Merciless (28 page)

“He was arrested on unrelated charges.”

“Why am I on your personal suspect list?”

I wondered who’d told him: Junior? John-John? “Because you have motives for wanting
both Arlette Shooting Star and Verline Dupris dead. The tribal president is pushing
the tribal cops to crack down on drug deals on the rez. Killing Elk Thunder’s niece
sends a message the new crackdown doesn’t make you happy.”

“Don’t matter what the tribal prez wants, or what he thinks he can tell them cops.
They ain’t dumb. They know who to make happy.”

Meaning no one messed in Saro’s business. Was that why the tribal cops refused to
consider Saro a suspect? “Why did you hire Junior Rondeaux?”

“Don’t push me. I don’t answer your questions, you answer mine.” Then Saro slammed
the back of my head into the window. My vision wavered. His hand clutched the side
of my face, and he dug his thumb into the cut on my lip.

Stupid church rules that wouldn’t let me attend services armed. I could’ve shot this
ass wipe twice by now. But instead, I had to play helpless because I had no way to
defend myself.

“Do the feds know where Cherelle is?”

“I don’t know.”

He pushed harder into my bloody lip. “Don’t. Lie.”

It’d be difficult to speak since he wouldn’t move his hand, but I wouldn’t ask him
to move it. “I’m not lying. DEA is handling that case. Not us.” The intimate press
of his body against mine kicked in my gag reflex.

“You shot the bitch who killed my brother.” Not a question.

“Yes.”

Saro released me. “If I wanted to prove a point to the tribal prez, I’d turn his niece
into a drugged-out whore, not kill her. That way, she’s making me money and shaming
her family. Win-win for me.”

A Sumo-looking guy, whom I assumed was Saro’s henchman, appeared from out of nowhere.
He glared at me, and Saro slipped away into the darkness. Then Sumo dude disappeared
as well.

My mouth bled. I hated that I’d started to shake. I hated him. I yelled, “Great talking
to you, Barry.”

No answer. Not even Saro’s stupid girly laugh echoed back to me.

You’re an idiot for taunting him after you escaped with just a bloodied lip this time.

Footsteps on the gravel had me reaching for my sidearm, only to come up empty again.
But it wasn’t Saro sneaking up on me from another angle. It was Shay Turnbull.

He reached for my hand. “Come on.”

I allowed myself to be led, mostly out of shock that Turnbull was here. Standing in
the shadows watching while a psycho, murdering, drug thug pushed me around. I jerked
my hand. “Let go.”

Shay stopped, too. “What?”

“Is there a reason, Agent Turnbull, you just let Saro rough me up?”

He shrugged. “You had it handled.”

“Handled?” I pointed to my mouth. “I’m bleeding, asshole. Couldn’t you have arrested
him for assaulting a federal officer or something?”

His eyes narrowed. “Jesus, Gunderson. Why are you shaking like that?”

“Because Barry Sarohutu is deranged. And the last time I crossed
paths with him? He cut me. Six slices across my neck. Oh, and then he jabbed a knife
into my chest, while taunting me about carving up my family members, before he choked
me out. So yeah, be glad I’m just shaking and not fucking screaming.”

Shay muttered, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me along behind him until we reached
his Blazer; he deposited me in the passenger’s-side seat.

I fumed.

He fumed.

A snap. Rustling. A tearing sound. Then a terse, “Look at me.” I faced Shay, and he
said, “Hold still.” He dabbed at the cut with a Wet-Nap.

“Shit, that stings,” I hissed.

“Suck it up, Sergeant Major. It’s an antibiotic wipe. Who knows what diseases a vermin
like Saro is carrying.”

I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself while Shay gently cleaned me up. I felt
ridiculous for letting him tend to me. I was perfectly capable of patching myself
up. I opened my eyes.

“That oughta stop the bleeding and keep you from catching—”

“Asshole-itis? Douche-bag-ism?” I supplied.

Shay permitted a quick grin before he became serious. “No bullshit, Mercy. Tell me
when Saro did that to you.”

I looked away. I didn’t ever want to relive that night.

“Maybe this will help loosen your tongue.”

I glanced back to see Shay waggling a silver flask. “Really, Turnbull?”

