Merciless (31 page)

“He swore from the first time he saw John-John that the boy was a dead ringer for
Rollie. Wyatt had no love for the man, after what happened to your mother, so he confronted
Sophie and she told him the truth. She said she’d quit if he told anyone or treated
John-John different.”

My dad had been pretty indifferent toward John-John, but I’d always chalked that up
to the disturbing vision he’d had about my mother—a year prior to her death.

“John-John and me, for bein’ cousins, well, you know we ain’t never been close. Same
goes with Luke and TJ.”

“Why? I’ve never understood that.”

“Just one of them things. When I found out this secret, around the time John-John
opened Clementine’s . . . fifteen years ago, I showed up for a drink to support him.
John-John wouldn’t serve me. Said he wasn’t gonna have his ragtag relations hanging
out in his bar.”

“Because Clementine’s is so classy,” I said dryly.

Jake smiled. “That’s what I said. Then I did a dumb thing. Opened
my mouth and asked if his father would be welcome. John-John punched me. Damn near
knocked me out. He said if I ever told anyone, he’d cut out my tongue and watch me
choke to death on my own blood.”

“He said that? Holy shit.” I had that bad gut feeling again. Verline’s tongue had
been cut out. Had she somehow discovered that Rollie was John-John’s father? Had she
threatened to spill the beans? Or maybe she wanted money to keep quiet about what
she knew?

No, John-John couldn’t have killed Verline any more than Rollie could have.

But this was getting a little too coincidental and spooky for my liking.

“So now you know why none of the Red Leaf family is allowed to drink in his bar.”

“God. Jake. I’m absolutely . . . stunned. I never suspected. I mean, Rollie has been
such a smart-ass about John-John over the years. When I think of all the shit he said . . .”
Now I wondered if my dad had been trying to tell me something when he said Rollie
didn’t give a shit about any of his kids, no matter who their mothers were. Stupid
me, I hadn’t bothered to ask him what he’d meant.

“You can’t let on to Sophie or John-John or Rollie that you know the truth,” Jake
warned.

“Trust me, I won’t. You know how good I am at keeping secrets.”

“Yes, I do.” He threw his beer can in the back of the feed truck. “Now that we’re
done gossiping, let’s get them cows fed before dark.”

•   •   •

When Dawson brought Lex home a few hours later, he found me on the floor in our bedroom,
sitting amid my guns, as I cleaned out the gun safe.

He leaned against the door frame and raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“No.”

“I remember a few months back when you pulling a gun on me was
considered foreplay. So if you wanna go ahead and whip out that Glock, feel free.”

I smiled. “We already reminiscing about the good old days, Sheriff?”

He crouched down next to me. “No. But the last couple days haven’t been very good.”

“True.” Without looking at him, I said, “So you heard about the case we caught today?”

“Yeah. But I wasn’t talking about that.”

I looked at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

He touched my face. “For the way it’s been between us.”

“Me, too.” I leaned into his touch, needing a connection to something. Ever since
I’d talked to Jake, I’d felt untethered. Not even being surrounded by all my beloved
firepower had grounded me. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He continued to gently stroke my cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“I can tell. It’s been so tense around here that even Lex is worried about you.”

“He is? Why?”

“In the last couple of days, you haven’t asked him even one time if he has his homework
done.”

“I haven’t yelled at him for leaving his dirty socks on the couch, either.”

“I’ll remind him of that,” he said dryly. “But my son also has suggested that I do
something . . . impressive to make up for my dickish behavior. His words not mine.”

“Like what?”

He grinned like he had a big secret. “Well, I know you’ve got a thing for bull riders,
so Mad Dog is coming out of retirement this weekend to compete in the annual Sheriffs
Association Fund-Raiser, which just happens to be a rodeo.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You impressed yet?”

The nickname Mad Dog had stuck during his bulldogging and bull-riding days. I’d tried
calling Mason that right after we’d first met, but the name didn’t fit him now. Still,
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’d imagined seeing him in all his glory on the back
of a bull. Or more accurately, that I’d fantasized about seeing him in a pair of fringed
chaps, tight jeans, a championship buckle, and a black hat. It appeared I’d get to
see the real deal. “Okay, I am impressed.”

