’t been sitting in a prison, Mercy could have seen him as a typical dad cheering on his teenager at the high school football game. He spoke slowly and deliberately while keeping his facial muscles and shoulders relaxed. Only his eyes indicated that his mind was working at top speed; his gaze was fierce.