No Mercy (16 page)

I turned around.

Theo was behind the wheel of an old white Honda Accord in the drive-through lane. He poked his head out the window. “I thought that was you. What’re you doing here?”

“Having lunch. Why are you here?” Why wasn’t he taking care of Hope, like she’d told me? Damn him. Was she sitting in the trailer alone?

“Just finished a staff meeting and needed a bite to eat.” He focused his dumb-ass smile on Sue Anne. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You coming to class tonight?”

“Umm. No. Sorry. I’m working a split shift.”

He was teaching class tonight? Then who was staying with my sister?

“You know this is a graded class, Sue Anne. So if you want the credit to count toward graduation, you have to pass—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I know, all right?”

“Good.”

The pickup ahead of him inched up. “Catch you both later.” His engine made a clicking rattle as he shot forward and yelled his order into the speaker.

When I looked back, Sue Anne had made it halfway across the parking lot. I raced to catch up with her. “You need a ride so we can finish what we were talking about?”

“No. Forget it. Forget everything. I said too much.”

“Sue Anne—”

“Go away. Levi is dead. I’m sorry. But I didn’t have nothing to do with it. I-I just… just leave me alone.” She shouldered her backpack and walked along, head down.

As a last-ditch effort I yelled, “At least think about what I said. Tell someone what happened. Someone will believe you.”

She didn’t respond.

I felt pushy and mean as I watched her disappear into the distance like a heat mirage.

Dammit. Ours was a small community, but this was ridiculous. Too bad my window wasn’t rolled down; I would’ve dived through it
Dukes of Hazzard
–style to avoid Dawson. But as the only luck I had was bad, Dawson spotted me right away.

If I sped off now, I’d look guilty as hell.

Well, aren’t you?

No.

He moseyed over in a way that shouldn’t have been sexy and commanding but was. I had no choice but to wait for him. And watch him. And grind my teeth.

“Mercy.”

“Hey, Sheriff. How’s it hanging?”

“What are you doing here?”

My inner vamp wanted to growl,
“None of your goddamn business, Copper. ”
Instead, I said sweetly, “Running errands for Sophie.”

He frowned at the grocery bag clutched to my chest. “Seems out of your way.”

“What are
you
doing in Eagle River?”

“County business.”

“Seems out of your jurisdiction.”

Dawson floated a deliberate
you’re-a-smart-ass
pause.

Perfect time to take my leave before I said something I’d regret. It was downright mortifying that I acted like a hormonal thirteen-year-old girl around Dawson: nice one second, nasty the next. The hell of it was, he reacted just about the same way to me. “I’ll let you get back to it. See ya.”

His hand curled on my shoulder to keep me from climbing in my truck. I stared into his mirrored shades. “What are you really doing here?”

“I already told you.”

“Are you messing in my investigation?”

I blinked innocently. “What investigation?”

Dawson laughed. “Right. Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not. As far as I know, you’ve done no investigating, which means you’ve got no investigation. If you’ll excuse me.”

He blocked me in. “If I find out you were nosing around, asking questions, or harassing people I have interviewed, or want to interview for any of these active cases, especially your nephew’s, I will take action.”

“Last time I checked, this was still a free country and I can go wherever the hell I want or talk to anyone I please.” I paused. “Especially now that I’m working for Rollie Rondeaux.”

“You’re joking.”

Ooh. That look of surprise was totally worth any favor I owed Rollie. “Nope. Call and ask him.”

“Why in the hell would you…” Dawson thrust his hand through his hair. “Because he’s a PI.”

“Yep. And because of confidentiality laws, I’m not allowed to share details about why I’m nosing around. Sorry.”

“Jesus. Added to what I’m already dealing with… talk about a fucking nightmare.”

“Welcome to my world.”

He retreated and allowed me to scramble into my truck. I’d barely started it when he tapped on the window.

I rolled it down. “What now?”

“How is Hope?”

