A Merciful Silence

by Kendra Elliot

  Mercy wanted her to stay. “I can help you look for another place.”

  A genuine smile lit Britta’s face, and Mercy realized with shock that it was the first one she’d seen. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Britta said. She suddenly straightened up in her bed. “Zara!”

  Kaylie had slipped into the room with the dog. She shut the door behind her, breathing heavily and grinning like a crazy person.

  “How did you get her into the hospital?” Mercy asked in amazement as the dog darted to Britta’s bed and put her paws up on the side, trying to pull herself onto the bed. Britta rubbed the dog’s head and ears as happy tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Very carefully,” Kaylie admitted. “I know a guy who works in the cafeteria, and he helped me sneak in a back way. The nurses on this hall spotted us but then deliberately looked the other way. I suspect they’ll give us a few minutes before they kick us out.”

  “Has she been good?” Britta asked, her delighted focus on Zara. Kaylie had taken charge of the dog, bringing her to the vet and then back to Mercy’s apartment. Zara had some bruised ribs but no broken bones.

  “She’s been great. Dulce and she are fascinated with each other.”

  Mercy had stepped back, enjoying Britta’s transformation as she tried to pet every part of her dog.

  I worried neither would survive that night.

  Two of the responding deputies had found Britta in the house and loaded her into an ambulance as more rescued Truman and Mercy from the water. Truman had been so weak, they’d used a stretcher to get him up the bank and into another ambulance.

  The FBI and the Deschutes County sheriff were working on connecting Ryan Moody to the Hartlage and Jorgensen murders. Mercy had shared Ryan’s confession and directed them to take another look at Grady Baldwin’s conviction from twenty years ago. Just as Britta said, the Moodys had lived in the vicinity of the two old mass killings. A brief interview with Ryan Moody’s father was even in the Verbeek case files. He’d claimed he knew nothing about what had happened.

  Mercy had unearthed the police report of Ryan’s father’s suicide. The responding officer had made a note of Mrs. Moody’s bruised face, but she and both her sons swore the father was unstable and had shot himself. His medical history revealed PTSD and severe chronic depression. Mercy had stared for a long time at the comment about Mrs. Moody’s bruises.

  Did she or one of her sons kill him?

  Mercy would never know.

  The investigation of the sovereign citizens’ forgery ring had opened a can of worms. Several men, including Kenneth Forbes, were currently sitting in jail, a litany of charges being assembled against them. Mercy was pleased to hear Kenneth Forbes was also being investigated for receiving disability payments from the government. His son, Joshua, would be the prosecution’s prime witness. The forgers—including his own father—had threatened to kill Joshua Forbes. The son’s anger at his father had loosened his tongue. He’d told the police everything and would get a deal from the prosecutor. Truman wasn’t happy about his own role as a witness in the prosecution’s case. He’d wanted to forget his time in captivity, stating the men would go to prison for long enough with the other stacks of charges, but Mercy was determined to see the men who’d abused him face the consequences.

  Ground-penetrating radar had revealed three bodies buried on the grounds where Truman had been held captive. Tests were under way to see if one was Ollie’s grandfather.

  The teenager had simply nodded when Mercy told him the news, and her heart had contracted at the flash of pain on his face. She understood he’d already mentally buried his grandfather. Now a painful part of his past was being dug up. He’s tough. He’ll get through it.

  Ollie joined her in the kitchen.

  “How’s Truman doing?” she asked, pretending she hadn’t been spying on them minutes ago.

  “Good. He says he wants one of Kaylie’s snickerdoodles.”

  “I’ll do it.” Mercy grabbed a half dozen, taking a bite of one as she went to join Truman. The home was overflowing again with baked goods and casseroles. She stopped in the doorway to his study. He had his eyes closed as he reclined in the big chair. Something inside her burst with happiness at the sight of him safe and in one piece.

  My man.

  His eyes opened, and he caught her staring at him. “I smelled the cinnamon from the cookies,” he told her.

  She sat beside him and set the remaining five cookies on the small table.

  “I told Ollie a cookie,” he muttered.

  “Like that would satisfy you.”

