Mercy Kill

SIXTEEN

Someone was trying to beat down my door.

“Jesus Christ. Grow a little patience. I’m coming.” I flipped the dead bolt and jerked the door open.

Ow. When had the morning sun gotten so bright?

“It’s about damn time.” Geneva bulled her way inside. Her eyes took in my camo tank top, boxing shorts, and extreme bedhead. “Why aren’t you dressed? We have a meeting in half an hour.”

“Shit.”

“Is your bleary-eyed state due to the empty Wild Turkey bottle and the empty Cuervo bottle on the table outside?”

“The Cuervo bottle was mine.” Anna sat up on the couch and threw off the afghan. “Man. I’m never drinking again.”

I snorted. “Right. I’ve heard that a time or twenty.”

“Fuck off.”

Geneva lifted both eyebrows at the exchange.

“Geneva, meet my army buddy, Anna Rodriguez. Anna, meet my oldest friend, Geneva Illingsworth.”

They mumbled at each other.

“Are you staying long?” Geneva asked Anna.

“Haven’t decided.”

“So you’re not in the army?”

“No, ma’am. In fact, I got out two years before Gunny.”

Geneva looked perplexed at Anna’s use of my nickname, but she recovered fast. “Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut your visit short for a bit this morning. Mercy has a meeting scheduled.”

“No sweat. I’ll tag along.” Anna stretched. “Won’t take me long to get ready.”

Anna was less sociable than me, and I couldn’t deal with both her and Geneva first thing this morning. “Tell you what-hang out here, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Huh-uh. I’m going.” She shook her finger at me. “Pissing me off when I’m hungover is a bad choice. You know that.”

Anna’s threat wouldn’t fly with me. Once her superior; always her superior. “Back off, A-Rod. I’m dealing with campaign stuff and don’t need your help. Work on losing your bitchy attitude while I’m gone.”

Anna whizzed a decorative pillow at my head. I caught it and flung it back at her Frisbee-style. She grinned. “Just testing your reflexes, Gunny. Hate to think you were getting soft.”

“Soft my ass.”

She hip-checked me as she walked by. “The couch sucks. I’m sleeping it off in your bed.”

I managed to grab my clothes before she slammed the bedroom door in my face. I showered, braided my hair, and slathered on makeup. Dressed in my newest Cruel Girl jeans, a sleeveless blue-plaid shirt, and my sparkly red rhinestone belt, I epitomized the red, white, and blue hometown cowgirl.

Geneva gave me a once-over as I slipped on my Ariat Fatbaby boots with the ostrich skin toes. Wouldn’t be prudent to wear a gun, although I felt half naked without one.

“Do I pass your inspection, campaign boss?”

“Part of me says no, because it’s too casual. Part of me says yes, you look amazing, and I don’t think my ego can handle seeing you in dress clothes.”

My head snapped up. A compliment? From Geneva?

She smirked. “Shocked I have a civil side to my tongue?”

“Uh-huh. That and the fact no one’s called me amazing in a long damn time.”

Except Dawson had a few nights ago. He’d murmured, “You are amazing, Mercy,” as he’d kissed every inch of my skin. Dammit. I didn’t want to think about Dawson and what my active campaigning for his job would do to our relationship.

What relationship? It’s just sex, right?

“Mercy? You okay?”

I looked at her, guiltily, I’m sure. “Sorry. Just thinking about something else.”

“Let’s go.”

Geneva drove a minivan, which didn’t bother me. She drove like Mad Max on meth, which did bother me. It occurred to me, as I white-knuckled the dash, that if I was elected sheriff, I’d have to cite her for speeding.

Too bad I didn’t have the damn badge and ticket book right now. But I gritted my teeth, trying not to look at the speedometer. Or the road whizzing past. Or how she fiddled with the climate-control buttons instead of keeping both hands on the wheel.

“Mercy, I need to ask you something.”

“If it’s about my military service, there are some things I can’t discuss.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

She blurted, “Are you a lesbian? I don’t care if you are, I mean, I’ll still love you… but not in that way. It’s just… well, you’ve never been married, you’ve never talked about any kind of long-term relationship. Then you’re into guns and all that macho military stuff, and you haven’t dated anyone since you’ve been home. Now Anna shows up and your relationship with her seems really… close.”

