No Mercy

FOURTEEN

The following night I sketched out a rough plan.

The rec center on the Eagle River Reservation was the hot spot for teens. With Sue Anne’s murder, I assumed kids would band together, if not to grieve, to gossip. I’d hang out and see what was what.

No reason to disguise myself. None of them had attended Levi’s funeral, but Little Bear, Moser, and that group had seen me once in the dark parking lot at the barn dance. I’d spent the majority of my life blending in. If I couldn’t stay off the radar of self-absorbed teens, it was time to hang up my spy gear.

I grabbed my Walther P22 and hid it in an ugly crocheted purse Sophie had crafted that I’ve always hated-be a good reason to get rid of it. Yeah, carrying a firearm to an Indian reservation where I’d be around minors probably wasn’t smart. But I’d had enough of being on the receiving end of violent acts. Time to go on the offensive.

Not having streetlights was a double-edged sword for Eagle River. It masked the poverty but provided the ideal situation for criminal activity.

Vehicles cruised the main drag. People of all ages staggered beside the road. Alcohol wasn’t permitted on the reservation. Didn’t seem to stop it from flowing. Two liquor stores were set up on either end of the highway running through the center of town. Deaths from drunk driving were commonplace.

I hated that the tribal police didn’t try harder to control the amount of booze brought in. But the cops spent so much time dealing with the aftereffects of alcohol-drunks, accidents, and domestic violence-that preventative measures were impossible to sustain.

I parked in front of the rec center. Hide in plain sight, that’s my motto. I jammed a ball cap on my head and slid into the corner booth by the snack bar.

Quick recon revealed the building consisted of two main rooms and hallways running opposite directions from those rooms. Levi had mentioned to Jake that his group hung out by the pool tables. I ordered a pitcher of Coke and a cheese pizza while I waited.

Nobody paid attention to me. An hour passed. My bladder was full. Time to check out the bathrooms and exits.

No cameras and the men’s room was at the end of the corridor, next to a utility closet. And score-an emergency exit. Despite the placard exclaiming ALARM WILL SOUND, I figured it’d been years since the alarm had functioned.

By the time I’d returned from the restroom, Moser, Little Bear, and the entourage held court in the two booths across from the pool tables. Thank God no music thumped from the speakers to hamper my eavesdropping.

I studied the dynamics of the group and decided it’d be nearly impossible to get Moser or Little Bear alone. I’d have to try for one of the other kids.

Two stood out as potentials. The reed-thin boy with long stringy black hair, a goiter, and a nervous habit of checking his wristwatch. Randall Meeks? Or Bucky One Feather? The other good-sized kid with the group could be a threat, so I set my sights on the geeky one.

As I sat in the booth and watched these thugs, my anger grew. It wasn’t fair Levi was dead. It wasn’t fair these kids were laughing and joking while Sue Anne was lying on a steel table with her throat cut.

I wanted to bang their stupid heads together until I got the answers I needed, or until their blood spilled. I caught myself making a fist on the table. For a second I closed my eyes and sought the internal black void where emotions didn’t exist.

Calmer, I pretended to flip through a community newspaper, keeping an eye on the trash talking and the movements of the players.

Randall Meeks weaved through the crowd of preteens to the bathrooms.

Showtime.

I allowed him about thirty seconds before I followed. In the shadowed hallway, I pulled out my gun, tossing the purse in the corner behind the mop bucket. I stuck the compact pistol in my back pocket.

The door to the women’s restroom squeaked. Giggling female voices faded behind me.

I positioned myself by the utility closet.

Randall exited the bathroom and tried to blow past me. I blocked him.

“Hey. Whatcha doing? Get outta my way.”

“No. Turn around and walk to the emergency exit.”

“What the fuck? Did Moser put you upta this?”

“Start walking.”

“Fuck off. I ain’t goin’ no place with you.”

He turned sideways. He made it two steps before I wrapped my arm around his throat and jerked him to a stop. I hissed in his ear, “You had a choice. Now you don’t.”

A strangled sound emerged. “You’re choking me.”

“No shit. Not another word.” I propelled him out the door.