  “True.” He took a giant bite that left less than half a cookie in his hand.

  Thankfulness washed through her at the calm of simply sitting with him and eating cookies. He was her heart. His absence had made that clear to her.

  Does he know I feel that way? How many times have I passed up the chance to say so?

  An overwhelming urge to tell him opened her mouth. She wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. “You know . . .” Her mouth went dry. Why is this so hard?

  He looked at her expectantly, and she took his hand.

  “At one time I steeled myself against feeling the way I do about you. And I did it for the exact reason that just happened to us—I lost you and it ripped my heart to shreds. I was devastated.”

  “That’s understandable, since your family—”

  “Let me get this out,” she interrupted. “I’ve wasted too many moments.”

  He nodded and took another cookie, his gaze never leaving hers.

  “I was numb for years after being shunned by my family—cast out by people who were supposed to always have my back. People I loved with all my heart.” Her voice cracked as she thought of the time she’d lost with her family. Especially her brother Levi. “I didn’t want to ever hurt or feel betrayed like that again, and you know I kept a distance between myself and others. But I’ve learned from having you and Kaylie in my life . . . it hurts when a loved one is lost. It hurts like hell, and I felt as if I’d never recover . . . but the other ninety-nine percent of the time is so worth that chance of pain.” She forced out a laugh. “When you were gone, I got angry with myself for insisting on taking our relationship slow,” she said quietly. “I thought your disappearance was the universe punishing me. Those days were brutal, but now I have you back . . . I’m never wasting time like that again.”

  He squeezed her hand. “It wasn’t time wasted. You aren’t the same person that you were last fall . . . you needed the time to cross over to the dark side.” His expression was deadly serious. “You can’t rush that sort of thing.”

  Tears started as she laughed.

  He wiped the crumbs from his mouth. “I know this isn’t a romantic situation. I’m not on my knees and I don’t have a ring, but I want you to marry me.”

  Her heart stopped. Is this what I want?

  Truman tightened his grip. “What do you say, Special Agent Kilpatrick? Are you interested in marrying a police chief? Because he wants you with all his heart.”

  Can I do this?

  She studied him. His face was bruised and battered, and he had snickerdoodle crumbs on his shirt. But she loved him with every ounce of her being, and she didn’t feel an ounce of fear.

  This is right.

  He was perfect for her. And so was his proposal.

  He gets me.

  She lunged into his lap, not caring that he winced or that her leg complained. “I do!”

  “That’s the answer that comes later. I think right now you’re supposed to say yes.”

  “Yes!” She kissed him slowly, tasting sugar and cinnamon. “But you’ve got to promise to never disappear on me again.”

  “The same goes for you,” he muttered. “When should we do it?”

  “I suspect another wedding will be happening in the next few months,” she speculated.

  “Rose?”

  “Yes. I think she wants to see how Nick is after the baby comes . . . I could be wro
ng. Maybe it will happen before that, but I don’t want to take away any of their limelight.”

  “Agreed. What about Christmastime? That’s about eight months away.”

  So far off. Her immediate mental complaint made her smile. He was right—she wasn’t the same person she had been last fall. “I’d love a Christmas wedding.”

  “Deal.” He kissed her again and pulled her closer. “I told you in the water I’d always hold on to you.”

  “And I promise the same.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This is my thirteenth novel. Unlucky thirteen flowed more smoothly for me than the majority of my books, and I believe it’s because I now know Mercy and Truman inside and out. I hear them speak in my head, and I know how they feel when I throw roadblocks in their paths.

  My original plan was to write four Mercy books, but my publisher agreed I could write two more. I’m extremely fortunate to write for a house that gives me the freedom to pursue what I want, and I’m thankful every day that Montlake took a chance on me. Anh, Galen, Jessica, Elise, and Colleen are the best in the business. Jessica, you’ve been the heart and rock-solid core of Montlake—I will miss you terribly!

  I appreciate my readers who spend time with the characters I pull out of my head. Your emails and tweets always make my day. Thank you for enjoying Mercy and Truman. I know many of you are waiting for more Mason and Ava—it will happen! I miss them too.

