A Merciful Fate

SEVEN

The next morning before work, Mercy darted across a street in Eagle’s Nest to Rose’s preschool and realized she should have scheduled a different time to see her sister. Parents were unloading their children from minivans and sedans. It was the morning drop-off rush.

Cindy, Rose’s parent assistant, was just inside the door, greeting children as they went in. She spotted Mercy hesitating and frantically gestured for her to enter. Cindy’s smile filled her face. “Rose is impatiently waiting for you.”

“What’s going on with Rose?” Mercy whispered as a tiny girl backed into her leg. She grabbed the child’s shoulders before she toppled and steered her in a new direction. “I can’t stay long. I need to get to work.”

“I’ll let her tell you.” Cindy looked ready to burst with her secret.

Mercy wandered into the organized chaos of Rose’s preschool, stunned as usual that ten small children could make so much noise. Rose sat on a chair in the center of the room. Children rushed her for hugs, tugged on her arm for attention, and talked all at once. Mercy watched as Rose greeted each one, knowing which children needed to stick close for reassurance and which needed to immediately immerse themselves in the toys. Her blind older sister was amazing. Once Rose was down to only two children glued to her side, Mercy approached. “Rose?”

“Mercy!” Rose turned toward her voice and her face lit up.

Mercy took one of her hands. Rose also looked ready to burst, but not in the I’ve-got-a-secret way that Cindy had. Rose’s stomach was huge. She was starting the last month of her pregnancy, and it appeared she’d hidden a giant basketball under her dress. One of her students gently patted the side of Rose’s belly, a blissful look on her small face.

Damn, Rose will be a great mother.

Mercy bent over to kiss her sister’s soft cheek. “What did you need me to stop by for?”

Rose tugged at her necklace, pulling the chain out, and Mercy saw a diamond ring dangle and sparkle in the light.

Glee surged through Mercy, and she hugged her sister. “Nick proposed? You said yes?” The questions tumbled off Mercy’s tongue, their answers apparent from the happiness on Rose’s face.

“We had a long talk about getting married a few days ago and made some decisions. I thought that was the end of it until after the baby came. Instead he surprised me last night. I thought we were going out to eat, but he took me to his home. He’d made dinner, and afterward, he took my hand and laid the ring on my palm.”

Mercy lifted the silver ring. “It’s lovely, Rose.” The center diamond was nestled in a delicate filigree setting and was encircled by six smaller stones and elaborate engravings.

“It belonged to his grandmother.”

“It’s an amazing heirloom—a work of art. The intricate setting is from a different era.”

“We aren’t getting it sized until my pregnancy fingers shrink back to normal,” Rose said with a grin. “Nick also thought ahead to have the chain ready last night.”

“He’s very thoughtful. Nick’s a good man, Rose.” An understatement. “Do you have a wedding date?”

“My due date is thirty-two days away. Everyone tells me I’ll need three months after that to feel halfway human again, so that puts us in fall. We’re tentatively planning on mid-October.” She leaned closer to Mercy. “He asked Dad for permission to marry me,” she whispered.

Mercy bit her lip, holding back a laugh. “How did that go over with Dad?”

“He was thrilled but wasn’t about to show it. I could hear the restraint in his voice.” She laughed. “He got his wish to marry me off.”

“We both know how ridiculous that was.” Mercy had been furious at her father’s awkward attempts at matchmaking for his pregnant daughter. He’d believed Rose should be married because she was pregnant. Who the man was hadn’t seemed to matter.

“It was. But I’m sure he’ll take credit for the match after the wedding.”

“It was all Nick,” said Mercy. “He’s been googly-eyed over you for ages.”

“I just couldn’t see it,” she quipped.

Mercy choked on laughter. “Jeez, Rose, I love you so much.” She hugged her sister again and squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened. “You deserve this. Nick is freaking lucky.” Mercy pulled back and studied her sister’s beautiful face, wishing she had half the peace that Rose shared with the people around her. “You’re confident in him now?” she asked in a soft voice, hating to bring up Rose’s worst fear.

