Merciless (7 page)

“Since this is all so freakin’
confidential,
you’ll keep my name out of it when you talk to Junior?”

I knew a Junior. Problem was, I knew several of them, including the teenage Junior
who’d been part of the trio to discover Arlette’s body. “Of course. But Naomi didn’t
tell me how
you
knew Junior.”

She slumped beside me. “We lived in the same trailer court for a while, until my stupid
mom got us kicked out.”

“Which trailer court?”

“The Diamond T, outside of the rez.”

Goddammit. The Junior I was thinking of
was
Junior Rondeaux—who lived in that same trailer court with his dad and Verline. Now
I was more than a little pissed that Rollie hadn’t mentioned his son Junior’s connection
to Arlette Shooting Star.

A chill raised gooseflesh on my arms. Was that why Rollie had sought me out? To share
his suspicion that his son was somehow involved in Arlette’s death?

No. He’d never tip off the feds, especially not when it came to family.

My silence must’ve been the signal for Mackenzie to talk.

“Look, I was just playin’ with Arlette, introducing her to Junior. She and Naomi were
so freakin’ . . . ridiculous about that
Twilight
shit. Talking about it all the time. Acting like it was real. I overheard them talking
about wanting to meet someone like Jacob—a mystical Indian with family ties to the
old ways. People around here whisper about Junior’s old man bein’ all-powerful, so
I teased Arlette about knowing a guy like that. I didn’t expect she’d become obsessed
with him. I strung her along for a while before I introduced them. But I didn’t know
there was such bad blood between Junior’s old man and Arlette’s uncle.”

“Did Arlette’s uncle know she was seeing Junior Rondeaux?”

Mackenzie shook her head. “But Junior’s dad knew about Arlette and told Junior to
break it off with her.”

“Did he?”

“I don’t know. They both stopped talking to me.”

“How long ago was this?” At her blank look, I clarified, “When did you introduce them?”

“Over a month ago.”

That fit with Naomi’s time frame of when Arlette started acting strangely. But something
else didn’t fit. No one in the entire Eagle River community knew about Junior and
Arlette sneaking around? Bull. The rez was a hotbed of gossip. Why hadn’t anyone come
forward with this information?

You’re surprised no one is spilling their guts to the tribal police? Or the feds?

I glanced at Mackenzie and was shocked to see her hands covering her face. “What’s
wrong?”

She raised her head and stared at me through teary eyes. “Arlette was a dork, but
I didn’t want her to die.”

“Do you think Junior could’ve killed her?”

No answer.

I looked away when a car door slammed, and when I refocused on
Mackenzie, she’d ducked down, vanishing into the sea of cars. The abrupt end to our
conversation left me unsettled.

Officer Ferguson frowned as she approached me. “I figured you’d be back from lunch
before now.”

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and waggled it. “Got waylaid by a phone call.
What’s up?”

“Nothing. I thought I saw you talking to someone, but you must’ve been talking to
yourself.”

“Hazard of the job.” I shoved my cell in my pocket. “I came out here to get a sweater.
Can’t you guys crank the heat up in that conference room? I think I have frostbite.”

She laughed. “I’ll see what I can do for you, Gunny.”

•   •   •

A few hours later I drove to the Diamond T.

The trailer court looked as crappy and run-down as it always had. Busted windows in
the trailers, broken-down cars parked everywhere, trash blowing back and forth between
falling-down fences. Talk about a rural slum.

It was early enough in the day that kids weren’t home from school yet. Their suspicious
stares on my last visit reminded me of the ragged children in war-torn Iraq; their
smiles had never quite masked the hatred in their eyes.

I parked behind a blue Dodge Caravan with a broken rear window that had been repaired
with plastic dry-cleaning bags and lime-green duct tape. The back end of Rollie’s
truck jutted out from the gravel driveway between the doublewide and the garage.

A dog barked, starting a chain reaction of howls, from one littered yard to the next,
as I got out of my pickup.

I climbed the rickety steps and knocked on the screen, expecting to wait. But the
inner door swung open immediately. Verline stood inside the jamb, a diaper-clad toddler
cocked on her hip. “Rollie ain’t here.”

“Thanks for the update, but I’m looking for Junior.”