  Thank you to Melinda Leigh, who kicks me in the rear when I need it and is just a text away to brainstorm when I’m stuck. The three thousand miles between our homes feel like nothing. It’s pure gold to have a friend who shares your love of plotting murders.

  Thank you to my family, who are supportive and cheer for me along this unexpected journey. I never planned to write books; I wrote the first to simply see if I could finish one. Then I wrote more to see if I could improve enough to be published. By then I was hooked and had discovered a community of people who loved to read books and write as much as I did.

  More Mercy books to come!

  WANT TO READ THE ORIGINAL BOOK THAT INTRODUCED FORENSIC SPECIALISTS DR. LACEY HARPER AND DR. VICTORIA PERES? TURN THE PAGE TO READ AN EXCERPT OF THE FIRST BONE SECRETS NOVEL, HIDDEN, AVAILABLE NOW.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lacey Campbell stared across the hazy field of snow at the big tent pitched against the rundown apartment building. She inhaled a breath of icy air, letting it fill her lungs and strengthen her resolve.

  There. That’s where the body is.

  Her stomach knotted as she trudged toward the site, carefully watching where she placed her feet. She yanked on the sides of her wool hat and tucked her chin into her scarf as she strode through the fluff, blinking away the swirl of snowflakes. Snow was great, unless you had to work in it. And six inches of new snow covered the grounds of her current assignment. This weather was for skiing, sledding, and snowball fights.

  Not for investigating old bones in a frosty tent in Boondocks, Oregon.

  Two big boots appeared in her downward line of vision. She hit her brakes, slipped, and landed on her rear.

  “Do you live here?” The cop’s voice was gravelly and terse.

  From her ungraceful, sprawling seat on the ground, Lacey blinked at the meaty hand he held out.

  He repeated his question and her gaze flew to his scowling face. He looked like a cop who’d stepped straight out of prime-time TV. Solid, tough, and bald.

  “Oh!” Her brain switched on and she grabbed his offered hand. “No, I don’t live here. I’m just—”

  “No one’s allowed near the apartment complex unless you’re a resident.” One-handed, he smoothly hoisted her to her feet as his sharp eyes took a closer look at her leather satchel and scanned her expensive coat.

  “You a reporter? ’Cause you can turn right around. There’ll be a press conference at the Lakefield police station at three.” The cop had decided she was an outsider. Not a difficult conclusion; the neighborhood reeked of food stamps and welfare checks.

  Wishing she were taller, Lacey lifted her chin and then grimaced as she brushed at the cold, wet seat of her pants. How professional.

  She whipped out her ID. “I’m not a reporter. Dr. Peres is waiting for me. I’m a . . .” She coughed. “I work for the ME’s office.” No one knew what she meant when she said she was a forensic odontologist. Medical examiner’s office was a term they understood.

  The cop glanced at her ID and then bent over to stare under the brim of her hat. His brown eyes probed. “You’re Dr. Campbell? Dr. Peres is waiting for a Dr. Campbell.”

  “Yes, I am Dr. Campbell,” she stated firmly and tilted up her nose.

  Who’d he expect? Quincy?

  “Can I get by now?” She peered around him, spying several figures moving outside the big tent. Dr. Victoria Peres had requested her forensic skills three hours ago, and Lacey itched to see what the doctor had found. Something unusual enough to demand Lacey come directly to the site instead of waiting to study the dental aspect of the remains in a heated, sterile lab.

  Or maybe the doctor thought it’d be amusing to drag Lacey out of a warm bed, force her to drive sixty miles in crappy weather, and squat in the freezing snow to stare at a few teeth. A little power trip. Lacey scowled as she scribbled her name on the crime-scene log the cop held out and then shoved past the male boulder in her way.

  She plodded through the snow, studying the old single-story apartment building. It looked deflated, concave along the roof, as if it was too exhausted to stand up straight. She’d been told it was home to seniors on small pensions and to low-income families. There was warped siding on the walls, and the composite roof sported bald spots. Irritation swirled under her skin.

  Who dared charge rent for this dump?