“What? Don’t all injuns carry firewater? For medicinal purposes?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not really Indian, or so I’ve been told.” Still, I grabbed the
flask and drank deeply. Ooh. That went down smooth. No burn to this stuff. I took
another swig before I handed it back. “That’s definitely not Wild Turkey.”

“Life’s too short to drink cheap whiskey.” He knocked back a slug and said, “Start
talking.”

I told him everything from that night.

Shay didn’t respond for the longest time. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I know
sorry won’t cut it, but I am sorry you had to go through that.
If I’d known, I sure as hell wouldn’t have let him . . .” He snatched the flask and
drank. His eyes shone with fury when he looked at me. “We’re not partners, but as
much as we’re working together we might as well be. This is something I needed to
know. I can’t mentor you, or do whatever this is, unless you’re up front with me.”

I understood where he was coming from. But there’d been no reason to mention the incident
with Saro until now. I said as much.

Brooding Shay returned briefly. “Does Dawson know what happened with Saro?”

I shook my head. “Two days later I killed Anna, so we both had plenty to deal with.”

“Are you going to tell him what happened tonight?”

“Probably not.”

We didn’t speak for several long moments.

I finally said, “What are you doing on the rez tonight?”

“Thought I’d check out Verline’s wake to see who showed up.”

“Aren’t you convinced Rollie murdered Verline?”

“Yes, but it’s looking less like he murdered Arlette Shooting Star. And the real kick
in the pants? My original suggestion that the cases aren’t connected would still make
the most sense, if not for the digitalis found in both victims.”

“I hadn’t completely discounted Saro, but after tonight, he’s fallen farther down
the list.”

“I have to agree.”

“What do you know about the BIA sending a new lawman rep?”

“Nothing. I’d like to know where Saro is getting his information. Although the BIA
has a presence in Eagle River, it doesn’t maintain a permanent law enforcement agency.
But they’re quick to point out under federal statutes they can, at any time, change
that.”

“Awesome.”

“Are you all right to drive home?”

I rolled my eyes at his insult and his abrupt dismissal. “It takes more than a couple
of sips of whiskey to affect me.”

“I’ll remember that when we go out drinkin’.”

Not if, when. Bizarre, imagining Shay and me tying one on together. “Now that you’ve
introduced me to the good stuff, Turnbull, I won’t be nearly the cheap drunk I was.”

“Cheap is a state of mind. Need me to walk you to your car, Sergeant Major?”

“Need me to kick your ass?”

He snickered.

“See you tomorrow.”

Dawson had left the porch light on for me.

I trudged up the porch stairs, not out of breath, but the exertion had me trying to
remember the last time I’d gone for a run. Not since before the Shooting Star case.
The thought of hauling my ass out of bed at five a.m. in the dark to run in the cold . . . made
me shudder. But I’d rather be tired than out of shape.

When I glanced up from wiping my boots on the rug, I saw Dawson had files spread over
the kitchen table. Since he didn’t start gathering them up, away from my prying eyes,
they weren’t confidential.

He helped me take off my coat. When I looked at him, his gaze was on my swollen lip.
“Don’t ask.”

Mason placed tender kisses all around the area. Twice. When he eased back, I said,
“That was way better than a Band-Aid.”

“I’ll get some ice.”

The house was quiet. “Where’s Lex?”

“In his room.”

I lifted a brow. “By choice?”

“Nope. He got mouthy. I’d had enough shit from others today, and I didn’t need it
from my kid. So I sent him—”

“To bed without any supper?”

“No. Smart-ass. I sent him to his room after supper. After he did the dishes, after
he fed the dogs, after he took out the trash, after he vacuumed the living room, and
after he cleaned the upstairs bathroom.”

I whistled. “Hard-ass dad came to town.”

He placed the ice pack on my mouth. “Do you think I’m too easy on him? Too buddy-buddy?”

“Not at all. He’ll see how much he can get away with. Even if it’s not major. Lex
is a good kid, but good kids have bad days, too.”

He rested his forehead to mine. “Thanks. What’s on your agenda tonight?”

“A big tumbler of whiskey and a couple of episodes of
Top Shot.
”

“I’ll join you as soon as I finish this paperwork.”

