No Mercy

TWELVE

Late the next morning I made the trek to the Eagle River Reservation. The scenery was spectacularly diverse. Flat land, which wasn’t quite prairie and therefore not conducive to farming, gave way to the scalloped edges of hills outlined with scrub oak and misshapen cedar trees. A few flat-topped buttes, colors ranging from butterscotch to vanilla, were interspersed among the desertlike stretches. Sagebrush, sweetgrass, and yucca were prevalent. Cattle grazed. The occasional deciduous tree peeked out from a ravine, a shimmer of green in an otherwise monochromatic landscape.

In the two hours before Sue Anne’s shift ended, I figured I’d scope out the rec center, the ice-cream joint, and other places where Levi’s friends hung out.

As I closed in on the town of Eagle River, clusters of houses appeared. Abandoned cars stood next to piles of garbage and bald tires. Old mattresses, busted refrigerators and stoves. Most homes looked worse than junkyards. Surprising that diseases like the bubonic plague weren’t running rampant, since dead dogs and cats were discarded and left to rot on the side of the road.

Geneva’s four-bedroom house crammed with six kids and two adults was nothing compared to the housing situation in Eagle River. Not uncommon for a dozen or more family members to live in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom house. Indians had lived together like that for thousands of years.

Although I had some Indian blood, that lifestyle was a foreign concept to me. My mother hadn’t been raised that way.

After my Minneconjou Sioux grandmother, Caroline Longbow, married my white grandfather, William Fairchild, he’d removed her from the reservation. Their only child, my mother, Sunny, cared little about her Indian heritage. She hadn’t enrolled in the Minneconjou tribe and hadn’t seen the point of enrolling her daughters. She’d taught us the Gunderson lineage was the only one that mattered.

Why hadn’t that ever bothered me?

Several sprawling buildings housed the multitude of tribal offices. Most people employed on the reservation worked for the tribe, for the state, or for the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Others worked at the Indian Health Services Hospital. In addition to early childhood development programs, there were two colleges.

Yet few young kids who’d graduated with marketable skills ever found jobs on the reservation, since there was zero economic development. A small number of businesses survived, a couple of convenience marts, the fast-food joints, a grocery store. The funeral home. Luckily the tribe funded the community center and rec center, or neither would’ve lasted.

As I drove through town, it saddened me to see little had changed in twenty years. Same decrepit buildings. More cheap housing.

I passed several groups of kids, some as young as four and five, running around unattended. Many didn’t wear shoes. Their clothes were tattered, their faces dirty, their hair matted and uncombed. I had to look away.

I’d seen some of the worst areas on the planet. Ghettos in big cities. Barrios in third-world countries. War-torn cities where death and destruction is a part of everyday life. This was somehow worse. Since we were the most prosperous nation on Earth, there was no excuse for such poverty and hopelessness. Shoving aside my morose thoughts, I pulled into Taco John’s parking lot.

The lunch crowd had dwindled. Sue Anne worked the register. She didn’t look at me as she asked, “Can I help you?”

I glanced at the menu. “I’d like a Taco Bravo, a large order of Potato Olés, a large Diet Coke, and an Apple Grande.”

Sue Anne poked the buttons. “Would you like sour cream on the Taco Bravo?”

“Please. And on the Apple Grande.”

“Is this order for here or to go?”

“To go.”

“Your total comes to seven twenty-nine.” The register spit out my ticket, and she grabbed a pen.

I handed her a twenty.

“Your name?” Sue Anne asked as she passed back my change.

Taco John’s still asked for a first name on every order? I remembered in high school my friends spent way too much time thinking up kooky names. Mine was odd enough. I said, “Mercy,” and waited for her reaction.

She finally looked at me. “Omigod. I’m sorry. I can’t believe-”

“Sue Anne. Order!” the line cook shouted.

She turned away, dropping a napkin and a plastic cup of hot sauce in the paper bag on the counter. She slid my order under the metal tab and called out, “Virgil?”

An Indian man around sixty snatched the bag. He didn’t look me in the eye as he shuffled out. Not a snub. Typical behavior for a Lakota man when faced with an unknown white woman.

But you aren’t white.