The father of Rose’s baby was a murderer and rapist, killed by Mercy and Truman as he held Rose hostage. Rose had worried that no man could ever accept her and her child.

“Yes.” Beaming, Rose set her hand on the head of the little girl who was now using both hands to pat Rose’s baby basketball. Rose frowned. Her hand slid over the girl’s hair to her forehead. “Addie? Are you okay?” She moved the child to stand in front of her knees and ran inquisitive fingers over the child’s face as her frown grew deeper. “She’s burning up.”

Mercy squatted and placed her hand on the girl’s forehead. Addie stared silently at her with tired eyes. Rose was right. “She looks exhausted.”

“Cindy?” Rose called out.

Cindy appeared, holding a small boy with one hand and a headless doll with the other. “Yes?”

“Call Addie’s mom. She’s got a fever. Let’s keep her away from the other kids.”

“I’m on it.” Cindy set down the headless doll, and Mercy spotted the head in the boy’s grip behind his back, shame on his face.

Someone was about to get a lecture.

“I need to get to work,” Mercy told her sister. “Let’s meet for dinner this week to celebrate.”

“I’ll call you,” Rose promised, her attention still on the feverish child.

Mercy slipped out of the preschool, cheered by the happiness she’d seen in her sister. No one deserved it more than Rose.

“Agent Kilpatrick?” A young woman with a pleasant smile and dark-purple streaks in her blonde hair leaned against the door of a dusty little sedan. Parked illegally.

“Yes?”

“I understand you’re working on the Gamble-Helmet Heist.” Her smile didn’t change.

An alert went off in Mercy’s brain, and she stopped, eyeing the woman. She wore denim capris, a white T-shirt, and flip-flops. She looked young enough to be a friend of Kaylie’s.

“Do I know you?” Mercy asked cautiously.

“No. It’s true, though, right? Did you identify the body yet?”

Annoyance shot through her. “Excuse me. I was just leaving.” She stepped into the street to cross to her car.

The woman shoved a business card in front of Mercy’s stomach, making it impossible to move past the woman without either hitting her hand or taking the card. Instead Mercy stopped and gave the woman her best glacial glare.

“My name’s Tabitha Huff. I work for the Midnight Voice.”

“Move your hand, please.” Ice water dripped from Mercy’s tone. The woman worked for the tabloid that had contacted her office last night.

“What can you tell me about the remains?” Tabitha showed no fear, tilting her head in interest as she held Mercy’s gaze.

Why are reporters so pushy?

“Nothing. Go bug a Kardashian.” Mercy didn’t take the card, yet the woman continued to hold it in front of her.

“You don’t deny your case is related to the robbery.” Cunning entered Tabitha’s eyes.

“I deny and confirm nothing.” Mercy pinned the woman with her gaze. “Why are you the only reporter here if you believe this is such a big story? Did someone leak you a false tip?”

The slightest quiver of Tabitha’s lashes told Mercy she’d struck a nerve, so she pushed on. “I would think the local news would be hounding us—maybe even CNN or Fox. Sounds like your source isn’t very reliable.”

Tabitha’s face blanked, her pleasant smile gone. “The public deserves to know. The Gamble-Helmet Heist is part of American lore. If you have the first lead in decades, it’s going to change history.”

Mercy blinked. “Isn’t that a little extreme? The Civil War is history. Not one robbery with a dead victim. I think the correct description is notorious or infamous . . . or how about senseless murder?”

“America won’t see it that way.”

“Then you’re doing your job wrong, because that’s all it is.”

“I’ll check in to see if you’ve changed your mind later. You could be the national face of this investigation,” she said earnestly.

That doesn’t hold the appeal you think it does. “Call the office. I don’t talk to media.” With one finger, she gently pushed the woman’s hand out of the way and crossed the street.

Who is the leak?

And why would they call a tabloid?

Sandy physically hurt at the sight of the graffiti on the back wall of her B&B.

Her chest was full of pain. My beautiful building.

It wasn’t just a building; it was her heart. The amazing result of years of hard labor.