“Anything I can help you with to speed things up?”

The sheriff lifted a brow. “Really? An unsolicited offer of help?”

“I know we’re not supposed to talk about our jobs, but I want you to know you
can
talk to me, if you need to.”

“Same goes.” Dawson returned to the table, and I noticed he had on his running clothes.

I sat across from him. “So what are you working on?”

“Double-checking incident reports. The county board has had a complaint that the ambulance
crew is taking too long to respond to emergency calls. I’m compiling the data from
dispatch about call time and the data from the ambulance crew about the on-scene arrival
time.”

“Why don’t you have jiggly Jilly doing this? Or does her enormous rack get in the
way of reading the paperwork on her desk?”

He grinned. “You really don’t like my secretary.”

“No, I don’t. She’s stupid. If I try to call your direct line?
Oops.
She disconnects me every time. On purpose, I’m sure.” I wasn’t jealous of the big-chested,
blue-eyed platinum blonde. She just annoyed me with her frosted lipstick, and the
frosty manner with which she treated me. “She isn’t doing her job if you’re bringing
work home, Mason.”

“So noted.” He passed me a stack of folders. “Write down the pertinent deets. Call
time, location, time of arrival. Reporting EMT.”

I’d finished half the stack when I reached an incident report that disturbed me. A
call had been placed by someone at the Diamond T about a possible domestic disturbance
with injury. A woman was stumbling
around, bleeding, before she collapsed in the middle of the road. My eyes widened
when I saw the victim’s name.

Verline Dupris.

I scoured the date on the report. Two weeks before Verline and Rollie had shown up
for the dinner party. Officer Jazinski reported that no charges had been filed and
that Verline blamed her injuries on falling down the steps and her confusion from
dehydration. No mention of Rollie. No mention of Junior, but I’d bet money one of
them had been there.

“I recognize that pissed-off look,” Mason said, startling me. “What did you find?”

“An incident report regarding Verline.” I looked at him. “A few weeks before she died.
Why didn’t you mention this to Turnbull or to me at the scene when Verline was found?”

“Because it’s confidential information.”

“That’s crap. It directly affects our case.”

“Then the FBI should’ve issued a subpoena for any reports of domestic violence from
the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department involving either Verline Dupris or Rollie
Rondeaux. But no one in the FBI bothered to follow up.” Dawson held up his hand when
I opened my mouth to protest. “This is a perfect example of why when our jobs intersect
we’re better off keeping to the nondisclosure rule.”

I angrily tapped my finger on the file. “Is this why you thought Rollie was guilty?”

He nodded.

And then I knew. “This isn’t the only incident report or domestic-violence call involving
Verline and Rollie, is it?”

“No.”

“How bad does it get?”

He just stared at me.

I wanted Dawson to tell me everything. But I knew he wouldn’t. I respected that about
him as much as it pissed me off. I shut the file and shoved the stack back at him.
“It’s best if I don’t do this. I might find out the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department
knows exactly who
murdered Arlette Shooting Star and Verline Dupris, but God forbid that information
is freely shared between agencies, due to protocol and rules of nondisclosure.” I
stood.

“Mercy—”

“Save it. This feels less like you’re protecting the privacy of the residents of your
county and more like you’re getting back at Turnbull for slapping a gag on your department
earlier this year.”

Then Dawson was right in my face. “Bullshit, Agent Gunderson. It’s not my fault the
FBI didn’t follow through. And if you want total honesty? If I would’ve told you about
the previous domestic calls, you wouldn’t have told Agent Turnbull anyway. Not only
because you don’t believe Rollie is guilty, but you know it would’ve been a breach
of trust between
us
.”

I fumed, mostly because he was right.

He shoved his hand through his hair and then stormed off. He came back thirty seconds
later wearing a windbreaker.

I stopped him at the door. “Where are you going?”

“For a run. And no, I don’t want you to come with me.”

The door slammed behind him.

Awesome end to my day.

S
pecial Agent Gunderson?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Officer Orson. From the tribal police. Remember me? We—”

“Yes, I remember you. What’s up?”
Why was he calling me on a Sunday?

About fifteen seconds of silence filled my ear. Then he said, “You asked me to let
you know if anything weird happened that might be related to the case.”