Ignoring my racial identity crisis, I rested my shoulders against the back wall and waited for my order.

A large red wax cup appeared. Sue Anne bagged my food. “Mercy? Your order is ready.”

The moment of truth.

“Can I get you anything else?”

I said softly, “Yes. I need to talk to you.”

“I can’t. I’m working.”

“Please. This is important. It’s about Levi. You name the place and I’ll be there.”

She squinted at the clock. “I’m off in thirty minutes. I’ll meet you out back at the picnic table.”

“Thank you.”

Half an hour later Sue Anne slid across from me. I noticed she’d removed the ugly polyester hat and changed her clothes, yet she smelled of taco meat, fryer grease, and powdered sugar. She dumped out five tacos from a carryout bag. “I’m starving.”

I purposely shifted my focus to the cars on the main drag. Seemed like only a minute passed and she was crumpling spent wrappers.

Sue Anne sipped from a supersized cup. “I’m really sorry about Levi. He was… great.”

“Thanks. I didn’t see you at the funeral.”

“I had to work.”

Uncomfortable silence descended, broken by the hum of the air-conditioner compressors kicking on at the rear of the restaurant.

“Why do you wanna talk to me?”

“Because I’m trying to find out who killed my nephew.”

“I don’t know nothing.”

“That’s where I think you’re wrong.”

She finally looked at me.

“When was the last time you saw Levi?”

“The night before he… at the Custard Cupboard.”

“Who was Levi with that night?”

“Me. Then Bucky showed up, and he and Levi got into a shouting match.”

“About what?”

“Some stuff about Albert.” Sue Anne slid the elastic band from her hair. “Levi was pissed when Moser stepped in and wouldn’t let Bucky talk to him anymore. After them guys left, Levi quit talking to me and called for a ride home.”

“Who’d he call?”

“Pretty sure it was his mom. Looked like her car anyway. That was the last time I seen him.”

I knew Hope hadn’t picked him up. So who had?

“Is that it?” she asked tightly.

“No. Tell me about the group.”

“What group?”

“The Warrior Society. Albert was in it. But Levi wasn’t. He wanted to be a part of it so bad.” I watched her closely. “Were you in it?”

“Yeah.”

“So what is this group, Sue Anne?”

She twisted the hair band around her index finger. “Nothing big. Started as a way to celebrate our heritage. We’re all like fifth- and sixth-generation rez kids. Ain’t none of us jocks. Or druggies. Or none of them crusading no-sex, no-alcohol religious freaks. We’d get together and talk about learning Lakota. We even built this sweat lodge in the grasslands and had an inipi, which was way cool. We did a couple of ceremonies.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Moser. Little Bear. Albert. Bucky Two Feathers. Randall Meeks. Lanae Mesteth. Me.”

Lanae was a new name. “Axel Rouillard?”

“At first. Then Axel didn’t want any part of it.”

“Why not?

“Moser and Little Bear decided we’d train to do the Seven Sacred Rites. Axel was a total dickhead and said we needed a Lakota holy man to teach us. When Moser and Little Bear found someone, Axel said a bunch of nasty shit about them being stupid puppets because it was being done wrong.”

“Who was the leader helping with the rituals?”

She shook her head.

I almost snapped, “Tell me.” Instead, I switched tactics. “If I paid you, would it convince you to help me?”

“It ain’t about money.”

“Then what is it about? Honor? Levi told me how much he wanted to be in this group, and the next thing I know, he’s dead. Please, Sue Anne, I need some answers.”

She gnawed on her straw, avoiding my gaze as she debated. Finally, she sighed. “I’ll tell you this much. It started out one leader, then another guy started coming around. The leader told us we had to pass a bunch of tests to prove our worthiness before we could do the actual rituals.”

“What kind of tests?”

“Mental. Spiritual. Physical. Endurance.”

“Endurance for what?”

“For pain.”

It was pointless to berate her or judge her. I’d blindly followed military orders my whole life, even to the point of excruciating pain. “And did these tests hurt?”

“The first couple weren’t so bad. Then we started the harder ones, like the Warrior’s Challenge.” She squirmed. “The leaders passed around fire water to help us with the pain so I was sorta drunk when it was my turn.”

