Resting her head on one hand, she listened to the scratchy hold music, growing impatient. She had work to do.
Next up was a visit with her father.
EIGHTEEN
Mercy leaned against the door of her Tahoe, keeping one eye on the doctor’s office door and feeling guilty for lying in wait for her father.
Please talk to me.
Victor Diehl had died, and his last two calls had been to her father. She crossed her fingers that Victor’s death would convince him to open up. More guilt piled on her shoulders for using a man’s shooting to get information for her investigation. But with her father, all normal requests for help would be useless. Especially coming from his youngest child.
Karl Kilpatrick didn’t have any use for the federal government. Or for the daughter who—in his eyes—had abandoned her family when she was eighteen.
The fact that his daughter was employed by federal law enforcement meant she received double the disdain.
The Eagle’s Nest medical building was a relic from the 1970s. One level. Flat roof. Mustard paint. Ugly stone accents. According to its sign, the building housed two family practitioners and a pediatrician. No pediatrician had worked in town when Mercy was growing up—not that her family had visited the doctor much anyway. Doctors were expensive, and her mother’s amateur medical knowledge went a long way. Even her father’s veterinary know-how came in handy when his kids were ill.
The doctor her father was seeing today had to be near retirement, and she wondered how her father would handle the young doctor who would likely replace him one day. New ideas. New routines.
New and Karl Kilpatrick didn’t mix.
The door opened, and her father stepped out. He placed his cowboy hat on his head and started down the cement steps. Every time Mercy saw him, he seemed to have aged a bit more. More lines on his face, thinner through the chest, looser pants.
Is he ill?
She froze as a million deadly maladies fought for attention in her mind. Surely Mom would tell me . . . Rose definitely would . . . unless she doesn’t know either.
Squaring her shoulders, she pushed off her SUV and crossed the parking lot. “Dad?”
He’d reached his truck and was digging in his pocket for his keys. He turned toward her, and his surprise rapidly vanished, replaced by an emotionless facade. Annoyance had flashed too. Mercy set her chin and forced a smile. “How are you?”
“Were you waiting for me?” His brows shot together as he glowered at her from under his hat. The expression reminded her of her oldest brother, Owen. No one could intimidate with a single glance the way Owen could. Her father was a close runner-up.
“I admit I was. I have a work question for you.” Please talk to me.
“I can’t help you.” He shoved his key in the door to his old truck.
“Victor Diehl died yesterday.”
His hand stilled on the door handle. He didn’t look at her. “How?” he asked, still facing the door.
Mercy knew he’d cut her off and leave if she said the wrong thing. “He was shot.”
Now he looked at her, his eyes hard under the tan brim. “By who?” His words were mangled.
“Why did he call you twice in the last few days?”
Understanding flickered on his face and quickly turned to anger. “That’s why you’re here. Don’t people have privacy anymore? You guys pry into everything. Feel you have the right to spy on what the little man is doing.”
Mercy bit the inside of her cheek and struggled to keep a pleasant expression on her face. “His cell phone was found at the scene. It’s normal procedure to see who a victim spoke with before he was killed. Could your conversation shed any light on why he died?”
“Who killed him?” Her father’s voice was low and direct. The voice he’d used when she was in trouble as a child. It still triggered obedience.
“He was shot in defense by a law enforcement officer. Victor had already shot one agent and was about to fire at two more.”
Her father studied her face, his gaze moving from one of her eyes to the other. “So they say. Damned police twist everything to put themselves in the right light.”
“I was there.” The fact that I’m calm is amazing.
“Why were you there?” he snapped. “You saw what happened?”
Her calm shattered. “I did. Even though I was fighting to keep my bleeding partner from dying from a gunshot wound, I saw Victor come around a corner, his gun pointed at me, verbally threatening to shoot me and another agent.” She sucked in a breath, holding his gaze. “I saw his eyes as he aimed at the man standing in front of me. Victor wasn’t right in the head. His eyes were crazy, and he was ready to kill. If Art hadn’t taken the shot, we’d both have been injured. Or worse.”
Her father said nothing but continued to listen, still expressionless.
“Victor had been told the government was coming to take his guns and land. He was so convinced of this lie that he shot Eddie without warning.” She tilted her head. “Who told him that, Dad? Who would put that idea in his head? Or was he always a supremely paranoid person?”
“You were there,” he stated slowly.
Mercy saw his pressure building. He was motionless but seemed to expand and grow taller with the anger.
“Death likes to follow you.”
A low roar started in her brain. Don’t go there . . .
“You blame Victor’s paranoia for the bullet your agency put in him? Just like how it wasn’t your fault that Levi was murdered? Victor Diehl never had a chance, did he?”
“Leave Levi out of this,” she uttered through clenched teeth. “My brother died in front of me due to his poor decisions. Not because of me.”
“Everything was fine until you showed up!”
She flinched as if he’d slapped her. A slap that bared all the guilt she felt for Levi’s death. The roar in her head grew louder, and she fought to hold his gaze.
“You’ll never forgive me for Levi, will you? It gives you something to gnaw on when you’re angry, someone to heap blame upon since the man who was at fault is dead. That’s fine, Dad. If it makes you feel better to hate me, go ahead. But put it aside for five minutes. You’ve got a bigger problem. Victor is at the center of a major bank robbery investigation, and you are too—unless you have a clear explanation of why he called you.”
“Are you threatening me?” He moved closer, using his height to intimidate her as he had when she was a child.
But now she was an adult. An adult who’d done nothing wrong and had no reason to back down. She didn’t budge and leaned toward him, unafraid. “No. I’m telling you how it is. Why don’t you make this easier and tell me about your conversations? If you’re protecting a conversation about . . . the weather . . . or a sick animal . . . you’re simply being stubborn.” She lifted her chin. “You’ve always been the king of stubborn. A trait I inherited.”
He was in her personal space, and his presence pricked every nerve in her skin.
After a long moment, he looked away. “Victor was a bit simple, but we always look out for our own.” He threw the two words at her, emphasizing that she no longer belonged in that group. “He’s always functioned at a lower level. That’s why his house is the way it is. He called me ranting and raving that he’d been told the government was coming for him. He called me twice, saying the same thing. He was more worked up than I’d ever heard him. He knew my daughter was an FBI agent and wanted me to stop you.”