The emergency exit opened into the back parking lot next to the Dumpster. Immediately the gag-inducing odor of old grease and the sour stench of moldy cheese assaulted my senses. Once we hit the pavement, I switched my hold, twisting one arm behind his back in addition to keeping the choke hold.

He yipped with pain.

“Your name.”

“Randall M-meeks.”

“Tell me about the Warrior Society, Randall.”

“I don’t know nothing about it.”

I increased the pressure on his arm.

He moaned.

“Try again. The Warrior Society.”

“Okay, okay. I’m in it.”

“Why are two members, Albert Yellow Boy and Sue Anne White Plume, dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who killed them? Was it you?”

“No!”

“Maybe it was one of your buddies? Did Moser snap Albert’s neck like this?” I amplified the force by jerking my arm harder around his throat.

“Stop. Jesus, that hurts.”

“Who tried to cut off Sue Anne’s head?”

“I don’t know! Sue Anne ain’t been around, and the rest of us been laying low for a while.”

“During this time you decided to ‘lay low,’ did you come up with a plan to keep Levi Arpel out of your club by killing him?” As I said Levi’s name, I rammed Randall’s hand further up his spine.

He whimpered. “You’re hurting me.”

“Not as bad as you’re gonna hurt if you don’t answer the fucking question.” I bent his thumb until it reached his wrist. “Tell me everything or I break it.”

“We didn’t have nothing to do with Levi. And after what happened with Sue Anne, some of us want out. We’re having a meeting with the leaders.”

“When?”

“In the next couple days.”

“Where?”

“I ain’t sure. Lemme go.”

“Yeah,” a deep voice said behind me. “Let him go.”

Keeping my grip on Randall, I wheeled around, using him as a human shield in case these idiots were armed. Satisfied they weren’t, I threw him at Moser’s feet. Everyone jumped back. Randall stayed on the ground.

“I don’t like nobody fucking with my friends,” Moser said.

“Yeah? We have something in common then, ’cause I don’t like nobody fucking with my family.”

“So who’s your family?”

“Levi Arpel was my nephew.”

Moser, Little Bear, and Bucky exchanged a look.

“What do we care? He’s dead.”

“That’s why I’m here, Moser. For answers on why he’s dead.”

Little Bear grabbed his crotch. “I got answers for you right here, bitch.”

The guys behind him laughed.

“But I’m looking for big answers, Little Bear, not small ones.”

That got real laughs until Moser sent them a dirty look. “What makes you think we know anything about it?”

“It’s too goddamned coincidental that Albert and Sue Anne were both in the Warrior Society, but trying to get out, and Levi wanted to be in, but you kept him out, and now all three of them are dead.”

Moser shrugged. “Shit happens.”

“I don’t buy that.” My gaze swept the other pimple-faced beanpole. “Bucky and Levi had a fight the night before Levi was murdered. Maybe I oughta drag Bucky to Sheriff Dawson and let Dawson question him.”

“You can’t force him off the rez because of the sovereign nation laws,” Moser said smugly. “Besides. He’s a minor. That’s kidnapping.”

The little bastard thought he was so smart. Time to smack his pride and point out his stupidity. “Wow. Almost sounds like you’re still calling the shots, Moser. But I heard your so-called spiritual leaders horned in and took over.”

“Shut up, bitch,” Little Bear snapped.

“Bet that burns your ass. You’re nothing but a whipping boy. Literally. I heard about the ‘toughening’ rituals. Do these advisers let you do anything without their permission? Or do you obey like good little conquered Indians and do what they tell you?”

Randall leaped to his feet. “How’d you know? That big-mouthed bitch Sue Anne-”

Moser punched Randall in the jaw and Randall hit the dirt like a hailstone. Then Moser focused on me. Little Bear flanked his left side.

“You don’t know shit.”

“Yeah? Sue Anne told me a bunch of stuff. So did Levi.”

Moser’s nasty, snaggle-toothed grin appeared. “Whatever Sue Anne said was a lie. And Levi didn’t know nothing. Besides, ain’t like you can ask him.”

Little Bear laughed.

“Gang-raping Lanae Mesteth wasn’t a lie, and I know that’s why Sue Anne stopped going to meetings.” When none of the guys disputed my statement, I had that sinking sensation in my gut.