“What do you remember?”

Her eyes lost focus. “Facing a pole in the center of a sacred circle with my hands tied above my head. Then my back was whipped with a willow branch while the other warrior candidates watched.”

I must’ve made a noise; her answering look was defiant.

“Everyone participated. It was a spiritual cleansing. My Indian blood mixed with my tears on sacred ground as I cried a lament to the Great Spirit. Then the leader cut me from the pole and gave me the willow branch as a symbol of my bravery. Afterward we sat in a circle, chanting, drumming, and finishing the ritual by smoking the peace pipe.”

My stomach roiled. Bet there was wacky tobaccy in that peace pipe. Bet they passed the bottle around again.

“And before you ask, I used the whip on my friends. The whipping may sound cruel, but we thought it was a celebrated part of our heritage. Toughening us up to honor our warrior ancestors.”

“How else were they toughening you up?”

“By cutting us.”

Holy shit.

Sue Anne fell silent. When she finally spoke, I strained to hear her muted voice. “We believed the cutting prepared us for the piercing rituals of the Sun Dance.”

A pickup load of young kids drove by. Sue Anne ducked her head from view. “Look. I said enough. I gotta go.”

“No. Please stay. Please finish. I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to understand.”

Angrily, she said, “I don’t know how any of this will help you. Levi didn’t even know what we were doing. Moser and Little Eagle were using him, making him do things, then laughing behind his back, knowing they’d never let him in. After the sick shit that happened with the last so-called ritual, I don’t know why he or anyone would want to join such a fucked-up group anyway. I realized they was even using me. I was so stupid-” She made a move to leave.

My hand circled her wrist before she could run. “What happened?”

Sue Anne twisted out of my grip. “Of the Seven Sacred Rites, the Ishna Ta Awi Cha Lowan is supposed to be about purifying a girl after she gets her first period. It’s meant to be a time where her mother and sisters and aunts prepare her for womanhood. But these advisers, and the guys, they fucking twisted it…”

Dread expanded in my chest. “Into what?”

“Into a gang rape. They called it a ‘mating ritual.’ During the spring equinox they tied Lanae up and took turns raping her. I wasn’t there, but Lanae came to me and told me afterward.” She swallowed. “That’s when I knew Axel was right and the stuff these ‘leaders’ were making us do was bullshit. There ain’t nothing like that in our Lakota traditions.”

“But you stuck it out up until that point?”

“Yeah. We were so… crazy for a group to call our own, to belong to something that was ours, that we did anything they told us to. Stupid, huh? Lanae went to live with her sister in North Dakota. Most of them guys think she’s just spending the summer there, but I know the truth. She’s never coming back here.”

“Couldn’t you tell an adult or a tribal elder what happened?”

“Yeah, right.”

“Someone has to know about it. Especially since these leaders are adults. Not only is it morally wrong, it is against the law.”

Sue Anne laughed. “Everyone looks the other way. Or they’re part of the ceremony stuff. Or they’re making up their own ceremonies to rip off stupid white tourists for money. Or they like screwing young girls. Plenty of that shit around here.”

Briefly, I thought of Rollie and his young paramour, Verline. I pressed her for more answers. “Were you the only girl after Lanae left?”

“Yes. That’s when I knew I wanted out because I’d be next. I knew that’s the only reason they ever invited me was to rape me.” She shook her head violently. “I stopped going to the meetings and started hanging out with Molly. But I didn’t tell her all of it. I just wanted to be normal. I just wanted out.”

“Who else wanted out? Albert?”

No response.

“Could a member of the group have killed Albert because he tried to get out? And Levi was helping him?”

She fixed her gaze on the mangled straw in her cup.

“Mercy?” A male voice called out behind me.

I turned around.

Theo was behind the wheel of an old white Honda Accord in the drive-through lane. He poked his head out the window. “I thought that was you. What’re you doing here?”

“Having lunch. Why are you here?” Why wasn’t he taking care of Hope, like she’d told me? Damn him. Was she sitting in the trailer alone?

“Just finished a staff meeting and needed a bite to eat.” He focused his dumb-ass smile on Sue Anne. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You coming to class tonight?”

“Umm. No. Sorry. I’m working a split shift.”