Echoing in her head was her comment to Truman two days ago about wanting the vandal to stay away from the old home. It was as if someone had spray-painted the words in reaction to her wish.

Now Truman and his officer Samuel stood with her. Their silence spoke volumes.

Someone had scribbled BITCH! and WHORE! in angry, three-foot-tall letters.

“Thanks for coming,” Sandy said, needing to fill the awkward silence. She put her hands on her hips, trying to hide the subtle quiver in her hands. “I didn’t spot it until I took the garbage out at nine this morning.” She gestured at the small dumpster and recycling bins to the right of the graffiti. “I don’t know when it happened. I haven’t been out here since early yesterday evening. As you can imagine, I’m rattled.” That’s putting it mildly. She’d seen the dark half-moons below her eyes in the mirror and noticed the cracked and dry lips. She’d had trouble sleeping since the start of the vehicle damage two weeks ago.

Beside her, Samuel abruptly let out a string of curses. Truman flinched and shot him an irritated glare.

“It’s red paint,” Samuel muttered, his tone heavy with menace for the culprit.

Truman nodded. “It’s darker than the paint at Bree Ingram’s farm, but still . . .”

“Bree?” Sandy’s heart stopped. “Someone did this at her farm too?”

“It was different,” Truman told her in a calm voice. “No words. Just some markings on the stalls and her truck yesterday.”

Sandy fumed. Bree was her closest friend but hadn’t said a word. “She’ll be getting a phone call from me,” she stated. “Any broken car windows?”

“No,” answered Truman. “Yesterday was the first incident, and it was just paint.”

WHORE. Sandy stared at the huge letters. Why would Bree be targeted too?

“Who does shit like this?” Samuel swore again. Fury radiated from him, and Sandy knew he wanted to hit someone. His anger didn’t make her nervous. She was pleased he’d responded with Truman.

“Did you find some cameras?” Sandy asked Truman. It hurt to rely on someone’s kindness to help protect her property, but she simply didn’t have the money. She’d been in the red for months. If she had an accountant, he’d be in deep shock.

Good thing I can’t afford one.

“Uhhh . . . I should have some by tomorrow.”

Sandy didn’t miss the glance Truman exchanged with Samuel. She narrowed her eyes at the two men, who she suspected weren’t being completely truthful.

That makes three of us.

“I would have installed one to cover this area.” Truman indicated the entire back side of her building. “It ticks me off that I’m too late. But we’ll definitely have them up by tomorrow evening.”

“Absolutely,” Samuel chimed in. “We’ll have the asshole the next time he tries anything.”

Why am I not reassured? She didn’t want to think about what the offender might do next time.

During Truman’s last visit she’d been frustrated. Today that frustration had been replaced by . . . fear. A shudder shook her entire body.

It can’t be . . .

“Do you have more of the house’s original paint?” Samuel asked. His dark gaze bored into her skull, and she knew he’d seen her flinch a moment ago. She wondered if he suspected her . . . her lies . . . her facade . . .

“I do. I painted it by myself two years ago.” Her voice fell. “I’ve worked so hard . . .”

“You have,” Samuel agreed. “I’ll help you cover it up.” He stepped closer, his gaze locked on her face. “You have a feeling you might know who did this,” he stated softly.

Sandy looked away, trying to control the tremble in her chin. “No. I told Truman the other day I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Sandy.” Samuel touched her upper arm. “Look at me.”

She did and crossed her arms on her chest. The concern in his eyes took her breath away, but she stayed stoic, not wanting him to see the true depth of her fear. The silence awkwardly stretched for a few seconds.

“Tell me what you think is going on,” Samuel said patiently. “I can’t help you unless you talk to me.”

Tell him. Every fiber of her being told her she was wrong and then a split second later screamed that she was right. The conflict was tearing her apart.

She looked at her boots and rapidly spoke before she could change her mind again. “It could be my ex.” A weight lifted from her shoulders, and she tentatively met Samuel’s gaze again.

Samuel’s expression hadn’t changed.

“Ex-boyfriend?” Samuel asked.

“Ex-husband,” she whispered.