I grasped for something solid. A threat they hadn’t considered. “If I call Lanae and tell her Sue Anne was murdered, she’ll come back here and testify against all of you and your leaders.”

No response.

Someone a lot more intimidating than me kept these boys on a short leash. “Why is their identity such a secret? Why are you guys protecting them? You know they wouldn’t do the same for any of you.”

That got Moser’s attention. He muttered in Lakota to Little Bear and they each took a step sideways.

Ooh, I didn’t like the looks of divide and conquer.

As I reached for my gun, a banshee wailed behind Little Bear. My fingers froze on the grip. Next thing I knew, a broom handle thwacked Little Bear across his upper back with enough force he crashed to the ground.

Swish swish crack. Another grunt of pain. This time from Moser. I saw he’d curled his left hand over his right bicep.

Before Moser recovered, another loud crack sounded as the stick connected with his shins. Moaning, he fell to his knees.

I looked up to see who’d come to my rescue.

Hope.

I blinked. Hope? What was she doing here?

Before I could warn her to get the hell back, she brandished the long stick above her head like a Valkyrie poised for battle. “Which one of you bastards did it?”

No one uttered a peep.

“Somebody better start talking.” Hope pointed the end of the stick at Bucky, jabbing him hard in the sternum. “You. Now. Talk. Why is my son dead?”

“I-I d-don’t know.”

“Liar!” She swung the stick so fast if Bucky hadn’t ducked, his fat head would’ve been pulp. “Try again.”

I’d never seen this side of my sister. It was as beautiful as it was scary.

“We didn’t have nothing to do with Levi getting killed,” Bucky said.

“Then why all the intimidation and shit, huh? Why’d you act like you were gonna beat the crap outta my sister if you haven’t done nothing wrong?”

Randall blurted, “Because we’re scared! And now she comes around asking the same questions we been asking each other-”

“Shut the fuck up, Meeks,” Little Bear snarled.

Hope’s shrill laugh could’ve shattered glass. “You should be scared. Of me. So help me God, if I find out one of you punks killed my son, I will track you down and beat you to death.”

I moved to stand by Hope, poised to make an escape. Someone would notice us before too much longer, and, like Dawson, I’d rather avoid dealing with tribal cops.

“If you guys are telling the truth, and you didn’t have anything to do with your friends ending up dead, I guess I’d worry if the secrets I was keeping are worth dying for. I’d be freaking out that I’d be the next one.”

They had nothing to say to that either.

Hope warned, “Don’t follow us. Stay right there until we’re gone.” She wielded the stick as we backed away.

We rode in silence to the Indian Health Services Hospital and parked in the visitors’ lot.

An SUV towing a fishing boat screamed up to the emergency room entrance. I couldn’t see what injury constituted an emergency, so out of habit my mind supplied all sorts of gruesome images involving fishhooks, fillet knives, and propellers.

I rolled my window down. The night air smelled stagnant: old sweat socks mixed with sewer gas and dead animals. “Thanks for coming to my rescue tonight.”

Hope smiled slightly.

“How did you happen to stumble across me in Eagle River? When we’re both miles from home.”

“Does kinda smack of coincidence.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m channeling John-John’s psychic abilities. I just knew I needed to get away from Theo after supper.”

Get away from lover boy? That was new.

“Whenever I’m on the rez, I’d swing by the rec center because Levi usually needed a ride home. Old habits die hard, I guess, and I noticed Daddy’s truck. Then I heard you talking and saw those guys surrounding you. I ran back for a weapon.”

Good thing she hadn’t seen my gun. “Whether a fluke or divine karma, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Hope settled her neck against the headrest.

“Is everything okay?”

“Not really.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking about what Levi said, about the baby, before he… Maybe Theo is expecting me to take care of the baby on my own. I already did that once. Not something I want to go through again.”

I knew little about her husband. During the few years she’d been married, before Mario died, I’d come home less than usual. “Mario wasn’t around much?”

“Hardly ever. Sounds mean, but I was so damn mad at him when he got killed in that accident. He didn’t leave us money. Don’t know what I would’ve done if Daddy hadn’t given me the trailer. I had no other place to go. I couldn’t tell Jake about Levi and take his charity.”