He was teaching class tonight? Then who was staying with my sister?

“You know this is a graded class, Sue Anne. So if you want the credit to count toward graduation, you have to pass-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I know, all right?”

“Good.”

The pickup ahead of him inched up. “Catch you both later.” His engine made a clicking rattle as he shot forward and yelled his order into the speaker.

When I looked back, Sue Anne had made it halfway across the parking lot. I raced to catch up with her. “You need a ride so we can finish what we were talking about?”

“No. Forget it. Forget everything. I said too much.”

“Sue Anne-”

“Go away. Levi is dead. I’m sorry. But I didn’t have nothing to do with it. I-I just… just leave me alone.” She shouldered her backpack and walked along, head down.

As a last-ditch effort I yelled, “At least think about what I said. Tell someone what happened. Someone will believe you.”

She didn’t respond.

I felt pushy and mean as I watched her disappear into the distance like a heat mirage.

On a whim I decided to stop at the grocery store for a cup of wojopi-a starchy pudding made from roots, nuts, and berries. Something sweet might counteract the bitterness left by my conversation with Sue Anne.

A flash of sunlight on metal drew my attention to the Tribal Police Department across the street. Weird. An Eagle River County patrol car was parked out front next to a beige Taurus. Before I theorized it couldn’t possibly be Sheriff Dawson’s vehicle, he strode out the door.

Dammit. Ours was a small community, but this was ridiculous. Too bad my window wasn’t rolled down; I would’ve dived through it Dukes of Hazzard-style to avoid Dawson. But as the only luck I had was bad, Dawson spotted me right away.

If I sped off now, I’d look guilty as hell.

Well, aren’t you?

No.

He moseyed over in a way that shouldn’t have been sexy and commanding but was. I had no choice but to wait for him. And watch him. And grind my teeth.

“Mercy.”

“Hey, Sheriff. How’s it hanging?”

“What are you doing here?”

My inner vamp wanted to growl, “None of your goddamn business, Copper. ” Instead, I said sweetly, “Running errands for Sophie.”

He frowned at the grocery bag clutched to my chest. “Seems out of your way.”

“What are you doing in Eagle River?”

“County business.”

“Seems out of your jurisdiction.”

Dawson floated a deliberate you’re-a-smart-ass pause.

Perfect time to take my leave before I said something I’d regret. It was downright mortifying that I acted like a hormonal thirteen-year-old girl around Dawson: nice one second, nasty the next. The hell of it was, he reacted just about the same way to me. “I’ll let you get back to it. See ya.”

His hand curled on my shoulder to keep me from climbing in my truck. I stared into his mirrored shades. “What are you really doing here?”

“I already told you.”

“Are you messing in my investigation?”

I blinked innocently. “What investigation?”

Dawson laughed. “Right. Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not. As far as I know, you’ve done no investigating, which means you’ve got no investigation. If you’ll excuse me.”

He blocked me in. “If I find out you were nosing around, asking questions, or harassing people I have interviewed, or want to interview for any of these active cases, especially your nephew’s, I will take action.”

“Last time I checked, this was still a free country and I can go wherever the hell I want or talk to anyone I please.” I paused. “Especially now that I’m working for Rollie Rondeaux.”

“You’re joking.”

Ooh. That look of surprise was totally worth any favor I owed Rollie. “Nope. Call and ask him.”

“Why in the hell would you…” Dawson thrust his hand through his hair. “Because he’s a PI.”

“Yep. And because of confidentiality laws, I’m not allowed to share details about why I’m nosing around. Sorry.”

“Jesus. Added to what I’m already dealing with… talk about a fucking nightmare.”

“Welcome to my world.”

He retreated and allowed me to scramble into my truck. I’d barely started it when he tapped on the window.

I rolled it down. “What now?”

“How is Hope?”

His genuine concern surprised me. But the snarly girl inside me deemed it too little, too late. I punched the clutch and rammed the stick into reverse. “She’d be doing a helluva lot better if you caught the person who killed her son.” I hit the gas and peeled out without looking back.

I expected to see red and blue lights flashing in my rearview at some point on the drive home. But the only thing I saw in my rearview mirror were miles and miles of deserted blacktop.

