“Tell me what the doctor said,” he said gently.
Mercy looked away and focused on a painting of the ocean. “I can’t remember everything they told me. It all happened so fast, and the ER team sent her to surgery immediately. I know they said the bullet went through her liver before exiting out her back.”
“No wonder there was so much blood.”
“The team should be able to find the bullet and hopefully the cartridge at the scene.” And then the shooter.
A realization slammed into her, and she gasped for breath.
Why didn’t I think of this before?
Because I was fixated on Kaylie’s survival.
She spun to him. “Truman. What if that shot was meant for me?”
“Why—”
“Kaylie was wearing my coat. Who shoots a random teenager?” Her fingers dug into his shirt, her theory feeling stronger by the second. “They were ballsy enough to shoot in the FBI parking lot. Their motivation had to be huge . . . two million dollars huge?” she whispered.
“You think it’s the robbery case?”
“It could be . . . I don’t know. My brain won’t stop spinning.” Guilt racked her. “And I hadn’t restocked my medical kit after Eddie’s shooting. I didn’t have the right things to save her.” Regret flared in her chest. “If she dies because they thought she was me, and I wasn’t prepared—”
“Stop. Stop right there.” He held her gaze. “The only person responsible for Kaylie’s injury is the shooter. You can’t take any of the blame.”
“I don’t.” She straightened on his lap, trying to make him understand. “The supplies I keep—”
“Dammit, Mercy. Stop it,” he repeated. “I don’t want to hear another word about what might have happened. It’s done. It’s over.”
She pressed her lips together. He doesn’t understand. If I’d restocked, Kaylie would have a better chance.
Was I the target?
The door opened, and she saw a long white coat. She was off Truman’s lap and halfway to the door when the doctor spoke.
“Kaylie Kilpatrick,” the doctor said, looking from face to face.
“That’s me. I mean I’m hers—actually, all of us are hers.” The words tumbled off her tongue.
“She came through the surgery just fine.”
A sound like the roar of the ocean started in Mercy’s ears. “She’s fine?” Behind her, Truman rested his chest against her back, and his arms sneaked around her. She tentatively touched his hands, feeling his warm skin.
The doctor’s brows came together. “The surgery went well. Watching for infection is our next priority. She’ll be in the ICU.”
The roar in her head grew louder. The surgery went well. Mercy covered her face with her hands, his words echoing in her head. The doctor continued to speak, but she caught only bits and pieces . . . massive blood transfusion . . . packing quadrants . . . gall bladder shredded . . . repaired the vein . . .
If she made it this far, she’ll make it all the way.
Mercy’s sheer willpower would force Kaylie to heal the rest of the way.
“She’s going to make it,” Truman whispered into her ear.
Mercy could only nod, her face still buried in her hands. Her emotions were simmering just under her skin. The wrong word or movement could turn her into a blubbering mess. She refused to do that in front of Truman and her family.
The sound of the door closing made her lift her head. The doctor had left.
Everyone in the room was looking at her. Even Rose.
“Kaylie’s going to be fine, dear,” her mother said, looking at Mercy tenderly. “She’s got strong blood in her veins. Just like you.”
Mercy dissolved into a blubbering mess.
THIRTY
Her phone was ringing.
Groggily, Mercy dug in all her pockets trying to locate the offender. The sound had pulled her out of a dead sleep.
Kaylie.
Phone forgotten, Mercy bolted upright in the chair she’d slept in and took a step to the girl’s hospital bed. Still breathing. Blinking sleep out of her eyes, Mercy scanned the flashing and beeping equipment hooked up to Kaylie. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but no alarm was wailing, and the cadence of the beeps felt pleasant to her brain. The steady rhythm slowed her racing heartbeat. Everything is okay.
Her phone rang again, and she located it in her purse under her chair.
Evan Bolton.
“Evan?” she answered. Checking the time, she saw it was nearly 8:00 a.m. She’d slept off and on for six hours.
“Mercy. We’ve got a good lead on one of the trucks.”
She slapped her hand to her forehead. The robbery investigation had completely slipped her mind. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get to the address you gave—”
“Forget it. I know what happened to your niece. Ortiz told me last night it looked like she would pull through. How’s she doing?”
Touched that he’d kept apprised of Kaylie’s condition, Mercy studied the face of the sleeping girl. Her lips were dry and flaking, but she looked peaceful. She breathed normally, and her color looked good.
“I think she’s fine. I’m with her now. They repaired the damage to the vein in her kidney and she lost her gall bladder. We’re just waiting and watching her heal at the moment. The doctor says infection is their next concern.”
“Good. She won’t miss her gall bladder. My mother and sister both had theirs removed decades ago and don’t think twice about it.”
