Mercy tensed. “Went where?”
“The McDonald ranch.”
“Why?” Her boss’s warning about not going out to the ranch alone echoed in her head. Male or female, he hadn’t believed it was safe, and Mercy agreed.
“The truck that ran you off the road was found today.”
“I heard they found a truck. I wasn’t going to pay much attention until the evidence proved it was the right vehicle.”
“Well, I went to check out the truck. There’s black paint on the front right corner. That was good enough for me.”
“Who does it belong to?” She took a deep breath, suspecting she knew the answer to her question.
“Joshua Pence. And it was found less than ten miles from the McDonald place, so I decided to go see if they knew anything about it.”
“Did they still deny that he worked there?”
“Yep. I had a short chat with Tom that went absolutely nowhere. And Mercy . . . Owen was there.”
She froze.
“He was standing behind Tom like one of his lackeys and pretended he didn’t know me.”
Mercy closed her eyes. Why, Owen? “I can’t control what he does.”
“Of course you can’t, but you should be aware that if we find dirt on Tom McDonald, it could affect or incriminate a lot of his followers.”
In other words, Owen will have more reasons to hate me.
“He’s chosen his path. I’ve done what I can.”
“I’m sorry, Mercy,” Truman said gently, and his soft tone nearly broke her heart.
“I’m doing the best I can with my family. Owen has been the hardest to get to talk to me, let alone accept that I’ve returned. I think I have to stand back and just let him have his anger. He knows I’m here when he’s ready to talk.”
A long silence dragged out between them.
“Anything new in the cases?” Truman asked.
“The dirt bike treads from Landon’s home don’t match the ones at the fire scene where Joshua Pence was found.”
“That was fast work.”
“According to one of our lab techs, it was a no-brainer. He took one look and knew it didn’t match.”
“What about the weapons and shells?”
“That takes longer. This isn’t TV, you know.”
“No one knows that better than me,” said Truman. “But I’m still waiting for my hot FBI girlfriend to show up in heels and low-cut blouses.”
Mercy laughed. “Are you making fun of my boots?” She glanced at the heavy-treaded boots she’d slipped on that morning to wear while searching Landon Hecht’s home. There was nothing glamorous about them; glamorous was a word never used to describe her. She preferred being comfortable and practical.
“Of course not. I find you particularly attractive in jeans and boots. Especially when you’re swinging an ax. That whole look works for me.” He gave a low chuckle that curled her toes. “Have you heard from Jack Howell yet?”
“I haven’t. I should stop by his office again.”
“Something tells me he’s going to be out for the rest of the day.”
“You’re probably right. I suspect it would be a waste of my time, but I’m going to continue with my phone messages every few hours. That should get under his skin a bit.”
A beep sounded in the vehicle, and she saw she had an incoming call from Rose.
“Truman, Rose is calling.”
“I’ll let you go.”
She ended his call and picked up the second. “Hi, Rose.”
“Mercy? Is that you?” asked a high-pitched voice that didn’t belong to Rose.
“Mom?” Mercy caught her breath at the stress in her mother’s tone.
“I’m on Rose’s phone.”
“What’s happened?” Every cell in her body tensed, and her finger hovered over the start button to the rental vehicle.
“Someone threw rocks and mud at Rose today. And they called her a whore.”
Mercy couldn’t breathe. She hit the button and fired up her vehicle. “Where are you?”
“We’re home now, but we were in Eagle’s Nest. I was in the post office while Rose went to Hackett’s store.”
“I’m on my way. Is she hurt?” I will make someone wish they were dead if she is injured.
“Not really. Just some small cuts from the rocks, but she’s very shaken.”
“Assholes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Mercy parked at her parents’ house and slammed the door to the Ford rental, fury racing through her veins. She took the stairs two at a time and pounded on the front door. “Mom?” she hollered, wanting to throw open the door and walk right in. Instead she forced herself to stand and wait.
I will find out who did this.
Footsteps sounded behind the door, and her mother opened it. Her face was lined and drawn, and Mercy didn’t like the fear in her eyes. She stepped back. “Rose is in the kitchen.”
Mercy started to pass by, but she stopped and placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. I called Truman and told him Rose needed to file a police report.”
“We don’t want to—”
“It’s assault. There needs to be a record.”
Dismay wrinkled her mother’s forehead. “I don’t think—”
“Do it for me . . . Hell, it’s not for me. Do it for Rose. Don’t look the other way and let this happen unnoticed, Mom.”
“I’m not looking the other way! I just don’t want to make a fuss.”
“Make a fuss! People need to learn that his sort of behavior is not okay.”
“Mercy?” Rose’s voice sounded from the kitchen, and Mercy locked eyes with her mother.
“It’s the right thing to do.”
Her mother broke eye contact and disappointment stung. At least she didn’t refuse.
“I’m coming, Rose.” Mercy left her mother at the door and passed through the living room area to where Rose sat at the kitchen table with a plastic bag of ice against her cheekbone. Her hair was damp.
She showered to wash off the mud.
Tears burned in Mercy’s eyes, and she forced the worry out of her voice. “Hey. Let me take a look at that.” She sat in the chair next to Rose and placed a hand over Rose’s fingers holding the pack in place.
“It’s not so bad,” Rose said, but Mercy noticed she was slow to pull the ice away.
Rose’s perfect cheekbone now sported a gouge surrounded by fresh bruising. Two tiny cuts graced her forehead.
Mercy wanted to hurt someone. Most of Rose’s facial slashes had healed, and now this had happened.
“Truman is sending someone to take a police report,” Mercy said as she took stock of her sister, visually inspecting her for any other problems.
“That’s not—”
“Humor me,” Mercy ordered. What is with the women in my family? A knock sounded at the door and her mother opened it. The sound of Truman’s greeting made Mercy relax a few degrees, pleased that he’d come instead of sending someone else. A moment later his hand squeezed her shoulder as he greeted Rose. He pulled out another chair.
“You don’t know how angry this makes me,” Truman started.
“Get in line,” snapped Mercy, glancing at him, looking for understanding of her temper. She found it in his calm brown eyes.
“Tell me what happened,” said Truman as he clicked the button on top of his pen and opened his notebook.