Merciless (8 page)

I rolled to face him and placed my hand on his chest. His heart pounded beneath my
palm. “Mason. It’s all right. I know how much you’ve wanted—how hard you’ve tried—to
have a relationship with your son. I’d never stand in the way of that. Lex is welcome
here.”

He pressed his forehead to mine. “Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.
To be honest, as much as I’ve always said I wanted Lex around, this whole thing scares
the living shit outta me, Mercy.”

“I know.”

“I mean, we’ll get the logistics of how he’s getting to and from school figured out,
but I don’t know if I have . . . hell, I’ve never been around kids that much. Sometimes—most
times—Lex doesn’t feel like mine. He just seems like a kid I know that I see once
in a while. What if I’m a shitty father?”

That confession made me ache. “I think the fact you’re worried about being a good
father indicates you’ve already won half the battle. Once he is around you, day in
and day out, he’ll see what an awesome guy you are.”

“I like this flattering side of you, Sergeant Major.” He brushed his lips across mine.
“So since you admitted that I’m an awesome guy, does that mean you’re ready to marry
me?”

I tried to keep it light. “I’m still weighing my options.”

“What options?”

“I hear that Dick and Alice Anderson might be headed for divorce court. And you know
I have a thing for former rodeo cowboys. So I might wait to see what happens there.”

“Dick Anderson is seventy. Been a long time since he’s been on the back of a bull.
Plus, rumor is . . . the reason Alice wants to call it quits after forty-five years?
Dick ain’t performing his husbandly duties anymore.”

“Who’d you hear that from?”

“Lila, at the diner. And apparently, Dick ain’t the type who believes in Viagra.”
He pinned me to the mattress, rubbing his third erection of the night against my belly.
“So maybe you oughta put
this
on the plus side of staying with me for the long haul.”

“Cocky man.”

“And I’ll prove it.”

•   •   •

Sophie lured us out of bed early the next morning with the scent of bacon, eggs, and
fried potatoes.

I noticed she’d folded up my robe and set it on the kitchen table, but she didn’t
tease—a rarity for her.

“You’re here early,” I said.

“Couldn’t sleep. Pain in my hip kept me awake.”

Wasn’t like Sophie to complain. “Maybe you should have the doctor check you out the
next time you take Penny in.”

She gave me a considering look. “You worried, hey?”

“Yes, because you haven’t been your bossy self lately. I wondered if it’s too much,
splitting time between here and Hope’s place.”

“You askin’ if I’m getting a little long in the tooth to be doin’ my job?” she asked
sharply.

“No. And you don’t need to snap at me for caring about you, Sophie.”

She made that sound between a sigh and a harrumph. “Sorry,
takoja.
I’ve got a lot on my mind, with Penny’s cancer and all.”

Penny was Sophie’s last living daughter. All of her Red Leaf kids had passed on, and
her son Devlin Pretty Horses was the only remaining male child. “Anything I can do?”

“Nothin’ no one can do.” She offered a tremulous smile through the sheen of tears.
“Workin’ takes my mind off it.”

“We’ll be able to oblige you on that, because Mason’s son Lex is coming to stay with
us for a while.”

“Really? When?”

“Soon, I think.”

“Oh, the sheriff’s gotta be happy about that.” Her sharp brown gaze locked onto mine.
“But are you happy?”

I don’t know.
“Yeah, I am.”

“That don’t sound convincing, Mercy.”

“I just . . . don’t want him to get hurt. He has wanted a chance to really be Lex’s
father for longer than he’s willing to admit. I hope this kid isn’t the type to take
advantage of him.”

Sophie patted my arm. “Me, too. Now how about if we get you fed, eh?”

Dawson’s arms came around my waist, and he squeezed me. When he left a sweet, lingering
kiss on my temple, I knew he’d heard the entire exchange.

“Mornin’, Miz Red Leaf,” he said. “That smells awesome.”

“It is. Sit down, both of you, and I’ll dish up.”

“Why don’t you sit down, Sophie. Get some of your questions about Lex living here
out of the way while I dish up.”

Sophie grinned. “Seems someone’s in a
very
good mood this morning. I wonder why? Any theories, Sheriff?”

Dawson smirked. “I ain’t touching that one.” He poured three mugs of coffee and sat
across from Sophie.

“When will your son be here?”

“Sunday night. Mercy ’n’ me are goin’ huntin’ Saturday. After I bag a bigger buck
than her, I’m driving to Denver. We’ll be back Sunday so I can get him enrolled in
school Monday.”