I shivered, unnerved by the feeling I didn’t know my sister at all.

“Know what’s kind of funny, though?”

“What?”

“I always wanted to be like you. Leave here, leave Daddy. Start my life over away from the damn ranch and the folks in town who always look at me with pity. ‘Oh, that’s Hope Gunderson. A horse killed the girl’s mother when she was only three. And then, the poor little thing blew her best friend’s head clean off when she was barely five. Such a tragedy.’”

Why had I thought Hope had it easier? A strange thought niggled. Maybe she wasn’t the selfish one in our family.

“Now maybe I finally have the chance to leave.”

“Do you want to?”

“I want to run as far as I can whenever I hear the people talking about me being a bad mother.”

“Who? I’ll give those self-righteous biddies a piece of my mind.”

“It’s okay, Mercy. Some of what they’re saying is true. I know I didn’t always do right by Levi.”

“Hope-”

“I’m not making excuses. I loved him. He knew I loved him.” Her voice was a raw whisper. “Lord, I loved that kid so much. My life isn’t ever gonna be the same without my boy. My guts are tied up in knots every morning when I wake up and realize I’ll never see his sweet face again.”

My deep sigh resounded in the anguished quiet.

She reached for my hand and squeezed, but she didn’t look at me. “You were starting to love him, too. That means a lot to me.”

“I’ll find out who did this to him. I swear.”

“I know you will.”

We held hands, but I couldn’t tell if it was for her benefit or for mine.

Finally, Hope gathered herself and started the car. “I’ll take you back to your truck and follow you home in case one of them boys gets a fool idea about doing the same thing. We crazy Gunderson women gotta stick together, don’t we?”

“Yeah.”

When had the tables turned and she’d become my ally? My protector?

It didn’t matter. I was just glad I wasn’t alone.

My morning yoga practice didn’t offer me the usual sense of calm, which disturbed me on several levels. The last fifteen years I’d come to rely on yoga, not only to keep my muscles pliable, but also as a mental refuge where I existed only as deep breath and flowing poses.

Firing a gun gave me the same sense of otherworldliness. The repetition of loading clips. Reconfiguring. Firing. Replacing targets. Loading more clips. More firing. Then the smell of clean cotton and gun oil as I performed my cleaning ritual.

I could drag out my guns and complete my mental health regiment. Ooh. I could call it Yoga Zen and the Art of Assassination. Maybe that’s what I should do-make a DVD.

On the other hand, I hadn’t done any shooting since before Levi’s murder. Seemed a waste of time, trying to keep myself on top of my game, when the truth was I’d pretty much fallen to the bottom of the heap.

I’d put in my twenty. My choices were re-up for another four or get the hell out. Contrary to popular myth, the U.S. government did not bar soldiers from retiring during wartime. Still, I dreaded making the phone call. I left a message for my CO with a personal update on my health condition, and requested she start the paperwork.

Paperwork. Ugh. I hated paperwork, and it was a reminder of another chore I’d put off: cleaning Dad’s office.

I’d mostly avoided his sacred space since his death. First, because it was an ungodly mess. Second, it’d feel too much like snooping. I’d heard horror stories about the bizarre things adult children uncovered about their aged parents. I doubted Dad horded a stash of porn. Or hid letters from a secret admirer.

Once, when I still believed in happily-ever-after, I asked Dad if he ever considered remarrying. His reply? Any woman would be a step down from my mother. He’d been a man of few words, so the potent ones always stuck with me.

The coffee was fairly fresh, so I reheated a mug and ventured into the mouth of the beast.

When I opened the door, grief hit me like a Bradley assault vehicle. The room smelled like Dad: the spicy scent of Red Man chewing tobacco, Old English aftershave, and newspapers. A trace of cow shit. He’d never quite mastered wiping off his boots. After they’d taken his leg Sophie quit pestering him about it.

I braced my shoulders against the door and fought a prickle of tears.

Dammit, Mercy, get ahold of yourself.

I forced myself across the room. Another wave of sadness tightened my gut when I saw the month on his desk blotter hadn’t changed since March-the last time he’d been in here. I moved his monstrous office chair out of the corner and over to the desk. It’d nearly killed him to give it up after he’d become wheelchair bound.