“So it’s a date? You’ll watch me ride Saturday night?”

“Yep, I’ll even be your very own buckle bunny.”

Dawson hauled me to my feet. Then he pulled me into his arms. I thought about protesting
for a split second, but I wanted this. I’d missed this—how he and I were together.
I finally felt some of that peace I’d been looking for today. I wrapped myself around
him, buried my face in his neck, and sighed.

Mason murmured, “That was a happy sound.”

“That’s because I
am
happy.”

“Even when we occasionally piss each other off?”

“Yep. The best part of fighting with you is always the making-up part. We are about
to make up, right now, aren’t we?” My hand slid down his body until it met the hard
flesh pressing against his zipper.

He growled, “I think it’s past Lex’s bedtime. Don’t go nowhere, I’ll be right back.”

I laughed softly.

It seemed for the first time in years, my personal life was on a happy plane. And
I’d be damned if I’d spoil the feeling by worrying about when it’d end.

•   •   •

Thursday afternoon, Director Shenker singled out the cases that Turnbull and I were
working on at the biweekly meeting. He shuffled through his notes. “Three female victims,
ranging in age from twenty to sixty-two. None of the murder methods are the same.
The victims were
not related. Nor were the victims well acquainted. The commonality is the victims
had digitalis in their systems.” He looked at Shay. “The family requested immediate
release of the body within twenty-four hours? Why? Wasn’t this last victim in the
final stage of breast cancer?”

“Yes. She had a living will, and she’d filed paperwork requesting no religious ceremony.
She was cremated yesterday.”

That caught me by surprise. I’d heard nothing about it from Hope or Jake.

Shenker sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Have either of you made
any
progress? We’ve got no suspects . . . on
three
first-degree murder cases?”

Shay and I didn’t make eye contact. As the senior agent, he should jump in with a
progress report.

He didn’t. Why? Was he afraid he’d get spanked by the boss? I wanted to cluck at him
for being such a chickenshit.

“Agent Gunderson.”

Shit. I felt all eyes in the room on me.

Now who’s clucking?
“Yes, sir?”

“Did you find anything in your research at the tribal archives to substantiate your
earlier theory? About previous deaths of women on the reservation being overlooked,
unsolved murders?”

I decided to let fly. I’d gotten smacked down by the boss before, and I probably would
get it again. “Yes, sir. Over the last five years, at least three women died in a
similar manner, and those deaths weren’t investigated by the tribal PD. Rural car
accidents. Domestic abuse turned fatal. Former drug users found OD’d. The pattern
was there, but I do understand—to some degree—how the cases were overlooked. Like
in these most recent cases, the previous victims were women of varying ages. They
were each killed a month apart, over a three-month span. And because the death situations
were . . . close enough to be believable for the victim’s lives, not even their families
raised a stink about the cases not receiving proper investigation from the tribal
PD. The women who died in mysterious car accidents? All had long records of serious
traffic violations and accidents. The women who were found stabbed or sliced up? All
had many documented instances of domestic violence. The women who OD’d? All had long
histories of drug addiction. The assumed suicides? Those women struggled with depression
and had made previous attempts at suicide. So there is a pattern.”

Shenker nodded. “So how do these latest victims fit? Because the pattern has been
altered. No one-month lag time between murders. Do you have a theory on why?”

“Before, the killer was content, probably smug, in the knowledge he was getting away
with it. But his method has gotten more disturbing. That’s a point of pride for him
now. Some initial theories within the tribal PD and the FBI were that Rollie Rondeaux
killed Arlette Shooting Star as a screen so he could get away with murdering his live-in,
Verline Dupris, a week later.

“It might’ve initially served the killer’s purpose to throw suspicion at Rollie Rondeaux.
Then Rollie was arrested and placed in tribal jail. This is where his need for attention
has come in. Now he’s afraid Rollie
will
get credit for his kills. So he kills again, in a very brutal and very public place.
This time the killer wanted everyone in law enforcement to know that Penny Pretty
Horses wasn’t a copy-cat murder.”

