Merciless (14 page)

“Look, Mercy, you know we’re less rigid in this office than other FBI offices. You
and me? We’re not officially partners. But we’re both on this case. That means sharing
all information, whenever that information is uncovered.”

“So you’re saying I should’ve called you Saturday night, after I talked to Junior.”

“Yes. And instead of running out of here on Friday like a scolded pup, you should’ve
taken me aside and explained exactly why I was flying blind, and that you’d talked
to another witness with new information.”

“Scolded pup?” I repeated. “Sir, I didn’t leave on Friday, I was
dismissed
by Director Shenker. Which was a good thing, given that you’d made my trigger finger
awful goddamn itchy during that meeting.”

His lips twitched. “So noted. Anything else you want to tell me?”

“Case-related? No.” I paused. “But as long as we’re in disclosure mode, you should
know that as of last night Dawson’s eleven-year-old son, Lex, is living with us.”

“For how long?”

“I’m pretty sure for good.”

“Huh.” He eyed me over his cup of coffee. “You up for the challenge of parenthood,
Mama Mercy?”

That sounded weird. “Hell if I know.”

“At least you’re honest.”

Not really. I hadn’t been totally up front with Mason. It’d feel like betraying him
if I confessed to Shay that I wasn’t sure how this situation with Lex would work out.
A happy outcome mattered to Dawson, but it gave our relationship, which was still
new, a different dynamic. As much
as I claimed I wouldn’t be the boy’s mother, in effect, I would have a part in raising
him. Didn’t that define parenting?

Shay gathered the papers he’d spread over the desk.

“Can I have those to make copies? Since I won’t be back in this office the rest of
the week?”

“Sure.” He handed me the stack. “You really think you’ll find correlating cases, or
events that should’ve been designated federal cases that have been overlooked?”

“I don’t know. But I’m on this assignment until Director Shenker releases me.” I could
tell Turnbull wasn’t happy. He also knew he had only himself to blame. “Have a good
week, Shay.”

I’d made it to the door when he said, “Mercy. Wait.”

I didn’t turn around.

“If you need something this week, just call me. I can be there in an hour and a half.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I almost relented and asked if he wanted to come to the
party tonight, but I bit my tongue and went to make copies.

I
wasn’t sure how this dinner party stuff was supposed to work. Since it was at my
house, was I expected to act as the hostess? Would I be in the kitchen while other
folks mingled?

Someone had parked in my spot at the ranch. But I shoved that annoyance aside and
watched Lex playing fetch with the dogs. I wandered over to the old barn. Shoonga
raced circles around me, but Butch had his eye on the prize.

Lex let the ball fly, and Butch was off like a shot. Shoonga gave chase.

I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Hey, Lex. How was school today?”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“How do you like your teacher?”
Lame, Mercy.

“She’s all right.”

“That’s good to hear. Do you have homework?” Lamer yet.
Why don’t you just put him on the spot and ask if he made any new friends today?

“I already did it.”

“Great. So you up for this par-tay?”

He whipped the ball after Butch dropped it at his feet. “I guess. One of the kids
in my class is coming. Doug . . . I don’t know his last name.”

“Illingsworth. He’s my friend Geneva’s son.”

“So you really don’t got any kids?”

“Nope, I’m not able to have children.”

Lex’s eyebrows lifted. “Ever?”

“Ever.”

“Huh. So you and my dad won’t have more kids?”

I hadn’t considered that might concern him. The displaced-by-a-new-baby
issue that Levi had struggled with after he found out his mom was pregnant. “Guess
it’s just you.”

I thought I heard him mutter “No pressure” as he whizzed the tennis ball again.

A beat passed before he faced me. “So who’s the teenage kid in the pictures around
the house?”

That sense of loss punched me in the gut. “My nephew, Levi. He was Hope and Jake’s
son.”

“Was?” He blinked. “Oh, wow. He’s dead?”

I nodded. “Last year.”

“How’d he die?”

How did I know he’d ask that? “He was murdered.”

His cheeks paled. “Really?”

“Yeah. So you can imagine it’s hard for us to talk about, but if you hear us mention
him, at least you’ll know who we mean.” I offered him a wan smile. “Shoonga was Levi’s
dog. But we all sort of share him.”

Lex didn’t say anything else, so I took a deep breath and entered the Gunderson/Dawson
party zone.