My fingers traced the cracks in the seat. White stuffing stuck out like milkweed puffs. Grease stains darkened the tan leather headrest where Dad leaned back to “think” but most likely to sneak in a nap. Damn chair hadn’t seen a can of WD-40 in years. The lever to adjust the height was busted, leaving it in the lowest position. When I squeaked up to the mahogany desk, I really felt I was playing grown-up.

I sighed. Where to start? Piles teetered on every horizontal surface. I grabbed a random file folder and opened it. Invoices from Nelson’s for hay. Holy shit. That’s how much hay cost? I squinted and double-checked the date. That was the price of hay last fall.

Jake handled the day-to-day expenses and writing checks from the ranch account. Our accountant, Carol, managed the rest: payroll, filing taxes, and all the legal junk I knew nothing about. Saint Carol also paid my bills while I was overseas, not that I incurred many. Because of the war, I hadn’t traveled much in recent years even if I was granted a rare leave, so I had one indulgence: my Viper.

Maintaining the ranch books was a tradition passed down to the females who’d married into the Gunderson family. My mother, Sunny; my grandmother, Faith, before her; and my great-grandmother, Patience, before she took over the reins from my crazy great-great-grandmother, Grace. Bet she’d produced some creative numbers.

I made three piles. Keep. Throw away. And no clue. Most of the paperwork hit the trash bin. Receipts for cowboy boots from 1993? Newspaper clippings about rodeo results? A bull sale catalog from Montana?

One box of files dealt with cattle bought and sold. The lineage, both bull and heifer. Milk weight-gain ratios for the calves up to weaning. Grain weight-gain ratios for the calves after weaning. Feedlot weight gain and the sale prices.

It made my head spin. All this information needed to be logged in a computer program and the Gunderson Ranch brought into the twenty-first century.

You’d think I’d know this stuff, growing up on a big working cattle ranch. Not so. Kit McIntyre had been right about one thing: Dad had kept Hope and me sheltered from everything but the surface stuff. Now I wondered if my lack of interest in something so dear to his heart had hurt him.

I tackled the files on the left-hand side of his desk, which held the most recent bills and bank statements. Ten years ago I’d set up an emergency-cash fund for the ranch after Dad let it slip things were tight. Despite his pride, he agreed to borrow money from me rather than the county bank. Dad grew up hearing stories about the dirty ’30s and he didn’t really trust banks, so he also squirrel-holed a chunk of cash in the safe, just in case the banks went bust again.

No one knew about the financial arrangement but us. I’d never demanded an accounting of how he’d spent the funds. Yet seeing that account $85,000 less than the last time I’d checked made my eyes bug out of my head.

No doubt we were cash poor. Thank God the county provided his health insurance and he’d purchased a modest life insurance policy before his diabetes diagnosis or we’d be in big financial trouble. He’d spent two months in a nursing home. I feared he’d been sentient enough to know he hadn’t been dying on his beloved ranch.

As I stacked the last file, I noticed a manila envelope sticking out from under the desk blotter. An oversight on Dad’s part? Or had he hidden it for a specific reason? My heart pounded a little as I opened it.

Nothing incriminating, just loose paper, handwritten notes and business letters. The first note scrawled in his precise penmanship read:

The Swamp Rats-investment company based in Florida

Had the Swamp Rats contacted Dad? Or had he contacted them?

No. He’d never sell. Wouldn’t even consider it.

Would he?

I flipped to the next page. For several seconds I blinked in disbelief. My eyes had to be playing tricks on me. I tracked the legal gibberish on a contract with a Montana real estate assessment firm to assess the value of the Gunderson Ranch.

Dated six months before he’d died.

Goddammit. Why hadn’t Dad told me? And if he’d paid for the assessment, where was it? I knew it hadn’t been in the stack of legal documents dealing with the estate. What was this place worth? My best guess-somewhere around $30 million-was probably way short of the mark.

I carefully picked through the rest of the paperwork. Nothing more.

My coffee had gone cold. In just a couple of hours I’d basically cleared the desk. I stood, stretched, and looked around the cluttered room. It wouldn’t take long to get this space spic and span. Dad wasn’t big on sentimentality.