His genuine concern surprised me. But the snarly girl inside me deemed it too little, too late. I punched the clutch and rammed the stick into reverse. “She’d be doing a helluva lot better if you caught the person who killed her son.” I hit the gas and peeled out without looking back.

I expected to see red and blue lights flashing in my rearview at some point on the drive home. But the only thing I saw in my rearview mirror were miles and miles of deserted blacktop.

Away?

Maybe.

That’s what John-John had accused me of when he’d called. As I’d stretched my muscles, I listened to him list my recent risky behavior. When he couldn’t convince me not to go for a run, by being his nice and reasonable self, he yelled until I tired of it and hung up on him.

Jake had finished the last of the chores and waved good-bye from his truck, Shoonga riding shotgun, as I laced up my running shoes.

Hope had finally gone home. She’d hung around with Sophie all day. I didn’t blame her for not wanting to face her house without Levi in it. I’d even asked if she’d rather spend the night here. She hedged, knowing Theo wouldn’t be welcomed at the family homestead as easily as he was at her place.

I didn’t mention seeing Theo in Eagle River. Be interesting to see if he’d mention it himself. Another disconcerting thing I noticed: Hope hadn’t brought up Levi’s name all day. Maybe she was sick of his murder being the sole topic of conversation. I’d let it slide, but I recognized the behavior pattern. It was a trait Hope and I shared: denial.

My cardio workout had suffered the last few days. Consequently, my lungs burned. My hamstrings were tight as rubber bands. My quads screamed. My knees ached. My Achilles tendons were ready to snap. I kept plugging along. I knew it would pass.

And it did. I hit my stride, and I could think about things other than how badly my body hurt.

As my shoes pounded the gravel, I replayed my conversation with Sue Anne. Talking to her hadn’t answered my basic question: Were any of the group members capable of killing Levi? The whippings, the mutilation, and the gang rape would lead me to believe, yes, any one of those kids was qualified.

But Sue Anne’s comment about someone picking Levi up the night before his murder bugged me. He wouldn’t climb into a car with Moser or Little Bear. Maybe at gunpoint. I couldn’t see Levi inviting any of them out to his trailer either. But Levi had walked to the bluff with someone.

Who?

Right after I’d returned home from the rez, I had unearthed a small spiral notebook from the kitchen junk drawer and jotted down what Sue Anne told me. For the first time since I’d spoken to Estelle, I had felt I might have a knack for investigating. It had filled me with a strange sense of kinship with my father.

I wiped the sweat from my face with the bottom of my shirt. Despite the temperate air, I was roasting. My legs were noodles. I glanced at my watch. Forty-five minutes. Almost done.

Headlights swept behind me, highlighting the purple clover. I jogged to the side of the road. The row of pine trees marking the turnoff to the ranch was finally within view. I couldn’t wait to stand under a cool shower. And treat myself to a couple of shots of whiskey.

The vehicle’s lights blinded me after I’d been out in the dark. The truck whooshed past, spitting gravel, leaving dust thick as fog. I coughed and flapped my hand to clear it.

At twenty feet the truck’s brakes locked up. The white reverse lights flashed. The vehicle backed up.

Maybe it was someone I knew.

The truck whipped a U-turn, gunned the engine, and headed straight for me.

Then again maybe it wasn’t.

I turned and ran.

The truck followed, gaining speed.

I cut to the left for the ditch.

Bump bump bump
reverberated as the truck skidded off the gravel into the grass.

Shit. When I could practically feel the heat from the engine burning the back of my calves, I launched myself sideways and sailed over the barbed-wire fence like a high jumper on amphetamines.

I landed hard on my left side. I scrambled to my feet and sprinted. When I didn’t see the headlights behind me, I chanced a look over my shoulder.

The truck plowed over a fence post.

Adrenaline crashed through me as I dropped behind a decent-sized rock.