I snorted. “In your dreams about bagging the bigger buck, marine.” I slid the plates
on the table and took my seat next to Dawson.

“I love a challenge.” He snatched a slice of bacon off my plate and shoved it in his
mouth.

I whapped his knuckle with my fork.

“You two behave,” Sophie warned. “What room were you thinkin’ of putting Lex in upstairs?”

“Not my old room, since Joy’s crib is in there. Probably Hope’s old room. It’s empty,
right?”

“Yeah, but it’s got a floral bedspread and curtains,” Sophie pointed out.

“That’ll be fine,” Dawson said. “I don’t think Lex will care.”

Sophie and I exchanged a look. “Uh, yeah, he’s gonna care. I’ll stop at Walmart on
my way home tonight and pick out bedding that’s plain and . . . manly.”

“Fine, but I don’t see the big deal. You’ve got girly sheets on our bed, and I haven’t
complained.”

Not the same. He’d sleep on burlap if he was getting laid regularly, but I didn’t
want to argue with him. We tucked into the food, and no one spoke until our plates
were empty.

As we finished our coffee, Sophie said, “Such a pity about that Shooting Star girl.
So young. I know not everyone likes that family, but it’s hard not to feel sorry for
them, hey.”

Leave it to snoopy Sophie to bring up a case I’d hoped to avoid discussing with the
sheriff.

“I assume the FBI was brought in?” Dawson asked me. “It’s under investigation.”

“Well, good luck with that.

I’m just damn happy it didn’t happen in my jurisdiction.” He pushed back from the
table and took his plate to the sink to rinse it. “Miz Red Leaf, outstanding breakfast.
Thank you.”

She waved him off with a smile.

“Mercy? Got a minute to talk to me before I head out?”

“Sure.” I followed him to the bedroom and watched as he strapped on his gun. “What’s
up?” I formulated a half-dozen responses to his inquiries about the Shooting Star
case, hoping I could hit the balance between evasive and professional.

“Don’t spend a lot on the bedding stuff for Lex’s room, okay?” He opened his wallet
and passed me three twenties.

I nodded, happy that Lex was the buffer between our jobs. For now, anyway.

“I’ll be late tonight.” Dawson kissed me thoroughly. Then he held my face in his hands
and locked his steely gaze to mine. “You know I love you, right?”

“Right.”

He waited for a better response.

Might be perverse, but I let him wait.

“And?” he prompted.

“And I love you, too.”

His smile had me smiling back at him as I watched him walk out. This frequent admission
of how I felt about him was a whole new experience for me. During my stint in the
army, I’d had to hide my true occupation from my fellow soldiers. So because I really
couldn’t be myself, I’d formed no long-term emotional attachment to any man during
those twenty years. Which left me the emotional equivalent of a robot.

Dawson saw beyond the facade—almost from the moment we’d met—which was part of the
reason he’d had me running scared. It took a tragedy—a near mental meltdown—for me
to stop finding excuses for
why he and I would never work, to see him as the man who wanted me, the real me, no
matter what I’d done in the past.

I relied on him—emotionally, physically. Me, Mercy Gunderson, badass former sniper
who never needed anyone, needed him. Once I admitted that need to myself—and to him—I
honestly felt more in control of my life than I ever had.

•   •   •

I must’ve been smiling when I wandered into the conference room, because Shay muttered
about someone getting lucky. I ignored him and studied my notes. As the newbie agent
in the office, I listened a lot because I had a lot to learn. But today I was determined
to bring up my preliminary discovery on the unexplained deaths on the reservation
over the last two years.

Director Shenker ended his phone call as he sailed into the room. “Morning, all. Agent
Turnbull? If you want to get started?”

“Sure. I just got off the phone with the crime lab regarding the samples taken from
the victim in the Shooting Star case. No tissue from her attacker was found under
her fingernails. No evidence of rape.”

“What about defensive wounds?” Director Shenker asked.

“None. The tox results came back with high levels of digitalis, which is unusual.
I did some research. Evidently, its intended use is for heart arrythymia. Given to
patients with congestive heart failure.”

“But if you aren’t suffering from congestive heart failure? What does the drug do?”

“Causes irregular heartbeat. And all sorts of other nasty side effects, like vomiting,
diarrhea, hallucinations, listlessness . . . almost always resulting in death. I also
learned the foxglove plant is the most widely known source for digitalis. The leaves,
the roots, the flowers are all poisonous.”

“Is it a controlled substance?”

“Yes and no. In prescription form it’s controlled. But the plant itself is for sale
in greenhouses across the country.”