Darkness had fallen by the time I’d donned my workout clothes. Didn’t matter. I needed to sweat and push my physical endurance to the absolute limit.

I needed to run.

Away?

Maybe.

That’s what John-John had accused me of when he’d called. As I’d stretched my muscles, I listened to him list my recent risky behavior. When he couldn’t convince me not to go for a run, by being his nice and reasonable self, he yelled until I tired of it and hung up on him.

Jake had finished the last of the chores and waved good-bye from his truck, Shoonga riding shotgun, as I laced up my running shoes.

Hope had finally gone home. She’d hung around with Sophie all day. I didn’t blame her for not wanting to face her house without Levi in it. I’d even asked if she’d rather spend the night here. She hedged, knowing Theo wouldn’t be welcomed at the family homestead as easily as he was at her place.

I didn’t mention seeing Theo in Eagle River. Be interesting to see if he’d mention it himself. Another disconcerting thing I noticed: Hope hadn’t brought up Levi’s name all day. Maybe she was sick of his murder being the sole topic of conversation. I’d let it slide, but I recognized the behavior pattern. It was a trait Hope and I shared: denial.

My cardio workout had suffered the last few days. Consequently, my lungs burned. My hamstrings were tight as rubber bands. My quads screamed. My knees ached. My Achilles tendons were ready to snap. I kept plugging along. I knew it would pass.

And it did. I hit my stride, and I could think about things other than how badly my body hurt.

As my shoes pounded the gravel, I replayed my conversation with Sue Anne. Talking to her hadn’t answered my basic question: Were any of the group members capable of killing Levi? The whippings, the mutilation, and the gang rape would lead me to believe, yes, any one of those kids was qualified.

But Sue Anne’s comment about someone picking Levi up the night before his murder bugged me. He wouldn’t climb into a car with Moser or Little Bear. Maybe at gunpoint. I couldn’t see Levi inviting any of them out to his trailer either. But Levi had walked to the bluff with someone.

Who?

Right after I’d returned home from the rez, I had unearthed a small spiral notebook from the kitchen junk drawer and jotted down what Sue Anne told me. For the first time since I’d spoken to Estelle, I had felt I might have a knack for investigating. It had filled me with a strange sense of kinship with my father.

I wiped the sweat from my face with the bottom of my shirt. Despite the temperate air, I was roasting. My legs were noodles. I glanced at my watch. Forty-five minutes. Almost done.

Headlights swept behind me, highlighting the purple clover. I jogged to the side of the road. The row of pine trees marking the turnoff to the ranch was finally within view. I couldn’t wait to stand under a cool shower. And treat myself to a couple of shots of whiskey.

The vehicle’s lights blinded me after I’d been out in the dark. The truck whooshed past, spitting gravel, leaving dust thick as fog. I coughed and flapped my hand to clear it.

At twenty feet the truck’s brakes locked up. The white reverse lights flashed. The vehicle backed up.

Maybe it was someone I knew.

The truck whipped a U-turn, gunned the engine, and headed straight for me.

Then again maybe it wasn’t.

I turned and ran.

The truck followed, gaining speed.

I cut to the left for the ditch.

Bump bump bump reverberated as the truck skidded off the gravel into the grass.

Shit. When I could practically feel the heat from the engine burning the back of my calves, I launched myself sideways and sailed over the barbed-wire fence like a high jumper on amphetamines.

I landed hard on my left side. I scrambled to my feet and sprinted. When I didn’t see the headlights behind me, I chanced a look over my shoulder.

The truck plowed over a fence post.

Adrenaline crashed through me as I dropped behind a decent-sized rock.

The vehicle swerved out of the ditch, the back end fishtailing. The motor revved, and it disappeared in a dusty haze.

I waited for that flash of reverse lights to appear again. I was half afraid the driver was screwing with me. How long before the truck stopped, turned around, and came back?

When sufficient time passed and I didn’t see headlights, or hear a motor running, I stood. And promptly fell on my ass. I’d twisted my ankle. I felt searing pain, but luckily it was sprained, not broken.