The vehicle swerved out of the ditch, the back end fishtailing. The motor revved, and it disappeared in a dusty haze.

I waited for that flash of reverse lights to appear again. I was half afraid the driver was screwing with me. How long before the truck stopped, turned around, and came back?

When sufficient time passed and I didn’t see headlights, or hear a motor running, I stood. And promptly fell on my ass. I’d twisted my ankle. I felt searing pain, but luckily it was sprained, not broken.

I considered my options. Not good to loll in the field where we housed the bulls. I’d rather take my chances with one three-quarter-ton truck than four one-ton pissed-off bulls. Since I’d landed only about fifteen feet away from the road, my best bet was to follow it back to the house.

I hobbled to the break in the fence line and did a three-limbed crawl through the ditch. The short walk was excruciating. I winced whenever I put pressure on my left foot.

Who had tried to run me over? A couple of punks screwing with me because I was dumb enough to be out on the road alone at night?

I made it to the mailbox. While I took a breather, a vehicle turned onto the gravel road, coming the opposite direction from the death squad. I froze. Listened. Even from a distance the engine didn’t sound the same. Then again, fear distorts things. I squinted. Couldn’t tell if the headlight pattern was familiar. One thing was for sure: this truck wasn’t going nearly as fast as the one that’d chased me.

In fact, it slowed about twenty feet from the turnoff to the house. When I tried to hide behind the post holding the mailbox, I lost my balance and fell right into the middle of the road.

My life flashed before my eyes. Just my luck. I’d survived combat situations in hell only to be run down by a redneck in a pickup a hundred yards from my front porch.

I felt the absurd urge to giggle.

Brakes locked up and gravel sprayed everywhere.

A door slammed. Footsteps pounded until they were right next to my head. I heard, “Jesus Christ, Mercy. What the hell are you doing laying in the middle of the road?”

I looked up.

Dawson.

That bitch fate has a cruel sense of humor.

He knelt down. His gaze swept over me. “What happened?”

“Hit-and-run.”

“Where’s your truck?”

“Wasn’t hit-and-run with the truck. Someone tried to hit
me
with their truck when I was running, and then they took off.”

“Where are you hurt?”

Everywhere.
“Mostly my left ankle.”

“Can you walk?”

“Barely.”

“Hang on. I’ll help you up.”

He wrapped his hands around my biceps and lifted me. Once I was upright, I collapsed into him.

I hissed from the pain and humiliation. “Shit. Sorry. Give me a minute.” I tried to squirm away, but he wouldn’t let me.

“Stay still. Might be best if I carried you.”

“No.”

“It’s not that far to my truck.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Mercy, quit being so stubborn.”

I inhaled a deep breath. Let it out. He was being helpful for a change and I… wasn’t. “Fine,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Hold tight.” He muttered something else, then slid one arm behind my knees and the other across my back. One second I was airborne against a warm, hard body; the next I was nestled in a squishy leather seat.

We putted down the driveway. Without a word, he came around to the passenger’s side, picked me up, and carried me inside the house. In the living room he deposited me on the couch.

“Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“No.”

“Then I want to see how bad you’re hurt. Where’s the light switch?”

“Over by the doorway, halfway down the wall on the left side.” The fixture buzzed and fluorescent light glowed from the ceiling.

Dawson crouched beside me and propped my left foot on an embroidered pillow. “Can you move it?”

“Yeah.” I gritted my teeth and tried to twirl my ankle. Sharp pain shot up my shin. “Shit!”

“We need to get this shoe off.”

I struggled to sit up. My normally pliant body was strung so tight I couldn’t even reach my shoelaces.

“Here. Let me do it.”

I held my breath as he loosened the laces, figuring he’d rip the shoe off like an old Band-Aid. But Dawson gently eased the shoe off and peeled away my sock.

He prodded the swollen skin around my anklebone. “You think it’s broken?”

“No. I broke the right one a couple of years back, and it doesn’t feel like that. Just a sprain.”