Maybe keeping my encounters with Dawson a secret hadn’t been a smart move. If I’d piqued Geneva’s curiosity about my sexual orientation, did the rest of the county question it, too? My petulant side wondered if Dawson’s marital status would be called into question. Would Dawson admit he was in a relationship?

What relationship? It’s just sex, right?

Seemed my brain, pissed off by the alcohol-induced pounding headache, had decided on that theme today.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It’s none of my business-”

“Of course it’s your business. But don’t worry that a former female lover will step forward during the campaign and out me, because I’m not gay.”

Geneva turned her head and looked at me. “You’re not?”

“No.” She’d drifted completely into the other lane. “For Christsake, Gen, keep your eyes on the road.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” When she swerved back into the proper lane, I swear the wheels left the pavement.

Jesus. I could not watch the woman drive. “Out of pure nosiness, we’ve been friends forever. You’ve known me longer than anyone. Did you really think all of a sudden I might be batting for the other team?”

She rolled her eyes. “You pointed out to me last summer how much I didn’t know about you, and that I never knew you as well as I thought I did, so it’s a legit question, Mercy.”

“True.”

“Besides, you never talk about this kind of girly shit with me. So I don’t have any idea if you’ve been in any serious relationships.”

“A few. My inability to have kids is a big issue. If things became more than a fling, I’d ’fess up and most guys walked away. No big loss. I focused on the career I loved and kept all relationships casual. Men have come and gone. Some stayed longer than others, but they’ve all moved on.”

“I didn’t ask to be nosy.”

“Yes, you did.”

Geneva laughed. “Also true.”

“But know what’s funny? I have been seeing someone since I moved back here.”

Dumb move, Gunderson.

What had possessed me to share that secret? It didn’t feel like I was trying to give Geneva back the trust she’d lost with me; it felt like I was offering her proof that I wasn’t a lesbian.

“Really? Who?”

I didn’t answer.

Geneva mulled over the possibilities.

When she hit the brakes and we skidded to a stop on the shoulder, I knew she’d figured it out. Damn good thing my seat belt worked.

“Please tell me it’s not Dawson.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t tell you it’s not Dawson, when it is him.”

Geneva flat-out gaped at me. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Mercy, you’ve been screwing around with the sheriff?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“How long?”

“Off and on since last summer.”

“Even after he arrested you?”

“The irony is we’d been together before he arrested me.” Even I knew how freaky that sounded.

“Who else knows?” she demanded.

“John-John, only because he overheard something he shouldn’t have. I doubt Dawson’s told anyone. We’ve kept it private, for obvious reasons.” I felt her gaze burning into me, and I found the guts to look at her. She wasn’t mad; she wore a look of pity. That got my hackles up. “What?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Running against him? Because you asked me to.”

“Mercy, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t know, okay? When we’re alone and everything is good-great actually-I can forget who he is. But when it comes to him doing his job, I compare him to what my dad did as sheriff. Then I wonder what the hell I’m doing with a man who doesn’t measure up.”

Geneva was quiet, which drove me batshit crazy.

“Jesus, Gen, what?”

“Hate to burst your bubble, but Wyatt Gunderson wasn’t a saint. However, Dawson did measure up, or else your dad wouldn’t have given him his endorsement for sheriff.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I’ve known you a long time, Mercy, and you’re damn good at self-sabotage.”

I faced her. “Are you talking about what happened with Jake?”

She poked me in the arm. “See? More’n twenty years have passed by and you still haven’t gotten over it. Stop using your one bad long-term relationship as an excuse. And for God sake, stop comparing all men to your dad. It’s really kind of twisted.”

I hated that she had a point.

“So why did you come out of the closet to me about your relationship with Dawson, Mercy?”

“Your job as my campaign manager is to keep me focused on the issues. Make certain that I keep whatever weird fucking thing I feel for Dawson out of my decision-making process. I’m doing what’s right for the county, not for myself.”

Geneva eased the car back on the road. Her silence bothered me more than her constant chattering. When I couldn’t stand the silence any longer, I snapped, “Spit it out before you choke on it.”

“Speaking as your campaign manager? I’ll do everything to help you get the win you deserve. But speaking as your friend? My heart is breaking for you and the decision you’ve made to put duty ahead of your personal life again.” She careened into the library parking lot and screeched to a stop. “I accused you of being selfish last summer. Christ. You can’t know how that eats at me, Mercy, because I see how wrong I was. You’ve given everything for everyone else. You deserve something good for yourself.”

