Lori Armstrong - Merciless

“Why don’t you sit down, Sophie. Get some of your questions about Lex living here out of the way while I dish up.”

Sophie grinned. “Seems someone’s in a very good mood this morning. I wonder why? Any theories, Sheriff?”

Dawson smirked. “I ain’t touching that one.” He poured three mugs of coffee and sat across from Sophie.

“When will your son be here?”

“Sunday night. Mercy ’n’ me are goin’ huntin’ Saturday. After I bag a bigger buck than her, I’m driving to Denver. We’ll be back Sunday so I can get him enrolled in school Monday.”

I snorted. “In your dreams about bagging the bigger buck, marine.” I slid the plates on the table and took my seat next to Dawson.

“I love a challenge.” He snatched a slice of bacon off my plate and shoved it in his mouth.

I whapped his knuckle with my fork.

“You two behave,” Sophie warned. “What room were you thinkin’ of putting Lex in upstairs?”

“Not my old room, since Joy’s crib is in there. Probably Hope’s old room. It’s empty, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s got a floral bedspread and curtains,” Sophie pointed out.

“That’ll be fine,” Dawson said. “I don’t think Lex will care.”

Sophie and I exchanged a look. “Uh, yeah, he’s gonna care. I’ll stop at Walmart on my way home tonight and pick out bedding that’s plain and… manly.”

“Fine, but I don’t see the big deal. You’ve got girly sheets on our bed, and I haven’t complained.”

Not the same. He’d sleep on burlap if he was getting laid regularly, but I didn’t want to argue with him. We tucked into the food, and no one spoke until our plates were empty.

As we finished our coffee, Sophie said, “Such a pity about that Shooting Star girl. So young. I know not everyone likes that family, but it’s hard not to feel sorry for them, hey.”

Leave it to snoopy Sophie to bring up a case I’d hoped to avoid discussing with the sheriff.

“I assume the FBI was brought in?” Dawson asked me. “It’s under investigation.”

“Well, good luck with that.

I’m just damn happy it didn’t happen in my jurisdiction.” He pushed back from the table and took his plate to the sink to rinse it. “Miz Red Leaf, outstanding breakfast. Thank you.”

She waved him off with a smile.

“Mercy? Got a minute to talk to me before I head out?”

“Sure.” I followed him to the bedroom and watched as he strapped on his gun. “What’s up?” I formulated a half-dozen responses to his inquiries about the Shooting Star case, hoping I could hit the balance between evasive and professional.

“Don’t spend a lot on the bedding stuff for Lex’s room, okay?” He opened his wallet and passed me three twenties.

I nodded, happy that Lex was the buffer between our jobs. For now, anyway.

“I’ll be late tonight.” Dawson kissed me thoroughly. Then he held my face in his hands and locked his steely gaze to mine. “You know I love you, right?”

“Right.”

He waited for a better response.

Might be perverse, but I let him wait.

“And?” he prompted.

“And I love you, too.”

His smile had me smiling back at him as I watched him walk out. This frequent admission of how I felt about him was a whole new experience for me. During my stint in the army, I’d had to hide my true occupation from my fellow soldiers. So because I really couldn’t be myself, I’d formed no long-term emotional attachment to any man during those twenty years. Which left me the emotional equivalent of a robot.

Dawson saw beyond the facade-almost from the moment we’d met-which was part of the reason he’d had me running scared. It took a tragedy-a near mental meltdown-for me to stop finding excuses for why he and I would never work, to see him as the man who wanted me, the real me, no matter what I’d done in the past.

I relied on him-emotionally, physically. Me, Mercy Gunderson, badass former sniper who never needed anyone, needed him. Once I admitted that need to myself-and to him-I honestly felt more in control of my life than I ever had.

• • •

I must’ve been smiling when I wandered into the conference room, because Shay muttered about someone getting lucky. I ignored him and studied my notes. As the newbie agent in the office, I listened a lot because I had a lot to learn. But today I was determined to bring up my preliminary discovery on the unexplained deaths on the reservation over the last two years.

Director Shenker ended his phone call as he sailed into the room. “Morning, all. Agent Turnbull? If you want to get started?”

“Sure. I just got off the phone with the crime lab regarding the samples taken from the victim in the Shooting Star case. No tissue from her attacker was found under her fingernails. No evidence of rape.”

“What about defensive wounds?” Director Shenker asked.

“None. The tox results came back with high levels of digitalis, which is unusual. I did some research. Evidently, its intended use is for heart arrythymia. Given to patients with congestive heart failure.”

“But if you aren’t suffering from congestive heart failure? What does the drug do?”

“Causes irregular heartbeat. And all sorts of other nasty side effects, like vomiting, diarrhea, hallucinations, listlessness… almost always resulting in death. I also learned the foxglove plant is the most widely known source for digitalis. The leaves, the roots, the flowers are all poisonous.”

“Is it a controlled substance?”

“Yes and no. In prescription form it’s controlled. But the plant itself is for sale in greenhouses across the country.”

Something occurred to me. I looked at Shay. “Could Arlette have taken it as a suicide drug? Along the lines of Romeo and Juliet ? She drinks the poison because she can’t be with her true love?”

He leaned back in his chair. “It might be plausible… except for the fact that somebody drove a stake through her heart.”

Male chuckles sounded around the table.

Ooh. Smackdown. But I wasn’t about to be deterred. “Or maybe she tried to kill herself and was wandering around aimlessly, confused, with the toxin in her system, and-”

“Some random guy saw her, picked her up, stripped her, and staked her? I don’t think so,” Turnbull retorted.

“Fine. But don’t you agree that the murderer seems to have a sense of irony with that stake, given Arlette’s love of vampire tales? Wouldn’t feeding her poison before he killed her play a part? The guy didn’t rape her,” I reminded him. “And he had her for a couple of days before she turned up dead. So maybe this sicko played with her. She’d be easy to lug around if she was drugged up. But he’d still get to kill her, she just wouldn’t fight him.”

“Good point, Agent Gunderson,” Shenker said. “Do we know what form she took the drug in?”

“Nope. But the best guess at this point was she consumed it in liquid form.” Turnbull sighed. “And here’s another bizarre twist. The comfrey plant is used in teas and herbal remedies, and the leaves are so close in appearance to the leaves of the foxglove plant that sometimes foxglove is mistaken for comfrey. There’ve been several cases of accidental poisoning.”

“So the poisoning could have been accidental and unrelated to her murder,” I said.

“We cannot rule out that theory entirely.”

Somewhat vindicated, I pushed my next point. “With the absence of defensive wounds, it would appear Arlette knew her attacker.”

“Yes, but remember, we’re dealing with a small pool of people on the rez, so chances are just as likely it wasn’t a male she knew intimately, but a male she knew in passing.”

“We’re assuming it’s a male?” Agent Mested asked.