“A bad one.” He slowly pressed his fingers in a straight line up my shin, watching my face. “Does any of this hurt?”

“A little.”

He stopped at my knee. Frowned at the scratches and scrapes on my left leg from my tumble in the pasture. Good thing the right side of my body was against the couch so he couldn’t see the shrapnel wounds on my right thigh. “Where else are you hurt?”

“Nowhere. That’s the worst of it.”

Dawson looked like he didn’t believe me.

I slumped back into the cushions. “Okay. My left shoulder took the brunt of my fall, and I smacked my head into a rock. Happy now?”

“No. Why would seeing you beat to crap make me happy?”

You tell me.
For once I kept a smart comment to myself.

A heavy sigh. His. Not mine.

“You gonna let me look at it or not?”

“Look at what?”

He grinned.

Why did my stomach do a little flip at the sight of his devilish smile? Hell, maybe I
had
cracked my skull harder than I realized.

“Come on, Mercy. Let me look at the spot where your head hurt that poor defenseless rock.”

“Asshole.”

His grin widened.

I closed my eyes and dropped my chin to my chest so he could reach my neck.

Warm, dry fingers prodded the bump behind my ear. I sucked in a harsh breath when he pushed too hard.

“Sorry. Better get some ice on that.”

He rattled around in the kitchen. My head began to pound in time with the throbbing in my ankle.

“Here you go.”

I opened my eyes. He held out a Ziploc bag filled with ice and a kitchen towel. I put it behind my head. “Thanks.”

“Another one for your ankle.” He positioned the plastic on top of my foot, tucking it around the swollen area like a pro. Then he perched next to me on the couch. Close to me.

“Thanks, Dawson.”

“You’re welcome. I just wish I’d gotten here sooner.”

Why hadn’t I thought to ask why he’d been driving past my house? At nine o’clock at night? It seemed… coincidental. “There a reason you were coming out here?”

“Two reasons actually.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “First, to apologize for being a jerk this afternoon. I was having a bad day and shouldn’t have taken it out on you. But, God, I hate dealing with the tribal cops.”

My dad complained about the same thing. Ditto for the FBI and U.S. Marshals.

“They called me about a report I’d filed a month ago. They couldn’t fax me the information because their fax machine was broken. I get there and the officer who contacted me had a family emergency and wasn’t around. The other cops didn’t know what was going on and didn’t care. So, I sat there for two hours, twiddling my thumbs, while the receptionist sifted through file folders, only to hand me the same paperwork they’d sent me after the incident occurred. A month ago. Nothing new. Story of my life.” Dawson readjusted my ice pack. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted. I wasn’t exactly Mary-fucking-sunshine today either.”

“We’re a pair, huh?” He relaxed a bit. “And before you turn back into that pit bull, my trip to Eagle River had nothing to do with Levi’s or Albert’s case.”

“Fair enough. What’s the second reason you stopped by?”

Dawson sighed. “It’ll sound lame.”

“Try me.”

“I had a bad feeling. A real bad feeling. With all that’s happened around here, I thought I’d drive by to see if everything was okay.”

He didn’t appear to be lying. In fact, Dawson looked embarrassed. For once, I cut him some slack. “You aren’t the only one who had a bad feeling. John-John called me right before I left the house and yelled about me taking unnecessary chances.”

I heard the ice cubes melting in the sudden silence.

“And yet you still went for a run in the dark by yourself?” Dawson asked.

“I run most every night by myself.”

His gaze turned shrewd. “Who knows you do this?”

“Anyone who hangs around the ranch on a regular basis.”

“And anybody in the bar listening to John-John’s very loud phone conversation with you tonight.”

“Which leaves half the criminals in the county,” I said irritably. “What are you getting at, Dawson?”

“Somebody knew you were on that road tonight and came after you.”

“Why?”

“You tell me.”

“So you don’t believe this was an accident?”