Mercy blew out a breath. “That lines up with what I Googled last night.”
“Don’t Google medical issues.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “I know.”
“This morning I sent two more men to a home on the list. One of my deputies went last night, but the truck owner cut off their conversation and slammed the door in his face.”
In spite of her worry over Kaylie and her exhaustion, Mercy slid back into work mode. “Did the deputy see the truck? Did it have the stolen plate that Ollie photographed?”
“He didn’t see the truck, but the man verified that he owned a truck like the deputy described before cursing him out and slamming the door. He locked the door and refused to answer again. My deputy peeked in the garage behind the home, but it was empty.”
“I wonder where it is.” Her mind sped through possibilities.
“The guy’s name is Silas Dillon. He’s fifty-one and currently unemployed. His record includes two DUIs and an assault conviction. He’s renting the house. I’m trying to contact the owner.”
If he was involved in the Gamble-Helmet Heist, the age is about right.
Pearl stepped into Kaylie’s small room and gave Mercy a silent wave when she saw her on the phone. Her focus immediately went to Kaylie, and she laid a hand on the girl’s forehead, leaning close, whispering something Mercy couldn’t hear.
“Mercy? Hang on a second.”
She listened as Evan spoke to someone in the background. Her gaze wandered over Kaylie and Pearl, appreciating the mothering look on Pearl’s face as she straightened Kaylie’s sheets and light blanket.
The voices in the background rose, and she heard Evan curse. Her focus whipped back to the phone call.
“Evan? What happened?”
“He took a shot at one of my men—”
“Is he okay?” Her heart rate started to rise again.
“He missed. We’re pulling SWAT together. Looks like we’ve got a hot one.”
Mercy’s mind split, torn between Kaylie and the investigation. “I’ll be there. Text me the address.”
“No! I know you’ve got more important things to do.” Evan exchanged more words with someone else, their tones heating up.
“Pearl is here, and Kaylie is stable. It doesn’t help if I just sit and stare at her.”
Kaylie’s shooter.
I’m losing my mind. I forgot the hunt for her shooter.
“Evan, have you talked to Ortiz about Kaylie’s case?”
“Yep. Ortiz works a desk across the room from me. I think he’s been there most of the night.”
“Let me talk to him.”
“Hang on.” Murmuring voices in the background.
“Agent Kilpatrick.” A new voice came on the line. “Ortiz here. Evan says your niece is stable this morning. I’m glad to hear it.”
“Yes . . . thank you. What have you found on her shooter?”
He cleared his throat. “We found the bullet and a nine-millimeter casing. The casing was in the dirt adjacent to a narrow side street on the west side of the parking lot.”
Mercy knew the location. From her building, trees and shrubs blocked a view of the street. It was perfect cover for a shooter, and it was dense enough to hide a waiting vehicle.
“And the car?”
“We’ve got security video from a business down the street. It shows a silver Camry speeding by at the time of the shooting.”
“Plates?”
He paused. “Not on the video. We’re searching for a way to identify the car.”
Mercy waited a long moment and then realized he was done. “That’s all you have?” Her voice cracked.
“Agent Kilpatrick—”
“Mercy, please.” This is personal. “Detective Ortiz . . . I might have been the target of Kaylie’s shooting.”
“I was about to ask you about that possibility. According to the receptionist I interviewed from your office—”
“Melissa.”
“Yes, Melissa.” He paused. “She stated Kaylie was wearing a white jacket of yours when she left.”
“Exactly. I wear that coat all the time.” Mercy closed her eyes. A vision of Kaylie’s blood seeping onto the jacket had slammed into her brain. The red stark against the white.
“Your niece bears a very strong resemblance to you,” Ortiz stated carefully.
“I know. Someone could have mistaken her for me,” she whispered. Her new hair color. Kaylie had been wearing black yoga pants that were similar enough to the black slacks Mercy still wore from yesterday.
“The big question is who and why,” Mercy went on. “It could be related to the robbery case I’m working.” Indecision swamped her. “Or it might be something else . . . But I can see someone trying to stop my robbery investigation.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Thinking about this is my job, Agent Kilpatrick. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll keep in touch.”
“Mercy?” Evan was back on the line. “I’m heading out to that house. The situation is heating up.”
“Evan . . . what’s your opinion on Ortiz?”
His answer was immediate. “He’s the best. After me, of course.”
Determination shot through her, and she set Kaylie’s shooter aside for the moment.
Kaylie is safe. I need to let Ortiz do his thing while I do mine.
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Now, Mercy—”
“Don’t argue with me, Evan. Get me that address. All I need to do is change my clothes.”
She was done sitting in chairs.