“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.
THIRTY-ONE
Mercy beat SWAT to Silas Dillon’s home.
The home was set back from a winding road off one of the main highways. His neighbors were few and far between. Their properties were acres of flat land peppered with lava rocks of all sizes intertwined with the scrub brush. Mercy knew the rocks had come from ancient volcano flows. The rocks were a common sight south of Bend.
The home was a one level with a small garage behind it. It appeared someone had plopped the little house down in the middle of nowhere. It had boring views of rocks and low, brown hills.
Four county vehicles waited on the winding road, set far back to create difficult targets for Silas Dillon. A deputy stood at each vehicle, shotgun casually in hand. Mercy pulled in behind an unmarked Explorer that she recognized as Evan Bolton’s. He approached as she stepped out of her vehicle.
“You didn’t need to come.”
“Good to see you too,” Mercy replied. “I’m tired of sitting still. I need to feel like I’m doing something.”
She opened the back of her truck, grabbed her bulletproof vest, and strapped it on as tension went up her spine. An hour ago she’d been sitting by Kaylie’s bed. Now she was at a SWAT situation.
Before she left the hospital she’d stopped by Bree Ingram’s room. A bored-looking deputy still guarded Bree’s door, and Lucas Ingram had been sitting in a chair like the one Mercy had spent the night in, a Lee Child novel in his hand. He’d stood as Mercy entered and hugged her. “I’m so sorry about Kaylie.”
“She’s stable. How’s your mom?”
“The swelling on her brain has gone down. They’re hoping she’ll start coming around.” His tone was somber, his usual happy demeanor nowhere to be found.
“We’ll find who did this to Bree,” Mercy promised. “I’m following a lead as soon as I leave.”
Lucas was startled. “What about Kaylie?”
“Pearl is with her. She won’t be alone.”
He’d studied her eyes and then nodded. “Good luck. And thank you, Mercy.”
“You should go home occasionally.”
“Sandy and I trade off.”
“Good.”
She’d clutched her duffel, hugged him goodbye, and dashed to change in a restroom.
Now, as she studied the skepticism on Evan’s face, she wondered if she should have left the hospital at all.
What if Kaylie takes a turn for the worse?
She pushed the thought out of her head. “Where are we at with Silas Dillon?”
“He fired once when the deputies pulled into his driveway. Hit the grille of that one over there.” He pointed at one of the vehicles. “They immediately backed out to this road and called it in. One of them tried to reason with him through the bullhorn, but he told them to fuck off.”
“Lovely. Did you reach the actual owner of the house?”
“No.”
“What else do we know about Dillon?”
Evan handed her a sheet of paper. “This mug shot is from last year.”
Mercy stared into Silas’s eyes, searching for a resemblance to Trevor Whipple or Nathan May. She couldn’t see one. Could this be the driver? Was Tabitha wrong about it being female? “You have deputies checking out the other addresses for the red trucks?”
“Yes.” He frowned as he took the sheet. “I can tell that you don’t think this is the guy who hurt Bree Ingram.” It wasn’t a question. “Why?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He raised a skeptical brow at her.
“We have a theory that Bree might have been assaulted by someone involved in the Gamble-Helmet Heist.”
Evan’s brows shot up. “Why?”
“It’s complicated . . . and it’s only a theory. I’d hoped to see a resemblance between Silas and one of the men from the robbery in this mug shot, but I don’t. That doesn’t mean Silas didn’t assault her.”