I considered my options. Not good to loll in the field where we housed the bulls. I’d rather take my chances with one three-quarter-ton truck than four one-ton pissed-off bulls. Since I’d landed only about fifteen feet away from the road, my best bet was to follow it back to the house.

I hobbled to the break in the fence line and did a three-limbed crawl through the ditch. The short walk was excruciating. I winced whenever I put pressure on my left foot.

Who had tried to run me over? A couple of punks screwing with me because I was dumb enough to be out on the road alone at night?

I made it to the mailbox. While I took a breather, a vehicle turned onto the gravel road, coming the opposite direction from the death squad. I froze. Listened. Even from a distance the engine didn’t sound the same. Then again, fear distorts things. I squinted. Couldn’t tell if the headlight pattern was familiar. One thing was for sure: this truck wasn’t going nearly as fast as the one that’d chased me.

In fact, it slowed about twenty feet from the turnoff to the house. When I tried to hide behind the post holding the mailbox, I lost my balance and fell right into the middle of the road.

My life flashed before my eyes. Just my luck. I’d survived combat situations in hell only to be run down by a redneck in a pickup a hundred yards from my front porch.

I felt the absurd urge to giggle.

Brakes locked up and gravel sprayed everywhere.

A door slammed. Footsteps pounded until they were right next to my head. I heard, “Jesus Christ, Mercy. What the hell are you doing laying in the middle of the road?”

I looked up.

Dawson.

That bitch fate has a cruel sense of humor.

He knelt down. His gaze swept over me. “What happened?”

“Hit-and-run.”

“Where’s your truck?”

“Wasn’t hit-and-run with the truck. Someone tried to hit me with their truck when I was running, and then they took off.”

“Where are you hurt?”

Everywhere. “Mostly my left ankle.”

“Can you walk?”

“Barely.”

“Hang on. I’ll help you up.”

He wrapped his hands around my biceps and lifted me. Once I was upright, I collapsed into him.

I hissed from the pain and humiliation. “Shit. Sorry. Give me a minute.” I tried to squirm away, but he wouldn’t let me.

“Stay still. Might be best if I carried you.”

“No.”

“It’s not that far to my truck.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Mercy, quit being so stubborn.”

I inhaled a deep breath. Let it out. He was being helpful for a change and I… wasn’t. “Fine,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Hold tight.” He muttered something else, then slid one arm behind my knees and the other across my back. One second I was airborne against a warm, hard body; the next I was nestled in a squishy leather seat.

We putted down the driveway. Without a word, he came around to the passenger’s side, picked me up, and carried me inside the house. In the living room he deposited me on the couch.

“Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“No.”

“Then I want to see how bad you’re hurt. Where’s the light switch?”

“Over by the doorway, halfway down the wall on the left side.” The fixture buzzed and fluorescent light glowed from the ceiling.

Dawson crouched beside me and propped my left foot on an embroidered pillow. “Can you move it?”

“Yeah.” I gritted my teeth and tried to twirl my ankle. Sharp pain shot up my shin. “Shit!”

“We need to get this shoe off.”

I struggled to sit up. My normally pliant body was strung so tight I couldn’t even reach my shoelaces.

“Here. Let me do it.”

I held my breath as he loosened the laces, figuring he’d rip the shoe off like an old Band-Aid. But Dawson gently eased the shoe off and peeled away my sock.

He prodded the swollen skin around my anklebone. “You think it’s broken?”

“No. I broke the right one a couple of years back, and it doesn’t feel like that. Just a sprain.”

“A bad one.” He slowly pressed his fingers in a straight line up my shin, watching my face. “Does any of this hurt?”

“A little.”

He stopped at my knee. Frowned at the scratches and scrapes on my left leg from my tumble in the pasture. Good thing the right side of my body was against the couch so he couldn’t see the shrapnel wounds on my right thigh. “Where else are you hurt?”

“Nowhere. That’s the worst of it.”

Dawson looked like he didn’t believe me.

I slumped back into the cushions. “Okay. My left shoulder took the brunt of my fall, and I smacked my head into a rock. Happy now?”

“No. Why would seeing you beat to crap make me happy?”

You tell me. For once I kept a smart comment to myself.

A heavy sigh. His. Not mine.

“You gonna let me look at it or not?”

“Look at what?”

He grinned.