How was I supposed to respond to that?

Luckily, I didn’t have to. Kiki knocked on the window and tapped her watch.

“We’re late. Come on, candidate Gunderson, your committee awaits you,” Geneva said, and the matter was closed.

For now. But she’d given me a lot to think about, none of it campaign related.

Anna and I were lounging on the sofa, drinking beer, watching the first season of Lost on the TV/DVD combo she’d haggled for at Pete’s Pawnshop, when my cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Mercy? It’s Winona. Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted you to know that Cherelle just walked in.”

“She alone?”

“For now.”

“Good. I’ll be there in fifteen. Keep her there-give her free drinks, whatever.”

“I’ll try.” Winona hung up.

I vaulted to my feet and shimmied out of my loungewear, dressing in the ensemble I’d worn earlier. Except I added my favorite accessory in my back pocket: my Kahr Arms P380. I sat on the bed and tugged on my blue-camo Old Gringo boots.

Anna leaned in the door frame. “Where’s the fire?”

“Clementine’s. It’s not on fire, but someone I’ve been wanting to talk to just showed up, so I’ve got to go.”

“Is this more campaign crap?”

“No.”

A gleam appeared in her eyes. “This has to do with Jason?”

She’d see through a lie, so I didn’t bother. “Yes.”

“I knew you wouldn’t let this just fade away. You still feel like you owe him, don’t you?”

“I do owe him, Anna.”

“So do I. I’m coming with you.”

I didn’t have time to argue with her. “Get a move on then.”

Surprisingly, Anna didn’t pester me for more details on the drive to Clementine’s.

My candidacy was the perfect excuse to wander through various clusters of bar patrons. Anna hit the bar, and I presented a big ol’ smile to George Johnson’s group. “Hey, guys. How’s it going?”

“Good. You out on official business?” George asked.

“Yep. Pressing flesh. I figured I deserved a little liquid fortification beforehand.”

Mike lifted a plastic cup off a stack in the center of the table and poured me a beer. “The first one’s on us.”

“Thanks.”

“How about a toast?” Rocky raised his cup, and the guys at the table followed his lead. “To Mercy Gunderson, the next sheriff of Eagle River County.”

I smiled and drank up. For the next few minutes, I made banal chitchat with my supporters as I closed in on my real target in the back room.

After I talked to members of the dart league, I waltzed right up to Cherelle’s table and thrust out my hand. “Mercy Gunderson. I’m running for Eagle River County sheriff.”

She ignored my hand. But she didn’t duck her scarred face from view as I’d expected. A sneer settled on her misshapen mouth. “I don’t give a flying fuck who you are. Not interested. Get lost.”

“Now, Cherelle, is that any way to start a conversation? When I just want to talk about the issues that affect you personally?”

Her eyes flashed annoyance. “If you know my name, then you also know you don’t wanna be around when my friends get here.”

“Speaking of friends… we have a mutual friend.”

“I doubt it.”

I paused. “But you did know Jason Hawley, Cherelle.”

“Never heard of him.” Cherelle slid to the end of the booth, intending to leave.

“No need to run off. My buddy Anna just got here. And look. She brought refreshments.”

Anna set three cups and a pitcher of beer in the middle of the table. She slid in. I turned and bent forward to snag a chair from an empty table, making sure Cherelle got a good look at the bulge in my back pocket.

When I turned back around, Cherelle demanded, “Since when are you allowed to carry in here?”

“Since always.” I straddled the chair, allowing easy access to my gun and blocking her in. “So, Cherelle, here’s what we know. You talked to Jason several times, even on the night he was murdered. We have a few more questions about that topic of conversation.”

“I ain’t telling you shit, cop,” she spat.

“Although I hope to win the election, I’m not a cop yet, which means anything you tell me is off the record.”

“Right.”

Anna shoved a cup of beer at her. “So who fucked up your face?”

The bluntness caught Cherelle off guard.

“I’m betting it was some asshole guy who wanted to mark his territory.” Anna swallowed half her glass of beer. “I hope you castrated the son of a bitch.”

Cherelle’s gaze darted between us. “You are both pathetic. You think you can flash a piece at me and I’ll piss my pants because I’m scared? Of you two old bags? Don’t make me laugh.” She focused on Anna. “You think acting all fake, like we’re sisters under the skin, united against asshole men, is gonna make me break down because I’ve finally met a woman who understands what I’ve been through? Fuck off. You don’t know nothin’.”

