“I take it Eddie told you about our visit already?” Mercy asked. “I was stopping by to bring you up-to-date. What are you doing in the office on a weekend, anyway?”
“When someone has murdered law enforcement officers, every day is Monday for me. Will McDonald call you when he gets back?”
She raised a brow at him.
“Didn’t think so. Continue to stop by his place until you talk to him.”
“His ranch isn’t exactly on my way to work. Today’s trip took a big chunk of my day, but I’ll keep at it.”
“Don’t go alone.” Jeff tapped at his keyboard, his gaze on his screen.
Mercy’s hackles rose. “Would you say that if I was Eddie?”
Jeff sighed and leaned back in his chair, bringing his hands together across his chest in a way that made her feel as if she were about to get a lecture from her father. “I would say that to Eddie. A remote location staffed with a bunch of rednecks who don’t want law enforcement poking around? You bet I’d tell him to not go alone.”
Mercy backed down. “Sorry. You’re right. And I wouldn’t have thought twice about heading out there on my own, so it’s a good thing you brought it up. I grew up around places like that and it feels familiar . . . as if I share roots with them. But I need to look at it from an LEO perspective, not as a local.” She frowned, realizing she’d hit the nail on the head. She still saw herself as one of them; therefore they wouldn’t hurt her. A potentially reckless train of thought. People saw only her badge.
“Your roots offer you no protection around here. You haven’t been a local for a long time.”
“I keep being reminded of that, but some days it feels like I never left. Any additional updates on our cases?”
“We haven’t had a new fire in a few days.”
“Does that mean we’re due for flames or that they’ve backed off?” Mercy asked.
“Perhaps Joshua Pence was our fire starter. He did have the gasoline on his clothing.”
True. “But I’m bothered by Clyde Jenkins’s report that he saw his fire starters running. And the Parkers thought they heard young voices. Pence doesn’t fit either of those descriptions.”
“We’re still processing evidence from the first two big fires. Hopefully we’ll catch a break before the next one.”
“I hope so.”
Jeff waved her away and went back to his keyboard. Mercy stopped at her desk to grab her bag and headed out the door to her Tahoe, feeling the need to revisit the scene where the deputies had been shot. She could stop and chat with Tilda Brass, even though Truman and Jeff had reported she suffered from some memory loss.
A quick call to Tilda Brass resulted in an invitation to tea at 4:00 p.m. Mercy didn’t think she’d “had tea” since she’d held tea parties as a child with Rose. Tilda’s home was far out of town, so she got an early start and drove past the Bend city limits and down the two-lane highway toward the Brass property, making a mental note to check in with Bill Trek and see if the fire marshal had any fire investigation updates.
A pickup started to pass her on the highway and she slowed the slightest bit, remembering how the long straight stretch of road had always been a favorite with teenagers for impromptu drag races.
Her Tahoe jerked hard as the passing truck smacked her left rear fender and her vehicle spun in front of the truck across the oncoming lane. Her mind blanked and she clenched the wheel as the landscape blurred outside her windows. She hit the brakes as her vehicle flew off the road and rocketed down the shoulder.
Metal screeched and scraped on rock as she hit the lava rocks at the bottom. Her airbag smacked her in the face and knocked the breath out of her lungs. Her Tahoe rocked to an abrupt stop at a sharp angle, the rear of the vehicle too high and her chest pressing against her seat belt, which suspended her in the cab. She fought to catch her breath and slow her pounding heart.
He pulled a fucking PIT maneuver!
A favorite move of officers everywhere to stop errant vehicles. She’d trained on the maneuver at Quantico, but memories of how to respond when on the receiving end had disintegrated the moment he’d struck her Tahoe. And to be fair, she’d never experienced it at sixty miles an hour.
She braced herself, hit the seat belt button, and slid out of the SUV, dropping two feet more to the ground than usual, and brushed airbag dust off her clothes. Her legs shook as she stepped back to inspect her vehicle, and she leaned weakly against a big rock, welcoming its solid, immovable presence. The rear axle of the Tahoe had come to rest on huge boulders, its back tires nowhere near the ground.
I’m not going anywhere.
She pulled out her phone, trying to recall any description of the pickup that’d hit her. She had impressions, not memories. She thought it had been dark red, and there might have been two men in the cab, but she wasn’t certain.
Why? Who’d run me off the road?
Her brain refused to consider the question; its current primary goal was to get help.
She called 911 and reported the incident, advising the operator that the truck might have body damage on its right front end. After reassuring the operator that she wasn’t injured, she hung up and scrambled up the incline to the highway. Her truck had ended up in a spot a dozen feet lower than the road.
They picked a good spot. If I’d been injured, no one would have seen me.
She fumed. Pure luck had kept her Tahoe from rolling. The shoulder where she’d gone off the highway was wide and level before gently angling down to the rocks. If it’d been soft dirt or a more abrupt incline, she would have rolled across the big lava rocks. She called Eddie.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asked. “Sometimes you don’t realize it until later.”
“My back and neck probably won’t be happy with me tomorrow,” she admitted. “But I’m okay now. Can you pick me up and then take me to get a rental car?”
“I’ll pick you up, but then I’m taking you to the hospital. You’re not going anywhere until your spine is x-rayed. And Jeff will agree with me.”
“Crap.” She didn’t have time for this.
“Did you call Truman?”
“Not yet.”
“Do it.”
“I don’t want to interrupt him while he’s working. I’m fine and you’re my ride. I’ll tell him later tonight.”
Eddie sighed in the phone. “You don’t know anything about men, do you?”
“I don’t need Truman to come pick me up. I’m on the job, so I called a coworker. That’s what I should do, right?”
“Call and tell him what happened. Don’t make me call him.”
“Why would you do it?” Exasperation made her want to shake him.
“Call it a man code thing. When your friend’s woman has been in an accident, you let the dude know.”
“That’s the most caveman thing I’ve ever heard you say.” She didn’t know whether to be shocked, flattered, or amused. “I didn’t realize there was a thing between you and Truman.”
“Just do it, okay?” he pleaded. “Tell him I’m on my way and that I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Call me a tow too,” she said before they ended the call.
She looked down at her vehicle and wondered when it’d be drivable again. She liked the Tahoe. It’d become her buddy, and she felt safe and secure while driving it. What if the damage underneath is too much to repair? The thought depressed her.