Why did my stomach do a little flip at the sight of his devilish smile? Hell, maybe I had cracked my skull harder than I realized.

“Come on, Mercy. Let me look at the spot where your head hurt that poor defenseless rock.”

“Asshole.”

His grin widened.

I closed my eyes and dropped my chin to my chest so he could reach my neck.

Warm, dry fingers prodded the bump behind my ear. I sucked in a harsh breath when he pushed too hard.

“Sorry. Better get some ice on that.”

He rattled around in the kitchen. My head began to pound in time with the throbbing in my ankle.

“Here you go.”

I opened my eyes. He held out a Ziploc bag filled with ice and a kitchen towel. I put it behind my head. “Thanks.”

“Another one for your ankle.” He positioned the plastic on top of my foot, tucking it around the swollen area like a pro. Then he perched next to me on the couch. Close to me.

“Thanks, Dawson.”

“You’re welcome. I just wish I’d gotten here sooner.”

Why hadn’t I thought to ask why he’d been driving past my house? At nine o’clock at night? It seemed… coincidental. “There a reason you were coming out here?”

“Two reasons actually.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “First, to apologize for being a jerk this afternoon. I was having a bad day and shouldn’t have taken it out on you. But, God, I hate dealing with the tribal cops.”

My dad complained about the same thing. Ditto for the FBI and U.S. Marshals.

“They called me about a report I’d filed a month ago. They couldn’t fax me the information because their fax machine was broken. I get there and the officer who contacted me had a family emergency and wasn’t around. The other cops didn’t know what was going on and didn’t care. So, I sat there for two hours, twiddling my thumbs, while the receptionist sifted through file folders, only to hand me the same paperwork they’d sent me after the incident occurred. A month ago. Nothing new. Story of my life.” Dawson readjusted my ice pack. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted. I wasn’t exactly Mary-fucking-sunshine today either.”

“We’re a pair, huh?” He relaxed a bit. “And before you turn back into that pit bull, my trip to Eagle River had nothing to do with Levi’s or Albert’s case.”

“Fair enough. What’s the second reason you stopped by?”

Dawson sighed. “It’ll sound lame.”

“Try me.”

“I had a bad feeling. A real bad feeling. With all that’s happened around here, I thought I’d drive by to see if everything was okay.”

He didn’t appear to be lying. In fact, Dawson looked embarrassed. For once, I cut him some slack. “You aren’t the only one who had a bad feeling. John-John called me right before I left the house and yelled about me taking unnecessary chances.”

I heard the ice cubes melting in the sudden silence.

“And yet you still went for a run in the dark by yourself?” Dawson asked.

“I run most every night by myself.”

His gaze turned shrewd. “Who knows you do this?”

“Anyone who hangs around the ranch on a regular basis.”

“And anybody in the bar listening to John-John’s very loud phone conversation with you tonight.”

“Which leaves half the criminals in the county,” I said irritably. “What are you getting at, Dawson?”

“Somebody knew you were on that road tonight and came after you.”

“Why?”

“You tell me.”

“So you don’t believe this was an accident?”

Dawson scowled. “No. Maybe once your head is clear and we fill out the incident report, something will click.”

My eyes went big as pie plates. “You’re filing a report?”

“Standard procedure. Don’t act so surprised.”

I was. Didn’t make sense. He’d drag his feet on tracking down a murderer, but he’d waste time trying to find out who’d played a game of chicken with me? A smart retort danced on my tongue, and I bit it back.

“I’ll swing by tomorrow morning with the paperwork. You look exhausted.” He casually swept a hank of hair that’d escaped from my ponytail. Rather than flinch at his touch, I had the strangest urge to purr and demand more.

“Anything you need before I go?”

“Would you grab the prescription bottle of Percocet from my bathroom upstairs?”

“Be right back.”

I’d about dozed off when I felt the warm weight of his hand on my shoulder. “Mercy?”

My eyes opened.

“Here are your pills and a bottle of water.”

I popped two and swallowed. Nestling my head back in the pillow, I said, “Thanks, Dawson. Would you shut the light off on your way out?”

“Even I can take a hint that broad.” He laughed softly. “Night. Sweet dreams.”