“Yeah?” Anna jerked her T-shirt down, pointing to the long gash that ran from the right corner of her collarbone to her sternum. “I know exactly what it’s like to have some sadistic fucker cut you up.” She lifted her shirt, exposing the five knife wounds scattered at random intervals across her lower abdomen. “Ever been stabbed? Clear through your body so the knife comes out your back? You ever had to wait, knowing the insane motherfucker was going to stab you again? So don’t you sit there all fucking smug and tell me I don’t know nothin’.”

Cherelle stared at Anna with unabashed interest.

Some of Anna’s story was exaggerated. The gash on her chest was from scaffolding slicing her that night in Bali. But the stab-wound story was real. At age sixteen, Anna’s ex-boyfriend cornered her at a public park in California and attempted to kill her. An army medic saw it happening, called the cops, and stabilized her until the ambulance arrived. Surgeons repaired her liver, but Anna lost a kidney, her appendix, and her uterus, and gained a new appreciation for the army.

“Looks like you win this round. But tell me, Anna,” Cherelle repeated her name sarcastically, “do you ever see the guy who used you as a whetstone?”

Anna shook her head. “He’s in jail.”

“See, that’s where we’re different. I have to live with the guy who did this to me every day of my life.”

Tempting, to chug the whole pitcher and quit bitching about my lot in life.

“Why do either of you give a damn about that Jason Hawley guy? If the dude was trouble, I think you’d”-Cherelle pointed at me-“be happy he wasn’t around anymore.”

I started to answer, but Anna beat me to it. “Maybe she is happy, but I’m not. Jason may’ve been a scummy guy to her, but to me he was… mine. Know what I mean?”

Cherelle’s forehead puckered with total skepticism.

Anna pounded her beer and poured another. “Look, I’m not good with words, and I won’t bore you with the star-crossed-lovers bullshit, although it was true for me ’n’ Jason. He was…” Anna closed her eyes. “Dammit. He was great. He was everything. We had the real deal. Had it, and now it’s gone.”

The confession appeared to be working. Cherelle wasn’t look-ing defiant, just… interested. Concerned maybe, but not totally convinced.

“When Mercy called me after she’d found his body, I had to come here. I don’t know, probably sounds stupid, but I thought maybe I could… sense him or something.”

Ooh. Anna was good.

Cherelle broke the silence. “I do know what you mean. I had that real thing once, too.”

“Got it taken away from you?” Anna asked.

“Yeah. Just like you did. It sucked. Still eats at me.”

“So it doesn’t get better?”

Cherelle shook her head.

Anna confided, “I’m going crazy. I’d be grateful for anything you can tell me about what he said or did the last time you talked to him.”

Cherelle’s voice was so low I strained to hear it. “I met with him a couple of times. The last night we couldn’t come to terms and… that was the end of it.”

Bullshit. I waited, but I suspected that’s all we’d get from her. We’d probably gotten more than most. Definitely more than Dawson.

“Who are your new friends?”

Cherelle glanced up, eyes wide with panic, and she shrank into the booth.

It appeared her paramour had arrived.

I stood. “Hey, there. I’m Mercy Gunderson, running for sheriff.”

He glowered at Cherelle. His body vibrated with menace.

“Anyway, hope you don’t mind I bent Chantal’s ear. Whenever I come across a voter who’s undecided, I get a little carried away.” I forced a laugh. “So poor Chantal has been a captive audience.” Was intentionally bungling her name too over the top?

Victor said, “Do I look like I care who you are? Get your ass to our table, Cherelle. Now. I need a beer.”

I moved aside so Cherelle could escape.

She scooted past me without a word, Victor hot on her heels.

Naturally, I followed.

As did Anna.

Victor shoved Cherelle in a chair and sat next to her. When he realized we’d followed him, his reptilian eyes slitted further. “Did you hear me invite you over?”

I smiled. “I warned you I was relentless in my pursuit of potential votes.” I faced the Japanese/Indian man, the infamous Barry Sarohutu, who looked bored with the scene. “I’m Mercy Gunderson. I’m running for sheriff.”

Saro crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”

“So I wondered who you were voting for?”