Six pictures decorated his desk. A wedding photo. Not a stiff pose of the couple poised on the altar-rather, a close-up of young Sunny and Wyatt, gazing into each other’s eyes, smiling like crazy-in-love fools. Another one of him and me, posing next to the eight-point buck I’d shot the year I’d turned twelve. Hope’s senior photo. A pic of me in my uniform after graduation from basic training. A snapshot of him and Hope; she cradled a red-faced baby Levi, and he grinned with grandfatherly pride. Levi’s most recent school picture.

Anger supplanted my melancholy. Levi had his whole life ahead of him and someone snuffed it out. Why was I sitting in this stuffy office when I should’ve been out finding answers?

While I stewed, the front doorbell rang. Weird. No one used the front door.

I opened it to see Kit McIntyre soiling my welcome mat. He didn’t bother trying to charm me. “Can I come in and talk to you?”

“About?”

“A couple things. Please. I won’t stay long.”

Stupid inbred midwestern hospitality: I let him in. He headed for the kitchen. By the size of his belly he was probably trolling for Sophie’s famous gingersnap cookies.

“So, why are you here?”

“Lots of people are talking about what happened the day of Levi’s funeral. When you run off them out-of-state guys.”

“They didn’t show any respect for my family. Someone needed to let them know we don’t put up with that.”

Kit nodded vigorously. “I know what you’re saying. I had the same problem with those folks who bought the old Jackson place. Not a friendly one in the lot. I stopped there. Even though they bought the place from me last year, they ain’t got the time of day for me.”

I frowned. I couldn’t imagine they’d be reselling so soon. “Why were you there?” Iris had kept hounding me about heading over and seeing the damage they’d done in hopes I’d sign her petition, but I’d put social visits on the back burner.

He paused.

And then I knew. I waited for the lie.

“Just being neighborly.”

The west side was the most accessible section of our land that showcased the river flowing through the canyon. Of all the places on the ranch, that gorgeous vista would bring top dollar. So I figured Kit tried to schmooze the owners of the old Jackson place into letting him onto the Gunderson Ranch. Why? Because I’d denied him access and he wanted to prove my threats were idle?

I didn’t know whether to be pissed off or pissed off. And… pissed off won.

“Kit, I told you what I’d do if I caught you trespassing.”

Out came the good-ol’-boy grin. “Now see, Mercy, that’s where you and I don’t see eye to eye. I don’t think of it as trespassing. I think of it more as a sneak peek at the potential uses for such a unique piece of property.”

“It is a shame and a waste of your time. No one needs a peek because the Gunderson Ranch is not for sale.”

His face fell. “But… I thought you told them guys no because we had an agreement that you’d at least consider the offer from my investment group first. And Hi said you’d stopped by his place. How can you say no when you haven’t even heard it?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. You could offer me $100 million and I wouldn’t sell a single inch to you.”

He sneered, “It ain’t worth that kinda money.”

I didn’t respond. Just waited for him to pull the noose a little tighter.

“So that’s it?”

“Yep. I’ll show you out.” I stood and walked to the kitchen door.

His big belt buckled scraped the table edge as he pushed away. “Trey was right. You are stone cold.”

He’d succeeded in jarring me. “You know Trey?”

“Could say that. The boy’s been working for me for the last year.”

Kit’s nasty smile curled my innards.

A thought occurred to me: had Trey knocked me out that night at Clementine’s on Kit’s orders? Then “found” me and offered to take me home? He’d actually slept in my room, in my bed, right next to me. The opportunistic little fucker could’ve slit my throat in my sleep.

Just like Sue Anne’s.

A worse thought arose: had Kit or someone else killed my nephew in the ultimate ploy to cause us additional grief? Thinking neither Hope nor I would want to stick around after such tragedies befell us? He’d threatened me. Had he executed his threat by executing my nephew?

My violent streak surfaced. I pushed him hard. The sudden move knocked Kit’s hat off his head, as well as the John Wayne collectible plate off the wall. Using a wristlock, I whipped him around and rammed his face against the wall. “Did you kill Levi? Or did you use that rhinestone cowboy Trey?”

He squirmed. “What is wrong with you?”