Silence.

“Thank you, Agent Gunderson. I appreciate the legwork on this.” Shenker peered over
his bifocals at Agent Turnbull. “It appears it was a good thing Mr. Rondeaux was placed
in tribal police custody before we went to the assistant U.S. attorney to ask for
a grand jury investigation.”

Turnbull remained stoic.

“But we are still looking at three first-degree murders and no suspects.” Shenker
frowned and pulled out his BlackBerry. “Sorry, I’ve been waiting for this call. Take
ten, people.”

Chairs creaked as everyone got up, but I stayed put, figuring this would be the quietest
place. I closed my eyes, wondering if I could get in a quick ten-minute combat nap.

But there was always the possibility I’d drift into a combat nightmare.

“Great job laying out the cold cases’ facts, Mercy.”

I opened my eyes and looked at Shay. “Thanks.”

“You pulled my ass out of the fire, because guaranteed, Shenker was holding a blowtorch.”

“You would’ve deserved it.”

“Definitely.” He grinned. “I might make an FBI agent out of you yet, Sergeant Major.”

I leaned closer and whispered, “Fuck off. Sir.”

Shay laughed. “Any issues with the Red Leaf and Pretty Horses families?”

“No. In fact, I had no idea the family had requested early release of the body.”

“It’s been a long week.” He paused. “Do you have plans for the weekend with the Dawson
boys?”

I must be giving off friendly vibes for Turnbull to ask about my personal life. “Mason
is riding in the Sheriffs Association charity event Saturday night.”

Shay lifted a brow. “Riding? Like, motorcycle? A poker run or something?”

“No. It’s a rodeo benefit, so he’ll be bull riding.”

“Better him than me, I guess.”

With all the tragedy and drama that’d gone on in our lives recently I was looking
forward to a night at the rodeo. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Working.”

“Why?”

He grinned at me again. “Someone’s gotta figure out what’s going on with these cases
while you’re off jerking on Dawson’s . . . rope.”

I
f Dawson was nervous about riding a bull, he hid it well.

Lex peppered his father with questions. Dawson answered in the measured tone I’d started
to think of as “daddy speak,” where he showed loads of patience, and rarely allowed
his explanations to venture into pure lecture territory. I was still trying to find
my balance with Lex. Dealing with Dawson’s son wasn’t the same as dealing with my
nephew.

“So when was the last time you rode a bull?” Lex asked, leaning over the back of the
seat from his place in the middle of the club cab.

“A couple of months ago at a bull-riding expo at the Eagle River powwow.”

My head swiveled toward him. “Really? How come I didn’t know that?”

“Because you woulda chewed me out and reminded me I’m too old,” Dawson said with a
grin.

“You
are
too old,” I retorted sweetly.

“Probably. But I managed to stay on eight seconds, and that’s what counts.”

“I don’t think you’re too old,” Lex offered, sending me a scowl.

Talk about a case of hero worship.

You were exactly the same way with your father at that age.

Dawson snatched my hand off the seat and kissed my knuckles. “I didn’t tell you because
I didn’t want you to worry from a million miles away in Virginia.”

Mollified, I let him hold my hand. I gazed out the window, tuning out their conversation
and trying not to think about Penny’s body dangling from a tree. Trying not to think
about the pain in Sophie’s eyes. Trying
not to chastise myself because we weren’t any closer to catching the murderer than
we had been the day Arlette Shooting Star turned up dead.

Billboards zoomed by as we hit the outskirts of Rapid City, and then we were among
grocery stores, fast-food joints, secondhand stores, and car dealerships.

I hadn’t taken in a rodeo since I’d gotten out of the army. Stepping through the arena
doors, the unique smells of sawdust, dirt, manure, livestock, and cotton candy blasted
me in the face, the scents carried on the hot air blowing from the heaters. I glanced
over at Lex, who was wrinkling his nose.

The seats in the Pennington County Events Center weren’t even half full. A horse trailer
display took up a good chunk of the entryway. We skirted the high-end rigs and paused
between the concessions and the ramp leading to the stands.