Lori Armstrong - Merciless

“Oh. How long were you in?”

“Twenty. I opted out, figuring they might freeze retirement by the time my next option came around. I was a little gimped up anyway.”

“So when did you come home to Eagle River?”

“Six years ago. My uncle Harold… he’s my only living relative. He’s getting on in years, took me in after my folks died, so I owe him. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” I thought of Sophie. “I’ve got someone in my life like that, too.”

He smiled and adjusted his glasses. “Luckily, I’d been in office work in the guard for years, so I was qualified to take over this job, managing the archives. It made it easier for my uncle to retire, knowing this place was in good hands.”

Would my father have felt relief if he’d known I was on my way back to the ranch as he lay dying in a rented hospital bed?

“Mercy?”

I glanced up at Sheldon. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said I’m trying to get my uncle to start a hobby.”

“I’m too old to start a hobby now. I can’t imagine trying to tackle one twenty-some years from now.”

Sheldon cocked his head. “Don’t you have any hobbies?”

I doubted drinking counted as a hobby. “I run. Practice yoga. Hunt. Some people in my family call me a hobby rancher.” By the expectant look on his face, I guessed he wanted me to ask him about his hobbies. “How about you?”

“Oh, nothing too exciting. I’m a history buff. Amateur photographer. I told you I do a little hunting. I’m interested in traditional native herbal remedies. And I’m an avid ornithologist.”

I frowned. “You’re an orthodontist?”

He laughed. “You are a funny one. I said I’m an ornithologist. A bird-watcher.”

Jesus. Seriously? He was into bird-watching? That’s where I drew the conversational line. I pushed back from the desk. “I probably better stop yakking and get some work done.”

“No problem. I’m running behind schedule myself. Let me know if you need anything.”

I did an Internet search for Arlene Dupris. I found a ten-year-old obit-she had died from injuries sustained in a hit-and-run. My gaze moved to the police case files. Since the place was über-organized, it didn’t take long to find the right box with the file. I flipped though it and read it where I stood.

Ten years ago, Arlene Dupris was struck down a mile outside Eagle River. By the time she was discovered in the ditch, she was already dead. The tribal cops tried to pass the investigation to the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department, who’d passed it right back. No investigation at all, just shoved aside by two law enforcement agencies.

No wonder the Dupris family had an issue with cops. I wondered why my dad had just filed this case. How many other times had he done that? Curiosity got the better of me, and I started looking through random case files.

My phone rang, and the caller ID read DAWSON. “Gunderson.”

“Hey, babe. How’s it going?”

Babe . So much for professionalism. “It sucks ass, cupcake .”

He laughed at my term of endearment.

“I’m wishing you would’ve pushed harder to keep the case within the purview of the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department, Sheriff.”

He snorted. “Right. Then Fabio wouldn’t get to play tough FBI mentor to impress you.”

That sounded almost like… jealousy.

“The reason I called is because I’m getting off so I’ll pick Lex up today.”

I glanced at the computer clock. Almost two hours had passed. Crap. I probably needed to get back to the police station. “Good thing. I’ll be in interviews the rest of the day. Lex mentioned needing to go to Rapid for school supplies.”

“I’ll get him there. Since Sophie won’t be here, you want me to cook supper?”

“Depends on what you plan to cook.”

“How about antelope?”

“Didn’t we decide to turn all that meat into jerky?”

“Nope. I kept the backstraps.”

“Of my antelope meat? Or yours?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does only if you’re bragging to Lex about how studly you are in putting meat on the table.”

“Smart-ass. You want me to confess to my son you’re a better hunter than me?”

“It’d be the truth, because I am a much better hunter than you.”

He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“But you can process a kill faster.”

“Such a sweet talker, Sergeant Major. I’ll see you at home.”

I returned everything to its proper place. I deleted the history on the computer in case chatty Sheldon got snoopy. I ripped out the two pages of notes I’d jotted down and set the notebook on Sheldon’s desk. “I’ve gotta run. Thanks for your help today.”

“Happy to assist. And you’re welcome back here any time, Agent Gunderson.”

I didn’t remember to ask Sheldon about the weird doors I’d seen on the backside of the building until I was inside the tribal PD.

All hell had broken loose, and I forgot about it entirely.

Yells of outrage and flailing arms greeted me when I entered tribal police headquarters.

Verline’s family members were attacking Rollie with their fists and their voices.

Several tribal cops stepped in to stop it, but there were five Dupris women and three cops. Bad odds.

So I jumped into the fray. I kept my back to Rollie, figuring he wouldn’t take a swing at me. But someone did land two blows to my head in rapid succession, directly on my ear. The immediate burst of pain caused me to lose my balance.

That pissed me off.

And it didn’t seem like the officers intended to restrain anyone, so I did.

Grabbing a zip tie from my pocket, I snatched somebody’s arm midblow. I jerked the wrist; the body attached lurched forward. I saw a surprised look on Maureen Dupris’s face a split second before I spun her around, immobilized her hands, and shoved her to her knees.

Another zip tie, another flailing arm, and I put Carline in the same position as her sister.

Nita glared at me as Officer Orson restrained her. I faced the other women I didn’t know; I assumed they were more of Nita’s daughters. “You will back off right now, or I will throw all of you in jail for attempted assault on a federal officer, understand?”

The women aimed defiant looks at me.

Nita sneered, “Try it.”

Without breaking eye contact with Nita, I said, “Officer Orson, cuff her.”

Protests rang out around me, but I ignored them.

Once Nita was cuffed, I stepped back. “Put her in interview room one.”

“What about him?” Officer Ferguson asked of Rollie.

“Put him in interview room two.”

“You can’t just leave us out here like this,” Maureen complained.

“I can put you in a holding cell, if you’d rather,” I offered.

“We need to be with our mother. She’s grieving. She’s… not thinking straight.”

I suspected Nita was the one who had sucker punched me. “Her grief hasn’t seemed to affect her aim, so she stays in cuffs until she calms down.” I looked at each one of them in turn. “We’ll interview you separately, so make yourselves comfy on that bench.”

I’d left my purse in my pickup. So much for popping a couple of Excedrin to stave off a headache. I was rubbing the spot between my eyes when Turnbull blocked my path.

His gaze roamed over my face and stopped at my reddened ear. “You always seem to end up in the line of fire.”

“Story of my life. I don’t suppose you’ve got any aspirin?”

“I’ll track some down.” Turnbull threw a look over his shoulder. “The tribal police chief is insisting on sitting in during the interviews.”

I groaned. “More jurisdictional bullshit?”