I shoved harder, trying to catch his bulbous nose on the nail that had held the plate. “I’m pissed off, Kit. So if I were you, I’d start talking before you see what I’m like when I’m”-another push from me-”extremely pissed off.”

“W-wh-what do you want to know?”

“To know if you had anything, and I mean even a fucking whisper, to do with Levi being murdered.”

“No! What kind of a man do you think I am?”

“Slimy, but I assumed you weren’t stupid enough to mess with me.”

“Let me go.”

The vicious part of me longed to inflict more damage. I had to force that part to let go of his hands. Immediately I backed up, in case he decided to come out swinging.

Kit grunted as he bent down and plucked up his hat. He fingered the bent brim and wouldn’t meet my eyes. Embarrassed to have been shown up by a woman. Too bad.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this. I’m chalking it up to grief. But I will tell you that if you ever come at me like that again, you’ll be sorry.”

He stomped past me and out the door.

I let the adrenaline fade, picked up the broken plate, and poured myself a glass of water.

Christ. It’d already been a long-ass day. But it’d be an even longer wait until nightfall.

After a lunch of peanut-butter crackers and grapes, I called Geneva. No answer. I called Rollie. No answer. I called John-John. No answer. Why didn’t people answer their damn phones? I hated talking to machines, but I left messages anyway.

I hated to admit I was lonely and wished Sophie and Hope were around.

Sick of silence and my own crappy company, I flopped on the couch and indulged in an entire afternoon of TV. All classics: Petticoat Junction, Green Acres, and Hogan’s Heroes. Reminded me I’d always wanted a pet pig named Arnold. Maybe it was time to seriously look into it. Wouldn’t Sophie have a fit? Cheered by that thought I roused myself and ventured outside.

It neared Jake’s usual quitting time, and I needed to talk to him before he left. I assumed he’d be in the place he loved and I hated: the old wooden barn. As far as barns went, it was considered antique. Constructed of wide oak planks, painted red, with a hayloft; a Norman Rockwell portrait come to life. Charming, right? Wrong. For me it was a mausoleum.

I inhaled a calming breath and scooted inside. With the hayloft door closed, it stayed dark. The narrow walkway to the stalls was littered with loose pieces of hay. The smell never changed, even after everything had been scrubbed down. Horse sweat, horseshit, wet leather, wet wool, hay dust, dirt, and feed. Mud. Plus the chemical odor of the pesticide needed to keep the flies down.

Three of the four stalls housed horses. I didn’t linger, just made a straight line to the tack room.

Jake looked up at me with surprise. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just needed fresh air.”

“Then you’re in the wrong place. The air’s mighty stuffy in here.” He glanced down at the ropes in his hands instead of at me when he remarked, “Didn’t think you came out here.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“I seen Kit McIntyre’s fancy-ass rig pull up. What’d he want?”

“To buy the ranch. I said no. He didn’t listen. I said no with a little more force. Don’t think he’ll be back.”

“Shee. Watch out for him. He’s a sneaky one.”

“He doesn’t scare me.” I forced my foot onto the plastic milk crate by the wall so I wouldn’t run out. “Anyway, think you could get some specific information about the next meeting time and place for the Warrior Society from Bernie?”

Jake’s work-roughened hands stopped twisting the rope. Slowly his gaze met mine. “Why?”

“Randall let it slip they’re meeting with the leaders in the next couple of days. I want to know where and when.”

“I don’t know how much Bernie can help. Bernie said a couple of months after Axel was initiated into the group, Axel quit.”

“From what I’ve heard, no one can quit.”

“Huh. He did. Anyway, Axel refused to tell Bernie who the leaders are because of some secret oath.”

“Would Bernie talk to me?”

Jake frowned. “I don’t know. He’s kinda closemouthed. What’d you learn from Rollie?”

“About the same thing you just told me. But he gave his blessing for me to poke around on the rez.”

“Think you mean curse.”

I smiled. “What’re your plans for tonight?”

“Hang out. Watch TV.” His eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing?”

“Taking the Viper out for a spin. The girl gets antsy. Might see what’s up at Clementine’s.”

“I don’t like the look on your face, Mercy.”

I smiled again. Wider. “Just be damn glad that look isn’t aimed at you tonight.”