She shifted the fussy boy. “Why?”

“I need to ask him a few questions.”

“It’d be a waste of time. Unlike his father, he ain’t gonna talk to you.”

“So does Junior still live here?”

“Not since Rollie kicked him out.”

I resisted asking if that’d happened after Rollie found out about Junior’s alleged
involvement with Arlette Shooting Star. “Have you seen him recently?”

An anxious look flitted across her weary face. “He shows up when he knows his old
man ain’t around.”

“Do you know why Rollie sent him packing?”

Verline shook her head.

“Did Junior mention where he was staying the last time you saw him?”

She averted her eyes, and then tugged on the boy’s diaper before she looked at me
again. “I didn’t ask.”

I let it slide, even though I was sure she was lying.

An excruciatingly loud wail came from inside the house. Holy crap. Did that new little
baby have a monster set of lungs. Then the toddler started shrieking and hitting Verline
on the shoulder with his tiny fists.

“I gotta go.” And she slammed the door in my face.

A
nd once again, Dawson wasn’t home.

The dogs were happy to see me. I rewarded their enthusiasm by playing fetch, whipping
the tennis ball across the yard.

Over the past few months Shoonga and Butch had become best buds. Shoonga was clearly
the alpha dog, since the ranch was his turf. Butch followed Shoonga around, content
to follow his lead—except when it came to fetch. Butch turned fiercely competitive
whenever a bouncing ball appeared. He’d knock Shoonga’s doggie mug into the dirt every
chance he could. It amused the heck outta me seeing the two dogs yipping and nipping
at each other, hackles raised, teeth bared and fur flying whenever that yellow fuzz-covered
ball bounced.

Kind of reminded me . . . of Shay and me.

I petted and praised the pups, poured extra food for them on the porch, and entered
my empty house.

The kitchen sparkled thanks to Sophie’s efforts. She’d left a note on the table about
laundry.

Although Sophie had been doing domestic chores for our family since my mother had
died, she was more than a housekeeper. She’d helped raise Hope and me. She’d taken
care of the household and my father. This house seemed as much her home as mine.

Dawson understood my reason for keeping Sophie on the payroll, but he refused to let
her do his laundry. I understood where he was coming from. It’d taken me a couple
of months after I’d returned from Iraq to hand over my dirty clothes to her.

I figured he’d cave in. He hadn’t. So it made no sense to me why
Dawson was perfectly content to let Sophie cook for us. Probably because she kept
him well supplied with his favorite cookies.

But according to the note, she had to leave early to take her daughter Penny to the
doctor, so no tasty supper awaited me. If Dawson didn’t show up, I’d probably just
eat yogurt.

I changed, rolled out my mat, and practiced yoga until sweat stuck my clothes to my
skin.

As I stood under the tepid shower spray, I wondered how my life had become so mundane.
I went to work. Came home and played with the dogs. Worked out. Showered. Ate supper.
Watched TV, looking at the clock every ten minutes and wondering when Dawson would
show up. Then I’d hit the hay.

I’d always been fairly solitary, but tonight it almost seemed . . . forced. By the
time I’d dried off, combed out my wet hair, and slipped on a robe, I’d decided to
partake of a little nightlife at Clementine’s. I wandered into the kitchen for a pregame
beer when the dogs started barking. Dawson’s deep voice soothed them, and I could
practically hear their tails thumping against the boards on the porch.

God, I knew the feeling. I was tempted to give a little yip of excitement myself.

The door opened. Dawson didn’t notice me at first, as he was too busy taking off his
butt-ugly hat, hanging up his coat, and toeing off his boots. When he lifted his head
and looked at me, my belly jumped like I was a teenage girl with a crush.

Dawson smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” I took a sip of beer. “You done for the night? Or just stopping to
get something to eat before you head back out?”

“I’m done.” His gaze started at my forehead and leisurely traveled the length of my
body, down to my bare toes, and then back up.

By the time his eyes met mine, they held that look. The look I’d been missing for
the last week.

Then he stalked me until my spine hit the counter. “Whatcha got on under that robe,
Sergeant Major?”

“Just my skin, Sheriff.”

