Lori Armstrong - Merciless

Two loud raps on my window made me jump. My head whipped toward the sound, and I saw Sheldon War Bonnet’s shocked face through the glass.

Shit.

Casually, I set aside the envelope and cranked down the window. But I couldn’t muster a smile.

“Agent Gunderson? Are you all right?”

No. Thanks for asking. Now go away. I cleared my throat. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. I came out to grab something from my car, and I noticed you sitting in your vehicle. And on my way back inside, I see you’re still here. You sure everything is okay?”

“Just got lost in thought. For longer than I realized, apparently.”

Sheldon nodded. “It happens. Especially after all you’ve been through lately. Any change in Sheriff Dawson’s condition?”

I shook my head.

“Any idea how long you’ll be working in the FBI’s VS offices?”

“Probably just through tomorrow.”

“Then you’ll be back at the FBI offices in Rapid?”

What a snoopy fucker. “Yeah. The need for our services is over at this point, unless new information on any of these cases surfaces.”

“Well, I liked having you around. Even if you didn’t enjoy having to do research.” He smiled. “Don’t be a stranger, Mercy.”

I couldn’t lie. I couldn’t smile. I just said, “Take care, Sheldon.”

“You, too. See you soon.” He limped around the front end of my truck. Then he stopped, waved, and cut through the cars toward the building.

A phone call from Lex prompted me to get going, because, once again, I was late picking him up.

When my stomach rumbled after I dropped Lex off at school the next morning, I realized I’d skipped supper the night before and breakfast this morning. Without Sophie nagging me to eat, I forgot.

I missed her. Not just her cooking, but her offbeat comments. Her bossiness. Her nosiness. I missed how she always seemed to know when I needed a hug or a sharp word.

My life had big holes in it. I couldn’t do anything but fill the one in my belly.

I slid into my favorite booth at the Blackbird Diner.

Mitzi hustled over with coffee. “Mercy. Hon, how you holding up?”

I’m about to crack into a million pieces. Thanks for asking. I scoured the menu even though I had it memorized. “I’m taking it day by day.”

“We’re all praying for Sheriff Dawson. He’s a good man.”

“Thank you, Mitzi. We appreciate it.” I pointed to the rancher’s breakfast-eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, hash browns. More food than I needed, but I ordered it anyway.

“Coming right up.”

Maybe it was petty to wonder if pity had kept her from demanding that I remove my gun.

We’d been allowed to stay with Mason for a half hour last night. I’d held his hand while Lex had talked. And talked. About guy things. About things Lex wouldn’t tell me. It had hit me, then, how much Mason meant to his son and how quickly it had happened. What would Lex do if his father wasn’t the same?

Which inevitably led to the question: What would I do if Mason wasn’t the same?

I’d held it together until we’d gone home. I held it together through the TV shows Lex asked me to watch with him. I held it together until I crawled in bed and Mason wasn’t there.

The sheets smelled like him. I’d crushed his pillow to my chest and couldn’t hold it together another second.

Tears are never cathartic for me. I understand that holding them in and never crying is a type of avoidance. There had to be a better coping mechanism for fear and sadness than one that resulted in red-rimmed eyes, Rudolph’s nose, and a wet, puffy face.

But I’d promised not to revert to my recent outlet for frustration-a bottle of whiskey-so tears won out. Pissed me off I hadn’t felt the slightest bit better. Really pissed me off that I had no idea what to do with those damn pictures. I’d feel stupid running to the FBI.

Won’t you feel worse if the threat is real and someone you love gets hurt?

I wasn’t alone with my conflicting thoughts long, there in my little corner of the Blackbird Diner.

Deputy Kiki Moore joined me, sliding coffee-to-go on the tabletop. “It’s automatic for me to buy two cups. One for me, one for the sheriff.”

I understood her loss of the familiar, but I swore if she started bawling I’d slap her.

She looked up at me. “No change?”

I shook my head.

“Damn. Mercy, I’m sorry. This sucks all the way around. We were short-staffed before this…” She took a long sip of coffee. “I don’t have the title of acting sheriff-I don’t want it because I have faith Dawson will return-but I will tell you that I went ahead and hired one of the applicants for the deputy’s job.”

“Who?”

Kiki met my gaze. “Robert Orson. He’s an officer with the tribal PD. You know him?”

“Yeah. When did he apply?”

“A month ago.”

Interesting that Officer Orson hadn’t told me he’d applied for the job before I’d suggested it to him.

“Dawson wasn’t sure about hiring him, so he’d been dragging his feet, waiting to see if any of the other applicants passed the background check. Deputy Jazinski, Deputy Purcell, and I cannot work twenty-four/seven. Even with a new hire we’re still a deputy short.” She grinned. “That ain’t the case with Orson. He’s a tall guy. He’ll probably just scare people when he climbs out of the patrol car.”

I smiled because Officer Orson was about as scary as a kitten. “Probably.”

Kiki scooted out of the booth after Mitzi dropped off my breakfast.

Between bites, I found myself looking for Rollie.

Or Shay.

Or someone else to butt in like usual.

But I ate alone and had that overwhelming urge to cry.

Either put on a fucking bib or quit being such a baby and eat.

I finished, paid, and was in my truck listening to Miranda Lambert singing about a dry town as I cruised to the rez. Tempting to drive straight past and play hooky. The weatherman had predicted a balmy fifty degrees for the day. Target shooting was a coping mechanism that might shake me out of… whatever this was.

Melancholy? Too tame a word to describe how I felt.

But I was definitely disturbed. Maybe a little unstable.

After I parked in the lot shared by tribal headquarters and tribal police, I stayed in my pickup and stared at the buildings, wondering what I was even doing here.

I appreciated that the FBI had assigned me close to home, allowing me to be available for Lex. My usual Buck up, suck it up, don’t fuck it up mantra wasn’t helping today. The last thing I wanted to do was kill time in the Victim Services office and answer phones. I decided to stop by the tribal archives first and snag a cup of coffee. Pretty pathetic if a conversation with oddball Sheldon War Bonnet held more appeal than sitting in the office trying to get to the next level of Angry Birds on my BlackBerry.

I trudged downstairs, but the archives department was closed. I rang the bell. Wasn’t it supposed to be open on Fridays? Maybe Sheldon was on coffee break? I beat on the door. “It’s Agent Gunderson.”

Just as I was about to ring the bell again, a voice behind me said, “That doesn’t help.”

I whirled around and recognized the girl sitting there hidden in the shadows. Arlette’s friend. “Hey, Naomi. What are you doing here?”

She scowled. “If you’re thinking I’m supposed to be in class, my teachers excused me to do research for my project. I’m just waiting for Sheldon.”

Sheldon? That seemed a little informal. “Has he been here today?”

“Not that I can tell.” Naomi gave me a once-over. “What’re you doing here?”