A Merciful Fate

THIRTY-FIVE

“How do I get there?”

Adrenaline pumped through Truman. He and Samuel focused on Karl Kilpatrick. The closest person at his disposal who knew how to get to Horse’s Head Rock.

“Helicopter would be the best way,” Karl said, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes pensive.

“Helicopter? Karl . . . do you really think I can afford a helicopter? I’m lucky to have all our department vehicles running smoothly at once.”

“How about asking the FBI to pay for it? I’m sure they have the big bucks.”

“Is this horse head location that remote?” Samuel asked.

“Yup.” Karl looked from one man to the other.

“Mercy said she was riding in,” Truman told him. “If you can get there by horseback, you should be able to get there by four-wheel drive.”

“Nope. Not happening. There’s a dense forest and rocks to wind through. Got a dirt bike?”

“Jesus Christ.” Truman felt time ticking away. “Mercy is being followed by two guys with rifles. One of them killed that reporter, and I’m wondering if one of them shot your granddaughter.” He glared at Karl. “One theory is that they thought they were firing at Mercy. Ollie just told me they mentioned Mercy specifically.”

Karl held his gaze. “Your best bet is getting in on horseback.”

“How do I do that?”

“I can loan you a couple of mounts. You ride?” He included Samuel in the question, who nodded immediately.

“I rode when I was a teen,” Truman said. Summers with his uncle had included many hours on horseback. Usually drunken escapades with friends.

“Then you’ll do fine. The best way in to Horse’s Head Rock is off Old Sherman Road.”

“Mercy and Sandy left from Bree Ingram’s house.”

Karl nodded. “I can see how they’d get there from that location. Old Sherman is a lot faster. Still remote and dense but faster.”

“Perfect. You can get horses there?”

“Yep. Let me call one of my guys. He can load them up and meet us there.”

“Thank you, Karl.” Truman’s heart slowed the slightest bit. We have a plan. Karl pulled out his cell phone, and Truman glanced at Samuel, who didn’t look pleased. “What?”

“Those guys are on ATVs. They’ll be way ahead of us.”

“Got any other ideas?”

“No.” He looked away, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Was I wrong about Sandy?” he asked in a low voice.

Truman understood. Nothing like finding out you might be infatuated with a criminal. “We don’t know the full story. Her money might have been legitimate.”

“Don’t know how,” Samuel muttered. “Everything I saw and heard from her says she’s always struggled.”

“Maybe she got a loan back then.”

“But paid people in cash?” Samuel was skeptical.

“How about we wait and ask her instead of jumping to conclusions?” Even as he said the words, Truman worried he’d missed something. An answer to the Gamble-Helmet Heist might have been living in his town for the last ten years. An answer that wanted to stay a secret.

Enough to murder?

Tabitha Huff was the answer to that question.

“Call Ben and tell him what’s going on. We’ll need county backup . . . if they can find the place.”

Karl turned back to the two men. “Let’s go.” As he stood from his bar stool, his phone rang again. “Deborah,” he mumbled, but he motioned for Truman and Samuel to start walking. He followed the two men out of Leaky’s and then stopped. “What?” Karl shouted into the phone. “Why did she do that?”

Truman and Samuel both turned to listen. Who?

Karl’s eyes widened. “Are you sure? That bad? Shit!”

Kaylie?

“I’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone, concern filling his face. “I gotta go.”

“What?” Truman grabbed his arm as the man started to leave. “You need to show us how to get to Horse’s Head. What the hell just happened?”

“Rose is in labor. She’s been in labor all fucking day and didn’t tell anyone, but she finally called Nick, who took her to the hospital. The baby is breech, and Rose is severely dehydrated from the flu. She wasn’t taking care of herself, and they think that’s why she went into early labor.” He pulled his arm out of Truman’s grasp and turned his back. “I gotta go.”

Truman took a hard step and spun the older man around. “We’ve got to get to Mercy.”

Fury shot from his green eyes. Mercy’s eyes. “She’s gonna have to wait.”

“She can’t wait!” Samuel moved into the man’s face. “She doesn’t know she’s being followed by two killers. You have to see that takes precedence over Rose’s labor.”