  She counted five little faces with their noses smashed against the windows as she walked by.

  She forced a smile and waved a mitten.

  The children stayed inside where it was warm.

  The seniors were another story.

  Small groups of gray-haired men and old women in plastic rain bonnets milled around in the courtyard, ignoring the cold. The rain bonnets looked like clear seashells capping the silver heads, reminding Lacey of her grandmother, who’d worn the cheap hoods to protect her rinse and set. She trudged by the curious lined faces. Without a doubt, today must be their most exciting day in years.

  A skeleton in the crawl space under their building.

  Lacey shivered as her imagination spun with theories. Had someone stashed a body twenty years ago? Or had someone gotten stuck in the crawl space and was never missed?

  A half dozen Lakefield cop cars crowded the parking lot. Probably the small town’s entire fleet. Navy-blue uniforms gathered around with hot cups of coffee in their hands, an air of resignation and waiting in their postures. Lacey eyed the steam rising from the paper cups and unconsciously sniffed. The caffeine receptor sites in her nerves pleaded for coffee as she pushed aside the flap door of the tent.

  “Dr. Campbell!”

  At the sharp voice, Lacey popped out of her coffee musings, froze, and fought the instinct to look for her father—also Dr. Campbell. The bright blue tarp at Lacey’s snowy boots framed the partial recovery of a skeleton. Another step and she would’ve crushed a tibia and sent Dr. Peres’s blood pressure spiking through the tent roof. As she ignored the doctor’s glare, Lacey’s gaze locked on the bones and a sharp rush surged through her veins at the sight of the challenge at her feet.

  This was why she accepted assignments in freezing weather. To identify and bring home a lost victim. To use her unique skills to solve the mystery of death. To put an end to a mourning family’s questions. To know she made a difference.

  The cold faded away.

  The skull was present, along with most of the ribs and the longer bones of the extremities. At the far end of the tent, two male techs in down jackets sifted buckets of dirt and rocks through a screen, painstakingly searching for smaller bones. A huge, gaping
hole in the concrete wall of the crawl space under the building indicated where the remains had been discovered.

  “Don’t step on anything,” said Dr. Peres.

  Nice to see you too.

  “Morning.” Lacey nodded in Dr. Peres’s general direction and tried to slow her racing heart. Her eyes studied the surreal scene. Bones, buckets, and bitch.

  Dr. Victoria Peres, a forensic anthropologist, was known as a strict ball breaker in her field, and she didn’t take flak from anyone. At six feet tall, she was an Amazon incarnate. A recovery site was her kingdom, and no one dared step within breathing distance of her sites before she gave her assent. And don’t dream of touching anything without permission. Anything.

  When she grew up, Lacey wanted to be Dr. Peres.

  Lacey had worked with the demanding doctor on four recoveries before the doctor trusted her work. But that didn’t mean Dr. Peres liked Lacey; Dr. Peres didn’t like anyone.

  Black-framed glasses with itty-bitty lenses balanced on the narrow ridge of the doctor’s nose. As usual, her long black hair was in a perfect knot at her neck. No stray hairs had escaped the knot, even though the doctor had been on-site for five hours.

  “Nice you could make the party.” Dr. Peres glanced at her watch and raised one brow.

  “I had to wait ’til my toenails dried.”

  A sharp snort came from the woman and Lacey’s eyes narrowed. Wow. She’d actually made Dr. Peres laugh. Well, sort of. Still, it should give Lacey some bragging rights among the ME’s staff.

  “What’d you find?” Lacey’s fingers yearned to start on the puzzle. This was the best part of her job. A mystery to decode.

  “White female, age fifteen to twenty-five. We’re pulling her, piece by piece, out of the hole that leads into the building’s crawl space. Over there’s the guy who found her.” Dr. Peres pointed through a plastic tent window to a white-haired man speaking with two of the local police. The man clutched a wiener dog with a graying muzzle to his sunken chest. “He was taking his dog out to do its business and noticed several big chunks of concrete had broken out of the cracked wall. The dog crawled into the hole and when grandpa stuck his hand in to haul out the dog, he got a surprise.”