Great plan, Mercy. Maybe the logic center of your brain has been rattled by too many IEDs.
But Agent Turnbull wasn’t done railing on me. “And to make matters worse, you threatened Saro and Victor when they showed up at Stillwell’s to talk to you about humiliating Benji.”
“They threatened me, Agent. I told them the truth-I’d derive great pleasure in taking them down if I was elected sheriff. Oh, and that was after they’d dropped hints about what a tool my father was.”
“Now, thanks to your macho behavior and the chip on your shoulder about your dearly departed dad, Saro and Victor have closed ranks and holed up on the reservation where we can’t get to them.”
“Get to them for what?”
No response.
My jaw popped I clenched my teeth so hard. “You have proof one of them killed Jason Hawley?”
Agent Turnbull stared at me blankly.
“Goddammit. Tell me.”
He offered me a snakebite smile. “I don’t have to tell you a thing, Sergeant Major.”
“Is he bothering you?”
Startled, I glanced up to see Sheriff Dawson. His face was pure business, his posture pure agitation as he braced a hand on the back of the booth above my head and loomed over Agent Turnbull.
Yikes.
“Or am I interrupting something?”
“No. Agent Turnbull and I were finished.”
At my use of his title, Turnbull scowled.
“Would you like to join us?” I asked Dawson politely.
“I’ll pass.”
But Dawson didn’t move. Agent Turnbull didn’t move. I didn’t move. A machete couldn’t have hacked the thick air.
Agent Turnbull’s curious gaze winged between Dawson’s impass-ive face and mine. A knowing smile upturned the corners of his lips. “I’m not interested in muscling in on your territory, Dawson.”
“You’ve been on my territory since the second you stepped foot in this county. I’ll cooperate with the feds because I’ve got no choice, Agent Turnbull, but I don’t gotta like it.”
Dawson was purposely being obtuse. Again, I was reminded of his fierceness. Of his sweetness. He’d rather take an insult than allow one to be directed at me.
You’re such a sucker, Mercy. Maybe you oughta pucker up, bat your eyelashes, and squeeze his big biceps, too.
Turnbull, being a nosy asshole fed, didn’t let it slide. “Tell me, Sheriff. Does knowing what she’s capable of make it hard to fall asleep next to her some nights?”
I ground my teeth at hearing Turnbull voice the question I’d asked myself.
Dawson flashed his teeth. “Have a nice day, Agent.” He looked at me, no differently than usual, and said, “You, too, Miz Gunderson.”
After Dawson swaggered off, Turnbull asked, “How many people know about you and Dawson?”
I pretended to give the question serious thought. “Probably everyone, with the exception of the folks in the Restful Acres Nursing Home. Most of them have limited recall, and I doubt they even know who’s in the sheriff’s race. But everyone else knows I’m running against him.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
I know. “Excuse me.” I ducked out of the booth. I didn’t run, but with his long-legged stride I didn’t catch Dawson until we were in front of Pete’s Pawnshop. “Dawson. Wait.”
He seemed surprised to see me. Surprised and wary. He glanced over his shoulder. “If you’re gonna chew me out, I’d prefer you did it in private.”
“I didn’t chase you down to rip into you.”
“Then why did you chase me down?”
Because I’m just as much a tool and a fool as I feared. “To ask why you didn’t tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“About Shay Turnbull. Who he is, who he works for.”
The angry muscle ticked in Dawson’s jaw. “Why does it matter now?”
“It just does.”
“That’s a bullshit answer, and I don’t have time for this.” Dawson spun and started to walk away from me.
Frustrated by his dismissal, I grabbed the back of his shirt to stop him.
Within two seconds he’d snagged my wrist and strong-armed me into the alley. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I’m pissed off.”
Dawson snorted. “Like that’s news.”
“Why didn’t you tell me Turnbull was a fed? God, Dawson, if I’d known the feds had taken over the investigation, and you had no choice but to let the Hawley case drop, I never would’ve agreed-”
“To run against me for sheriff?” he supplied. “It’s a little late for that now, doncha think?”
The full brunt of my mistake knocked the breath from my lungs.
“Answer me, Mercy.”
I could barely work up enough spit to swallow, let alone speak.
He crowded me against the brick building. “Do you know what’s the worst part of this situation?”
Too many awful reasons surfaced. It was hard to shake my head in response, when it was so damn hard to hold it up.
“Realizing how little you think of my professional abilities.”
Direct hit. “Dawson-”
“Let. Me. Finish. Last summer I chalked up your distrust of me to your replacement issues about your father. I chalked up your skepticism of my investigative skills to the personal stakes when your nephew was murdered. But when you automatically accused me of not doing my job again? That jab hurt worse than a knee to the balls. Or so I thought, until I started to wonder if you’d kept our personal involvement your dirty little secret because professionally you consider me no better than Barney Fife.”
The haunted look in his eyes made me want to hide my face in shame. But he was wrong about how I’d treated him… wasn’t he?
“I thought I could count on you to understand. You, of all people, Mercy, know what it’s like when the government forces you to keep your mouth shut, forces you to turn a blind eye, forces your compliance at any cost. You’ve lived that life. Hell, as far as I can tell, you still embody that unquestioning code of military ethics-personally and professionally. Yet here you are, judging me as lacking, for sticking to that exact same set of standards.”
A hot wash of shame burned as the words hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite sliced through me as sharp and painful as barbed wire.
My God. Talk about being sanctimonious. How many years had I been forced to follow protocol without question? Why had I questioned Dawson’s methodology? Because I was accustomed to being highest on the pecking order? Because my timetable, my way of doing things, and the answers I demanded should always be priority number one?
Delusions of importance much, Sergeant Major?
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Why hadn’t I considered that as sheriff, Dawson would be held to rigid rules and legal standards? Why hadn’t I realized my father hadn’t talked about his duties as sheriff, not because he didn’t want to but because he couldn’t?
I hoped for Dawson’s warm, rough fingers to nudge my chin up even as I steeled myself against his recriminations.
But his footsteps faded as he walked away from me and I was left with nothing but regret.
NINETEEN
I hated slapping on a happy face, and hitting the happy trail, after the shitty start to my day. What was the point? I should just withdraw from the race.
And become a quitter? No.
Cowgirl up, Mercy.
I preferred solitude to socializing, so it was ironic that the door-to-door aspect of my campaign duties had become my favorite part. Even when folks told me to my face they planned on voting for Dawson, I couldn’t hold it against them because it was rarely said with malice.