A struggle raged in Karl’s eyes.

He’s always had a problem with Mercy. “Are you going to let your pride endanger Mercy, Karl?” Truman asked softly. “This isn’t the time to hold old grudges.”

“Rose—”

“Is in the hospital with doctors. What are you going to do there? Deliver her baby? She has professionals to help her.” Truman paused, his gaze hard. “Mercy only has you. No one else.”

The war in Karl’s eyes continued. He didn’t move.

“Jesus fucking Christ. She’s your daughter,” said Samuel. He unsnapped his weapon, and Truman shot an arm out to block him.

“Don’t,” he ordered his officer. “Does your guy bringing the horses know how to get there?” he asked Karl.

“I doubt it.”

“Then we need you a hell of a lot more than Rose does right now.”

Karl looked from Truman to Samuel, and resignation filled his gaze.

“Let’s go.”

Truman exhaled, shaking his head, and followed Mercy’s father. Samuel caught up to him. “Was he really headed to sit uselessly in a hospital waiting room?” Samuel whispered.

“Yes.”

“I had no idea his anger went so deep.” Samuel’s gaze shot daggers at Karl’s back.

“I think it’s more habit now than anything.” Truman hoped that was true.

“He will regret that habit if something happens to Mercy.”

Truman had his doubts.

Thirty minutes later, Truman watched Karl and his hand back two horses out of a trailer.

“Wait a minute,” Truman said. “Only two horses? Aren’t you going with us?” he asked Karl.

“I don’t ride anymore. My back can’t take more than five minutes in the saddle.”

“Don’t you think you should have told us that to start with?” Samuel snapped.

Karl snorted. “I’m sure two intelligent officers like yourselves can follow a map.”

“What map?” Truman ignored the sarcasm. Time was ticking loudly in his head.

Karl squatted and smoothed a stretch of dirt. He picked up a thin stick and started to draw.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Truman adjusted the rifle on his shoulder and moved closer to watch.

“We’re right here.” Karl made an X in the dirt. “Head south from here until you clear this part of the forest. Then go southeast for about . . . oh, say about twenty minutes at a trot, shorter at a canter. You’ll see rock formations start. You’ll need to loop this way for a bit and then look for a narrow pass between two of the tallest rocks.” He continued to make scratches in the dirt. “When you come out of the pass, go east for another ten minutes—”

“At a trot?” Samuel asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

Karl just looked at him. “After ten minutes or so, you’ll be at the ridge and can easily spot the one that looks like a horse’s head. Lots of rocks, but only one looks like a horse.”

“How much time total?” Truman asked.

“Depends how fast you go. Somewhere around forty minutes, I’d guess.” Karl scowled. “Don’t overwork my horses.”

Truman stared at the dirt, trying to memorize Karl’s marks. Samuel snapped a picture with his phone, making Truman feel like an idiot.

He looked at Mercy’s father. “Thank you, Karl. For the horses and everything.”

The man looked away. “Hope it works out for the best.”

Not what I expect to hear from a father about his daughter.

“I’ll be thinking of Rose,” Truman told him. “A birth a month early isn’t too bad. Lots of babies come that early.”

Karl just nodded, his expression flat.

“Ready?” Truman asked Samuel, who nodded. He had a rifle on his shoulder and his game face on. The face that stated he was ready to kick butt.

Truman took the reins from Karl’s helper, gripped them in place on the saddle’s pommel, and slid his left foot into the stirrup. With a grunt he lifted himself up and threw his right leg over the horse’s back. The horse didn’t move a muscle as Truman’s rear awkwardly slammed into the saddle.

Karl picked a good one for me.

He glanced at the sky, figuring they had a few hours of daylight left. Samuel and his mount moved beside him, and Samuel sat as if he’d lived in the saddle all his life.

“About time you showed us you really deserve that cowboy hat,” Samuel joked, touching the brim of his own hat.

Truman snorted. “At least we’ve got the white hats.”

Samuel’s face went solemn. “Hope that’s enough.”

Truman lifted his reins and clucked to his horse, who moved straight into a jarring trot.

“I’m not relying on my hat.”

Hang on, Mercy.