Dawson made a noise that resembled a growl before his mouth covered mine. I fell into
him, fell into the kiss, blanking my mind to everything except the happy fact that
he was here.

His hands cradled my face then slid down my neck to the gap in my robe. Then his hands
were on my bare skin, cruising down my chest over my rib cage to circle my waist.
The way the ragged pads of his fingertips stroked my breasts made me arch into him
harder. Kiss him harder.

Then he dropped to his knees.

He chuckled against my lower belly at my moan of delight. Then his hard-skinned hands
were on the inside of my thighs, pushing them apart so he could settle his mouth on
the damp flesh within.

I held on to his head with one hand, the edge of the counter with the other, and gave
myself over to his intimate kiss. He had me panting, begging, and quivering in record
time—a feat that might’ve been embarrassing for me if I hadn’t already known this
man took tremendous pride in turning me inside out as fast as possible.

As I regained my sanity, Mason treated me to sweet, lingering kisses everywhere on
my body, letting his mouth roam. Once he was back on his feet, he murmured, “Jump
up,” in my ear, as his hands clamped onto my butt.

Then I was on the counter, my robe was on the floor, and Dawson was unbuckling his
belt. The moment his body powered into mine, my world became him: his taste, his scent,
his heat.

After he rocked me so hard I swear he rocked the cabinet off the floor, he yanked
up his pants and carried me to bed.

Looked like we were making up for lost time.

Not a single complaint from me.

I’d never sexually clicked with any man the way I did with Dawson. Living together
hadn’t cooled our passion one iota. In fact, being in close quarters and able to act
on impulse whenever we wanted had ramped it up a notch or twenty.

Later, as I was spent and sprawled on my stomach, he’d propped himself on his side,
letting his fingers follow the curve of my spine.

“Guess what I got today?”

“A qualified applicant for the deputy’s position?”

“Funny. Try again.”

I lifted my head and looked at him. “You really want to play twenty questions?”

Dawson sighed. “Sometimes your cut-to-the-chase attitude is annoying. Indulge me.
One more guess.”

“Fine. You got a commendation from the governor.”

“Nope. I got our hunting licenses.” He toyed with my hair. “I applied for both of
us when you were busy at Quantico.”

“What we get?”

“Antelope. Bucks. I thought we could go hunting on Saturday.”

I grinned. “Really? You did that for me?”

“Yep. I reckoned a box of bullets would mean more to you than a box of chocolates.”

The man knew me so well. But that was a two-way street. He had an ulterior motive.
“First, you ply me with smokin’ hot sex, and then, you dangle the prospect of killin’
something . . . What do you really want?” My eyes narrowed. “No way, copper. You aren’t
shooting my new AR-15.”

He chuckled. “So suspicious and so freakin’ protective of your firepower. But you
are half right.” Teasing aside, he wore a serious face. “There is something I want
to talk to you about.” He continued to stroke my arm, almost absentmindedly. “Mona
called me yesterday.”

Who was Mona? Took a second for the name to register. Ah, right. The cocktail waitress
he’d knocked up; the mother of his son, Lex. “What did she want?”

“Mostly to complain about how hard it is to be a single mother. But the point is,
seems Lex has been in trouble, and he’s been suspended from school. Mona is at her
wit’s end. She asked if Lex could live with me for a while.”

Silence lingered for what seemed like an eternity before I asked, “What did you say?”

“I said I had to talk it over with you first, since I am living in your house.”

“What did he do to get suspended?”

Dawson started that soothing stroking motion on my back again. “He brought a switchblade
to school. For protection, he claims, because some older kids had been threatening
him. Unfortunately, this school has a zero-tolerance policy for weapon violation.
First strike and you’re out.”

“When did this happen?”

“Two weeks ago. But Mona was too deeply involved with her own shit to let me know,
which is about par for the course with her. Apparently, Lex has been parked on the
couch playing video games for the last two weeks, since he hasn’t been in school.”

“So you’ve talked to Lex about moving here?”

He nodded. “Today. Lex actually seems excited about it. I don’t know if he’s playing
me or what, since it’s only in the last six months he’s been interested in spending
time with me. Anyway, this is something you and I haven’t talked about, besides me
asking if you’d mind him being here over Thanksgiving or Christmas break. But it’s
a big difference—”