Something occurred to me. I looked at Shay. “Could Arlette have taken it as a suicide
drug? Along the lines of
Romeo and Juliet
? She drinks the poison because she can’t be with her true love?”

He leaned back in his chair. “It might be plausible . . . except for the fact that
somebody drove a stake through her heart.”

Male chuckles sounded around the table.

Ooh. Smackdown. But I wasn’t about to be deterred. “Or maybe she tried to kill herself
and was wandering around aimlessly, confused, with the toxin in her system, and—”

“Some random guy saw her, picked her up, stripped her, and staked her? I don’t think
so,” Turnbull retorted.

“Fine. But don’t you agree that the murderer seems to have a sense of irony with that
stake, given Arlette’s love of vampire tales? Wouldn’t feeding her poison before he
killed her play a part? The guy didn’t rape her,” I reminded him. “And he had her
for a couple of days before she turned up dead. So maybe this sicko played with her.
She’d be easy to lug around if she was drugged up. But he’d still get to kill her,
she just wouldn’t fight him.”

“Good point, Agent Gunderson,” Shenker said. “Do we know what form she took the drug
in?”

“Nope. But the best guess at this point was she consumed it in liquid form.” Turnbull
sighed. “And here’s another bizarre twist. The comfrey plant is used in teas and herbal
remedies, and the leaves are so close in appearance to the leaves of the foxglove
plant that sometimes foxglove is mistaken for comfrey. There’ve been several cases
of accidental poisoning.”

“So the poisoning could have been accidental and unrelated to her murder,” I said.

“We cannot rule out that theory entirely.”

Somewhat vindicated, I pushed my next point. “With the absence of defensive wounds,
it would appear Arlette knew her attacker.”

“Yes, but remember, we’re dealing with a small pool of people on the rez, so chances
are just as likely it wasn’t a male she knew intimately, but a male she knew in passing.”

“We’re assuming it’s a male?” Agent Mested asked.

“Isn’t it always?” Agent Flack shot back.

Strained laughter.

“Director Shenker?”

His gaze bored into me. “Yes?”

“It’s come to my attention that there have been quite a few young women found dead
on the reservation in the last couple of years.”

Agent Flack snapped his gum and whipped around to face me. “You talking about that
Good Shield woman? Victim found gut shot out in the middle of nowhere?”

I hadn’t seen that obituary, and it bothered me there was one or more I’d missed in
my small bit of research. “Was the FBI called in on that one?”

“Called, yes. We didn’t get involved because I agreed with the tribal cop who suspected
a domestic dispute. Evidently, nine-one-one dispatch had several emergency calls involving
the vic and her partner, going back a couple of years. The last time cops were called
to the scene, guns were involved.”

“So the partner is in jail?”

Special Agent Flack blew a big pink bubble, then popped it loudly. “No. The dude was
alibied. Happens all the time down there, cousin vouching for cousin, hey.” Laughter.
“Nothin’ the tribal cops or nobody else could do.”

Seemed too cut and dried. Too . . . easily dismissed.

“Is there a reason to get this backstory on previous and unrelated cases, Agent Gunderson?”

“Yes. I have a gut feeling some of those old cases are somehow related to this new
one.”

Silence. Except for Shay’s disgruntled sigh.

“Here in the bureau, we’re less about gut feelings and hunches than we are about solid
evidence,” Shenker said.

I let his doubt bounce off me, but I couldn’t keep the blood from rushing to my face.
“Even if solid evidence is ignored? Or dismissed?”

Shenker stared at me thoughtfully. “No offense, Agent Gunderson, but you are new to
the bureau. Why haven’t the tribal police picked up on it? If it’s so obvious to you?”

Since I’d started working here five weeks ago, I had mostly observed. I asked questions
only when I hadn’t been able to find the answers myself. I wasn’t the timid mouse
in the corner, but neither was I the roaring lion. I’d backed down on a couple of
occasions. But I would not back down on this. “Maybe due to budgetary and manpower
constraints, the tribal cops are conditioned to look for the easiest answer first,
in order to get the case resolved and move on to the next one. Those officers see
a lot of bad shit. It’d be easy to get jaded. My dad dealt with them when he was Eagle
River County sheriff. And yes, he complained about the tribal police not wanting to
cooperate with any other law enforcement agencies. Not on any level. Something as
simple as the tribal police refusing to fax paperwork meant he had to drive from Eagle
Ridge to Eagle River. Half the time they’d have no record of the paperwork he’d requested.