Not as much chaos as I expected in the kitchen. Sophie stirred a pot on the stove.
Her daughter Penny arranged sliced veggies on a silver platter. Hope organized disposable
plates, cups, and silverware on the table with Joy cocked on her hip. I said a quick
hello and went to my bedroom to ditch my gun before Hope had a meltdown.

I really needed thirty minutes to myself, either pounding the gravel as I ran, or
working out the day’s stress on my yoga mat. But mind-clearing exercise wasn’t a possibility,
so I donned party duds—my rhinestone encrusted Miss Me jeans, a long-sleeved Rockies
blouse the color of lilacs, a Nocona belt dotted with silver conches, and my Justin
clogs.

Dawson and I passed each other in the hallway. He gave me a quick kiss and vanished
into our room to stash his gun.

Some women might have an issue with other women taking over their kitchen. Not me.
Mostly because the kitchen had always been Sophie’s domain. So no one gave me a strange
look when I asked, “What can I do?”

“Keep an eye on Joy, now that you’re unarmed,” Hope sniffed, shoving the squirmy baby
at me.

I checked out her party clothes. The little jeans I’d bought her with butterflies
on the butt, and a pink sweater with a carousel horse and
GIDDY-UP!
emblazoned on the front. I kissed her chubby cheek and whispered, “Lookin’ good,
Poopy.” Then I just happened to glance over at Sophie’s daughter, Penny.

Holy crap. She was not looking good. Not at all. Thin to the point of emaciated, she
wore a burgundy bandana to hide her bald head. Her brown eyes held that expression
of chronic pain, an expression I’d heard my father wore during the last month of his
life.

She caught me staring at her. “Thanks for invitin’ me to the party, hey. I doan seem
to get out much these days, ’cept for goin’ to the doctor and stuff.”

I sat across from her. “I’m happy you’re here. Now I’ve got a witness to back up how
much your mom picks on me.”

The air behind me moved as Sophie flapped her dish towel at my head. “
Shee
. I ain’t started to pick on you yet. Lucky thing you’re holdin’ that sweet baby,
or I’d start right now.”

Penny smiled at Joy.

Joy fisted her tiny hands in the tablecloth and yanked with a happy shriek. “Hey,
troublemaker, you’re not quite up to Criss Angel’s level with the old pull-the-tablecloth-off-the-table
trick yet.” I stood before she did any real damage.

“I love babies. I would’ve liked to’ve had grandkids.”

John-John, being gay, wouldn’t ever have kidlets. And his sister, Penny’s daughter
Christina, had died in a car accident before Sophie came to work for us. My fleeting
thought that such tragedy just seemed to befall some families was squashed when I
realized most folks in Eagle River County thought the same thing about the Gundersons.

Devlin Pretty Horses, Sophie’s freeloading son, swooped in and grabbed a handful of
veggies. “Grandkids ain’t all they’re cracked up to be, trust me.”

I’d never liked Devlin. A guy pushing sixty, who’d always lived with his mother? Pathetic.
It’d be one thing if Devlin ever did a damn thing except sit on his ass and watch
TV. Sophie made excuses for his lazy ways—excuses I’d stopped listening to when I
was in high school. I slapped on a polite smile. “Devlin, I didn’t know you were here.”

“Been keeping an eye on the score. I got money ridin’ on this game.”

Another reason I disliked him. I wondered how much of Sophie’s salary fed his gambling
addiction.

“Got any beer?” Devlin asked.

“Devlin, you promised no drinking tonight,” Sophie half pleaded. “You’re driving us
home.”

“Relax, old woman. One beer won’t put me over the limit.”

“There’s beer in the cooler on the front porch,” Hope said helpfully.

Sophie scowled at Hope.

Devlin stood there for a second, as if he expected his mother to fetch it for him.
Muttering, he headed out the door.

“So are John-John and Muskrat coming tonight?” I asked Penny.

“Just my son. Muskrat has to keep an eye on the bar.” She pushed a line of carrot
sticks closer to the sliced radishes. “I could use a stiff drink.”

Sophie turned and frowned at her daughter. “It’ll just make you sick.”

“And since I feel sick ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, I can’t see why
I shouldn’t have one. ’Cause it ain’t like it’s gonna kill me.”

The woman had cancer. Why would anyone begrudge her a drink? “I’ll make you one.”

Penny gave me a grateful look.