His eyes bored into me. I allowed myself to stare back, if only briefly. Up close, Saro wasn’t bad looking. I guessed his age to be between thirty-five and forty-five. He’d slicked his jet-black hair into a ponytail. His dark eyes held the slant of his Japanese ancestry; however, his prominent nose was all Sioux. He radiated real danger, not the false cockiness I frequently ran into. This guy was ruthless and probably a total psychopath.

I hated him on sight. I hated that I had to continue this charade and couldn’t put my.380 between his eyes and blow his brains out across his brother’s smug face. But I especially hated I had to drop my eyes first and look away.

But my cowed behavior loosened his tongue. “You related to the former Sheriff Gunderson?”

“He was my father.”

Laughter from the other five guys at the table echoed around us.

“Weren’t you just bartending in here last week?”

I lifted my chin. “Yep. I know firsthand how hard it is to make a living in this county.”

“No, you just gotta be on the top of the food chain.”

More laughter.

Cherelle sat with her head bowed.

I couldn’t hold my composure much longer. “So can I count on your vote?”

Saro cocked his head, studying me like a piece of meat. Or a piece of ass. “I’ll vote for you. But you gotta do something for me.”

Don’t ask. Just walk away.

“What’s that?” I managed.

“Get on your knees.” Saro’s gaze whipped between Anna and me. “But maybe you don’t know what that phrase means?”

Seething, I blinked, acting confused.

“Yeah, bro, you might be right. Maybe Cherelle should demonstrate. Since you’re friends and all. She could give you a few pointers.” Victor grabbed Cherelle by the hair, bringing them acne-pocked cheek to scarred cheek. “Get on your knees. Show them how you make a living.”

I couldn’t stand by and watch forced humiliation. “That’s not necessary,” I said, backing away. “Nice talking to you but I, ah, see some other people I need to touch base with.” I purposely staggered back and raced into the back room.

Self-satisfied male laughter burned my ears.

I braced my hand on the wall and sucked in several deep breaths. Once I’d calmed down, I glanced at Anna.

“Well, that was fun. Not. Can we go now?”

“No. As soon as they’re gone, we’ll go.”

Meeting Sarohutu and Victor convinced me they’d been involved in J-Hawk’s murder. I just couldn’t fit all the pieces together. Not yet. But I would.

If my performance tonight was believable, Saro and his hyenas wouldn’t see me as a threat. They’d see me as a girl trying on daddy’s shoes for size. Which is exactly what I wanted them to see.

We stuck around ten minutes after Saro’s group took off. With my tendency to shoot first, I didn’t want to run into them in the parking area.

Anna grilled me the instant we entered the cabin. “What the fuck was that about? What aren’t you telling me about Jason?”

“Calm down.”

“The hell I will. I want to know what’s going on, and I want to know right fucking now.”

“Fine.” I snagged two beers from the fridge. No need to beat around the bush. “What do you know about the prescription drug OxyContin?”

“What does that have to do-?”

“Just answer the question.”

Anna snatched the beer from my hand. “OxyContin is as addicting as meth or cocaine. Some people call it hillbilly heroin.” She looked at me. “Are you saying that Jason was taking it?”

I nodded. “I got a peek at the coroner’s blood-test results, and J-Hawk had extremely high levels of OxyContin in his system.”

“So? That isn’t what killed him.”

“There was also a large amount of OxyContin in his motel room and in his vehicle.”

“How much?”

“A hundred and forty bottles.”

She drank as she paced. “Maybe he’d been stockpiling prescriptions. During your discharge, didn’t the army shrinks try to load you up on medicine to help you ‘adjust’ to civilian life? I remember I had my choice of Ambien or Lunesta to help me sleep. Abilify to fight long-term anxiety. Xanax to fight situational anxiety. If I’d mentioned suffering from chronic pain, they would’ve prescribed the all-purpose OxyContin like candy.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I’ve been out of the service longer than you. At this one VA I visited in California? Looked like the damn stock exchange when the nurses turned their backs. Guys were trading OxyContin for Vicodin. Or Xanax for Adderal. High-dosage pain pills of any kind were big-ticket items. That’s how some vets made their living. They’d go to the doc, get the prescriptions, and sell them for cash. I can name at least a dozen straight-arrow soldiers, like Jason, who craved that combat high. They couldn’t handle normal. The only way to achieve the high was through artificial means. So they made up aches and pains to get that rush.”

I studied her. “Do you miss it? That rush of adrenaline?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Is that why you hired on as a merc? To feed that need?”