“Why do you suspect him?” Samuel’s voice maintained its calm tone.

Sandy finally glanced at Truman. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner.”

“You thought he was a possibility when I was here the other day?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to consider it. It’s been over ten years since . . .” She swallowed and tightened her crossed arms.

“Since what?” Samuel asked sharply, his brows coming together.

“Since I’ve heard from him.”

“Why so long?” the officer pressed.

“Because I changed my name and moved here without telling him.” Only two other people in Eagle’s Nest knew those facts. Now the number had doubled. It felt as if she’d stepped off a pier into black, fathomless water, her deepest secrets dragging her down.

“What did he do to you?” Samuel asked gently.

“I’m jumping to conclusions,” she forced out in an upbeat voice, trying to pull herself up to the surface. “I’m sure it’s just teenagers.” She smiled, knowing it was fake.

Neither was fooled.

“You don’t believe that,” said Truman as Samuel nodded. “Why would your ex do this?”

Sandy closed her eyes for a long moment, a rushing sound in her ears. “Almost no one knows about this.”

“We’ll keep it as quiet as we can,” Samuel promised.

Can I do this?

“I left an abusive situation in Portland. I was terrified he would injure me in a permanent way if I didn’t get out of there.”

“Or kill you.” Samuel’s tone was flat, but anger projected from his eyes. Sandy looked away from the heat of his fury, but it comforted her instead of scaring her.

She’d been lucky to have a fresh start in Eagle’s Nest. Now she had true friends and a spine of steel. But as soon as her ex-husband entered her thoughts, she’d become that woman—the woman who watched every word she said and tiptoed around her husband for fear of reprisal.

An abused wife.

Sandy despised the woman she used to be. She had fought and cried and struggled to get rid of that woman. But with a few broken windows and spray paint, she had reappeared.

What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.

I should be fucking Wonder Woman.

“I was stupid to stay as long as I did, but I was barely eighteen when we married, and he was ten years older. He’d convinced me that I was the one with the problem—I was the one who needed to learn to make our marriage work.” She shook her head in disgust. “He was the king of gaslighting. It took a lot of therapy before I understood how he’d manipulated my thoughts and actions for twenty years. The physical stuff started toward the end. Damn, I was such a stereotype. I believed him when he said a punch was an accident. And then I believed him when he promised it’d never happen again. He begged and pleaded for me to forgive him as he explained how much strain he was under at work. Over and over I gave him more chances. I hid bruises, a broken arm, and black eyes. I honestly believed it was my fault. But when he knocked me unconscious, I knew I was done.”

Both men watched her with wide eyes, no blame or pity present.

Thank God.

She couldn’t stomach pity. Pity was for victims, and her days of being a victim were far in the past.

“I moved out while he was at work. I hired a divorce lawyer who also helped me start a new life. With a new name.” She raised her chin, making herself look both of them in the eye. “During our divorce he threatened multiple times to kill me. My spousal support payments were removed from his paycheck because he refused to pay.” She gave a nervous laugh. “That turned out for the best. The state sent the payments to me, so he never knew where to find me.”

“What’s his name?” Samuel spoke softly, but his command was clear.

Sandy cocked her head as she met the officer’s gaze and paused before answering. “Lionel Kerns.”

“What’s your real name?” he continued in the same gentle tone.

“Jada.” She pressed her lips closed. The name hadn’t crossed her lips in years; it belonged to another woman. And she’d sworn she’d never say Jada Kerns again. Lionel’s last name was like a brand that’d been forcibly burned into her soul. It was best forgotten.

“Jada. That’s lovely,” Samuel said.

Truman jerked his gaze from her to Samuel, confusion on his face. She took little notice. Samuel’s compassion felt like a lifeline, one that was slowly hauling her out of the rough, black water.

Samuel understood and didn’t seem to think any less of her.

Male judgment about her previous life was one of her worst fears. It’d kept her single and avoidant, believing no man could understand. Or, worse, that any man would be the same as Lionel.

Samuel looked at Truman, a desire to hunt in his gaze. “Let’s find out where Lionel Kerns is these days.”