I could knock back a shot or two of Wild Turkey, but since I’d been saddled with Joy,
booze was off limits for me. I wondered if that’d been my sister’s intention.

The door opened and disgorged a group of people. John-John. Geneva; her husband, Brent;
and their large brood. Kiki, in uniform, although my eagle eye noticed she’d also
ditched her gun. Bernice from the sheriff’s office. Our hired hands, TJ and Luke Red
Leaf, and their wives, Lucy and Ruby. I wouldn’t have thought it strange that they
clustered together, instead of gathering around Penny, Sophie, and John-John, if I
hadn’t recently noticed the tension between the Red Leaf and Pretty Horses relatives.
Our neighbors, Tim and Kathy Lohstroh. Our other neighbors, Mike and Jackie Quinn.

Ten thousand kids ran in and out.

Dogs barked.

Hope plucked Joy from my hands as Rollie and Verline strolled in, sans kids.

Sophie harrumphed and gave them her back. John-John whispered something to his mother.
And she shook her head vehemently.

Appeared I was the only person who intended to welcome them. “Hey guys, glad you could
come. Can I getcha something to drink?”

“Anything with booze for me,” Rollie said.

Verline stuck close to Rollie, which didn’t seem to make him happy.

I poured the whiskey and water, one each for Rollie, Penny, Dawson, and Geneva, and
a double for myself. After I handed them out, I heard Dawson yelling for me. I drained
the shot and cut through the crowd that’d spilled into the living room. The last time
we’d had this many people in the house had been after Levi’s funeral.

Dawson stood in front of the TV with his hands on Lex’s shoulders. He motioned me
to stand by his side. “I’d like to thank Hope and Miz Red Leaf for surprising us with
the idea for a party welcoming my son, Lex, to South Dakota.”

I caught Geneva’s eye and she mouthed “Sucker” to me. Mature, not to stick my tongue
out at her or flip her off.

“As of this morning, Lex is enrolled in Eagle Ridge Middle School in sixth grade for
the entire school year.”

Clapping.

“Son, anything else you want to add?”

Lex’s face turned a darker shade of red, and he shook his head.

“Ain’t gonna be able to get away with nothin’ with your dad as the sheriff, boy,”
Devlin shouted out.

Laughter.

“That didn’t seem to keep Mercy outta trouble, though, when Wyatt was sheriff,” Tim
Lohstroh said dryly.

More laughter.

“Thanks, everyone, for coming. I believe it’s time to eat, so help yourselves. The
food, as always, will be excellent, again thanks to Miz Red Leaf and Hope.”

Kiki offered her hand to Lex. “I’m glad you’re here, and I imagine we’ll be seeing
you at the sheriff’s office.”

Lex nodded. His shyness with adults surprised me.

Geneva approached next. “Lex, I’m Doug’s mom. I hope we’ll see you at our place soon.”
She winked. “Always plenty of chores to do.”

“My dad said I’d have chores to do around here.”

When Geneva said, “It builds character,” I rolled my eyes. We’d made fun of our folks
endlessly for saying those exact same words to us at that age.

I stood close enough to Dawson that I heard his stomach rumble. I looked up at him
and touched his arm. “Skipped lunch again today, Sheriff?”

“Got a little busy.”

“You’re starving. You guys get in line.”

“You comin’?”

“In a minute.”

Geneva smirked at me after they headed for the kitchen. “Aw, lookit you, worrying
for your man’s appetite and well-being.”

I whispered, “Fuck off,” in her ear.

She laughed. “You are so freakin’ easy to tease, Mercy. And I’ll admit, being domesticated
and in love suits you. You look . . . happy. For a change.”

Much as I hated the word
domesticated,
I couldn’t deny I was happy.

“At least your job with the FBI hasn’t put you two at odds. Yet. Can you tell me anything
about the murder that happened on the rez?”

Of course Geneva put a disclaimer on my happiness—not to be mean, but because she
knew me well. I’d mentally done the same thing.

“You know I can’t comment on cases, except to say, it was a hellish week.”

She lowered her voice. “And in addition to that stress, you’re okay being mommy to
Dawson’s boy?”

“(A) I’m not his mommy, and (b) yes, without giving you more ammunition, I’m glad
Lex is here because Mason is so happy about it.”

“It’s all about making your man happy. Stroking his . . . ego.”

“Jesus, give it a rest.”

But smart-ass Geneva went ahead and made kissing noises anyway, so I elbowed her in
the gut.