“Yes.” Anna gave me the unflinching stare that’d made several Iraqi interpreters start praying.

“Do you think Jason needed that rush?”

“Meaning, do I think he needed a way to escape his shitty life in North Dakota? Yes. So it’s no wonder he loaded up on as many bottles as the doctors would prescribe for him.”

“That’s the thing. There were no pharmacy prescriptions on the bottles. Just the manufacturer’s labels.”

Anna froze. “He stole them?”

“It appears so.”

She began pacing again. “Why would he take that risk? His income as a retired army officer is a helluva lot more than mine as enlisted. I’m sure his job with Titan Oil came with a pile of cash. Did stealing give him that high? Or did he have a death wish?”

I was beginning to wonder that myself. “That’s what I’m asking you, Anna. You said you knew him down to the bone.”

“I do.”

“You mean you did.”

Lightning fast, Anna was in my face. “What about you, Sergeant Major? Do you miss that rush? Knowing you’re at the top of your game? Confident few women in the world can best you at what you do best?”

“I was an excellent sniper. But I never aspired to be an excellent killer.”

She backed off as quickly as she’d invaded my space, but I didn’t relax. Couldn’t. Unhinged Anna scared me.

“Same thing. I’m just doing what the army taught me. Be the best I can be. Putting the killing skills I learned to the test in the real world. You know all that Rah, rah! Go, Army! shit that lured us into enlisting in the first place. Now I’m supposed to pretend that’s not who I am?”

“People change, A-Rod.”

Her cell phone rang, and she looked at the caller ID. Then she smiled haughtily. Meanly. “Speaking of… putting my skills to the test in the real world, I do believe this is about a job.” She whirled away from me and took the call outside.

This conversation hadn’t gone well-not that I’d expected less. I’d told her some of the truth about J-Hawk, but if her reaction was any indication, I couldn’t tell her all of it. Especially not about the cancer.

But it bugged me, how had toe-the-line Major Hawley started selling prescription drugs? Just to feed his adrenaline-junkie side? Had it started when he was unemployed? Had he decided no one would notice small-scale stuff? But once he’d tasted easy money, had he moved on to bigger stuff? What if he’d unknowingly muscled into another group’s territory?

Cross the wrong people, like Saro’s group, who laugh at obeying the law, and bye-bye.

They’d kill him. Without hesitation.

So if I suspected J-Hawk’s death was a drug-related incident, when I wasn’t a professional investigator… why hadn’t Dawson come to the same conclusion? And if he had, why hadn’t he done anything about it?

Once again, someone beating on my door roused me out of slumber. Pity Anna hadn’t shot the idiot for disturbing her R &R. I squinted at the couch as I shuffled past. Huh. No Anna. That explained the lack of bullet holes in the door.

I flipped the locks and opened the door. My belly did a little flip.

“I see you took my advice and started locking up.”

“You doing door-lock checks across the county this morning, Sheriff? Or am I special?”

“Smart-ass.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“We need to talk.” Dawson brushed past me, stopping in front of the empty coffeepot. “You haven’t made coffee yet?”

“I was still in bed.”

Grumbling, he filled the grinder with beans. Poured the water in the machine. Dumped the old grounds and nestled a fresh filter in the basket before refilling it with freshly ground beans. It didn’t bother me that he knew his way around my tiny kitchen. In fact, it was sort of… sweet.

After he hit Start, he turned, resting his backside against the counter. Arms crossed over his chest. Chin set in a hard line. No shades masked the steely glint in his eyes.

Yeah, Dawson was pissed. I prepped myself for an ass-chewing session and mentally took back my “sweet” remark.

“Is there a reason you didn’t tell me you knew Jason Hawley prior to his employment with Titan Oil?”

“Yes.”

“What would that reason be?

“Because you didn’t ask me.”

“Goddammit, Mercy, that’s not-”

“The response you were looking for?” I supplied. “Tough. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a dickhead to me the night I found my friend murdered, I would’ve given you specifics. But when you’re tossing around threats, taking away my gun, accusing me, for Christsake, of murder, I ain’t about to offer anything up that wasn’t specifically asked.”

“And what about the next day? When you and John-John came into the office? I asked you specific questions then. You had ample opportunities to come clean about your previous relationship with him.”

