Lori Armstrong - Mercy Kill

“So? That isn’t what killed him.”

“There was also a large amount of OxyContin in his motel room and in his vehicle.”

“How much?”

“A hundred and forty bottles.”

She drank as she paced. “Maybe he’d been stockpiling prescriptions. During your discharge, didn’t the army shrinks try to load you up on medicine to help you ‘adjust’ to civilian life? I remember I had my choice of Ambien or Lunesta to help me sleep. Abilify to fight long-term anxiety. Xanax to fight situational anxiety. If I’d mentioned suffering from chronic pain, they would’ve prescribed the all-purpose OxyContin like candy.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I’ve been out of the service longer than you. At this one VA I visited in California? Looked like the damn stock exchange when the nurses turned their backs. Guys were trading OxyContin for Vicodin. Or Xanax for Adderal. High-dosage pain pills of any kind were big-ticket items. That’s how some vets made their living. They’d go to the doc, get the prescriptions, and sell them for cash. I can name at least a dozen straight-arrow soldiers, like Jason, who craved that combat high. They couldn’t handle normal. The only way to achieve the high was through artificial means. So they made up aches and pains to get that rush.”

I studied her. “Do you miss it? That rush of adrenaline?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Is that why you hired on as a merc? To feed that need?”

“Yes.” Anna gave me the unflinching stare that’d made several Iraqi interpreters start praying.

“Do you think Jason needed that rush?”

“Meaning, do I think he needed a way to escape his shitty life in North Dakota? Yes. So it’s no wonder he loaded up on as many bottles as the doctors would prescribe for him.”

“That’s the thing. There were no pharmacy prescriptions on the bottles. Just the manufacturer’s labels.”

Anna froze. “He stole them?”

“It appears so.”

She began pacing again. “Why would he take that risk? His income as a retired army officer is a helluva lot more than mine as enlisted. I’m sure his job with Titan Oil came with a pile of cash. Did stealing give him that high? Or did he have a death wish?”

I was beginning to wonder that myself. “That’s what I’m asking you, Anna. You said you knew him down to the bone.”

“I do.”

“You mean you did. ”

Lightning fast, Anna was in my face. “What about you, Sergeant Major? Do you miss that rush? Knowing you’re at the top of your game? Confident few women in the world can best you at what you do best?”

“I was an excellent sniper. But I never aspired to be an excellent killer.”

She backed off as quickly as she’d invaded my space, but I didn’t relax. Couldn’t. Unhinged Anna scared me.

“Same thing. I’m just doing what the army taught me. Be the best I can be. Putting the killing skills I learned to the test in the real world. You know all that Rah, rah! Go, Army! shit that lured us into enlisting in the first place. Now I’m supposed to pretend that’s not who I am?”

“People change, A-Rod.”

Her cell phone rang, and she looked at the caller ID. Then she smiled haughtily. Meanly. “Speaking of… putting my skills to the test in the real world, I do believe this is about a job.” She whirled away from me and took the call outside.

This conversation hadn’t gone well-not that I’d expected less. I’d told her some of the truth about J-Hawk, but if her reaction was any indication, I couldn’t tell her all of it. Especially not about the cancer.

But it bugged me, how had toe-the-line Major Hawley started selling prescription drugs? Just to feed his adrenaline-junkie side? Had it started when he was unemployed? Had he decided no one would notice small-scale stuff? But once he’d tasted easy money, had he moved on to bigger stuff? What if he’d unknowingly muscled into another group’s territory?

Cross the wrong people, like Saro’s group, who laugh at obeying the law, and bye-bye.

They’d kill him. Without hesitation.

So if I suspected J-Hawk’s death was a drug-related incident, when I wasn’t a professional investigator… why hadn’t Dawson come to the same conclusion? And if he had, why hadn’t he done anything about it?

Once again, someonebeating on my door roused me out of slumber. Pity Anna hadn’t shot the idiot for disturbing her R &R. I squinted at the couch as I shuffled past. Huh. No Anna. That explained the lack of bullet holes in the door.

I flipped the locks and opened the door. My belly did a little flip.

“I see you took my advice and started locking up.”

“You doing door-lock checks across the county this morning, Sheriff? Or am I special?”

“Smart-ass.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“We need to talk.” Dawson brushed past me, stopping in front of the empty coffeepot. “You haven’t made coffee yet?”

“I was still in bed.”

Grumbling, he filled the grinder with beans. Poured the water in the machine. Dumped the old grounds and nestled a fresh filter in the basket before refilling it with freshly ground beans. It didn’t bother me that he knew his way around my tiny kitchen. In fact, it was sort of… sweet.

After he hit Start, he turned, resting his backside against the counter. Arms crossed over his chest. Chin set in a hard line. No shades masked the steely glint in his eyes.

Yeah, Dawson was pissed. I prepped myself for an ass-chewing session and mentally took back my “sweet” remark.

“Is there a reason you didn’t tell me you knew Jason Hawley prior to his employment with Titan Oil?”

“Yes.”

“What would that reason be?

“Because you didn’t ask me.”

“Goddammit, Mercy, that’s not-”

“The response you were looking for?” I supplied. “Tough. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a dickhead to me the night I found my friend murdered, I would’ve given you specifics. But when you’re tossing around threats, taking away my gun, accusing me, for Christsake, of murder, I ain’t about to offer anything up that wasn’t specifically asked.”

“And what about the next day? When you and John-John came into the office? I asked you specific questions then. You had ample opportunities to come clean about your previous relationship with him.”

“No. You gave me some bullshit theory about how my friend, a man I respected, a man I entrusted my life to, a man who’d literally brought me back from the dead, had somehow gotten himself robbed-and oops, too bad, so sad, accidents happen. He’s not from around here anyway, so who cares? Move on and forget about it. Well, guess what? I couldn’t.”

Dawson was by my side-in my face-in an instant. “What do you mean he brought you back from the dead?”

The damn man was a bulldog when it came to digging things out of me and the hell of it was I didn’t always mind. Didn’t mean I always told the gospel truth, however.

“Mercy?”

Hearing the softness in his tone, I tabled my intent to lie. Or hedge, anyway. “When Jason found me, under rubble and bodies, I was… dead. No pulse. Not breathing. He wouldn’t give up, even long after he should have.”

“Tell me everything. In detail. Right now.”

I retreated from his menacing stance and maintained a clinical detachment in the retelling. I left nothing out, including J-Hawk’s relationship with Anna. Needing something to do with my hands, I poured us each a cup of coffee, automatically handing Dawson his favorite Smokey the Bear mug.

“Does Jason Hawley’s murder have anything to do with you deciding to run for sheriff?”

“Yes.”

An exasperated noise rumbled in his chest at my curt response. “And?”