“No. You gave me some bullshit theory about how my friend, a man I respected, a man I entrusted my life to, a man who’d literally brought me back from the dead, had somehow gotten himself robbed-and oops, too bad, so sad, accidents happen. He’s not from around here anyway, so who cares? Move on and forget about it. Well, guess what? I couldn’t.”

Dawson was by my side-in my face-in an instant. “What do you mean he brought you back from the dead?”

The damn man was a bulldog when it came to digging things out of me and the hell of it was I didn’t always mind. Didn’t mean I always told the gospel truth, however.

“Mercy?”

Hearing the softness in his tone, I tabled my intent to lie. Or hedge, anyway. “When Jason found me, under rubble and bodies, I was… dead. No pulse. Not breathing. He wouldn’t give up, even long after he should have.”

“Tell me everything. In detail. Right now.”

I retreated from his menacing stance and maintained a clinical detachment in the retelling. I left nothing out, including J-Hawk’s relationship with Anna. Needing something to do with my hands, I poured us each a cup of coffee, automatically handing Dawson his favorite Smokey the Bear mug.

“Does Jason Hawley’s murder have anything to do with you deciding to run for sheriff?”

“Yes.”

An exasperated noise rumbled in his chest at my curt response. “And?”

“And you want to know why I said yes? Not because of all the people claiming my father would be proud if I followed in his footsteps. Not because I have a burning desire to wear the snappy uniform and get paid to carry a gun again.” I locked my eyes to his. “What kicked me over was when I saw the customer lists you’d demanded, sitting unopened on your desk, days after Jason’s murder. I knew you wouldn’t give the case the time it deserved.”

The displeased muscle ticked in his jaw. “You don’t know why… you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“No? Are you denying you put a murder case on the bottom of your priority pile?”

“I’m damn tired of your accusations about my lack of dedication and direction as sheriff. Didn’t we go through this last year? With the cases involving Albert Yellow Boy, Levi, and Sue Anne White Plume? Didn’t you accuse me of apathy and ineptness then, too? Didn’t it come out in the end that I did my job?”

The jury was out on Dawson’s effectiveness as an investigator. True, Albert Yellow Boy’s death had been ruled an accident like he’d postulated. Theo Murphy had confessed to me about killing Sue Anne, not to Dawson. And my nephew Levi… well, I’d figured out who’d murdered him and lied to Dawson to cover for the person who’d killed the real killer.

“Yes, you got to the bottom of them eventually. But your focus has been elsewhere because of the election. I knew if you wouldn’t investigate Jason’s murder, I had to. No matter what. Even if it pissed you off.”

Even if it costs you something you’re only beginning to understand the value of?

Where had that thought come from?

And Dawson was as angry as I’d ever seen him. “Why are you jumping headfirst into the deep end of the pool when you don’t have the first clue about what’s underwater?”

My bitchy rejoinder, “I oughta leave the investigating to a crackshot professional like you?” dried on my tongue when I recognized the frustration in his eyes.

“I understand how a shared military history with life-and-death situations creates a strong bond. I did my time. There are guys I would’ve died for.”

“Then you understand why I owe Jason. He saved me.”

“Is that what this is about? You think you could’ve saved him?”

I notched my chin higher. “Maybe.”

“Trust me, Jason Hawley was beyond saving the second he showed up in my county.”

“You didn’t know him.”

He shot back, “Neither did you.”

I started to argue, but Dawson jumped back in first and came out swinging.

“Has it ever occurred to you that you wouldn’t have died if Jason and Anna hadn’t coerced you into going into the club? If you’d said no instead of feeling pressure to help them maintain a lie, you would’ve been safe in the hotel where you belonged. Jason Hawley should’ve gone out of his way to bring you back to life because it was his goddamn fault you died.”

Talk about a slap in the face. I staggered back from the force of his harsh words.

“You never thought of it that way, did you?” he prodded.

No. Stunned, I snapped, “You’re still missing the point.”

“So are you.”

“Which is?”

“Sometimes you lose sight of the main objective when your emotions conflict with the hard truth.”

Was he talking about us? Or J-Hawk’s case?

“Sometimes you don’t have a fucking choice but to do what’s expected of you. Remember that if you win this election.”

“Dawson-”

“Bureaucracy sucks. It can crush you. Ruin you. Destroy trust. Damage something promising, something good, something real. For what? Who does it benefit? Who does it hurt? Ask yourself that when this is all over, Mercy.”

Dawson set his cup on the kitchen table and stormed out, leaving me as confused as ever.