A Merciful Fate Page 5
No. It’s not the wine.
He gets me.
He understood how her mind worked, and they fit together like a couple of complicated puzzle pieces. She’d been painfully aware of her missing puzzle piece when he’d been taken away, chained by men planning to kill him, and then rescued, thanks to Ollie. The two weeks when no one knew his fate had been the worst of her life. When he’d been returned to her, she’d known she couldn’t waste any more time.
He’d been of the same mind-set and proposed.
“I’ll try Italy.” He dished spaghetti carbonara onto their plates. “Especially if the food is half as good as Marta makes.”
“We can ask Marta for travel suggestions,” she stated, pleased with her honeymoon idea.
Traveling abroad had never been an option for her. What would she do if society collapsed while she was in another country? No resources. No preparation. No escape. She’d be dependent on the kindness of others. Mercy waited for the knot to start in her stomach.
It didn’t come.
She hid her shock with another sip of wine. Am I getting soft?
Truman reached across the table and took her hand, giving a knee-melting smile.
No. Something else has shifted to the top of my priorities.
“What’s Kaylie up to tonight?” he asked as he ran his thumb over the ring on her fourth finger.
He’d picked out the engagement ring. It was a platinum band encircled with diamonds in a channel setting. “I knew a big solitaire wouldn’t be practical,” he’d told her when he slipped it on her finger. “I saw this and I knew it was right. With this setting the diamonds can’t get caught on anything . . . even while chopping wood.”
He gets me.
“Kaylie is at Pearl’s, working on a gluten-free lemon bar recipe for the café.” Mercy’s seventeen-year-old niece had lived with her since her father died last fall. Levi’s dying wish had been for Mercy to take in his daughter. The teenager didn’t need much supervision. She managed a coffeehouse, went to school full-time, and got great grades.
Taking in Kaylie had been one of the scariest decisions of her life. It’d felt as if she had stepped off a sky-high ledge into an unknown world, but now she wondered how she’d lived without the girl.
I didn’t know I had a Kaylie-shaped hole in my heart.
“Kaylie’s hair is no longer pink,” Mercy added as she took a bite of the carbonara. Her niece had surprised her with the cotton candy color a month ago. It’d been cute. But Kaylie had quickly tired of it and didn’t like the brown roots that had started to appear.
“Blue?” guessed Truman. “Or striped?”
“Normal. It’s as dark as mine now.”
He exhaled in relief. “That’s good.”
Mercy grinned. “Old-fashioned? Too crazy for you?”
“She looked like an anime character.”
Mercy laughed and nearly spilled her wine.
“And what’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” he asked over the rim of his plastic cup.
She perked up. “The bank confirmed the money bags are from the Gamble-Helmet Heist. And I have the go-ahead to visit Shane Gamble at the Two Rivers prison tomorrow.”
“What are your thoughts on the remains?” Truman asked. “Did the medical examiner get to them yet?”
“Yes. They spent the afternoon removing the remains, and Dr. Lockhart was going to start an examination tonight. The woman never takes time off.”
“Same could be said for you.”
“Only when I’m deep in a case.”
“I guess this means your weekends are booked for a while?”
Mercy sighed. “I know. The two of us are supposed to be working on the interior of this place . . . We’ll get it done at some point. It’ll have to wait awhile.”
A grin filled his face.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re not the same person I met last fall. Back then, if the cabin had been in the half-completed state it is now, you’d be climbing the walls with anxiety because your safety net wasn’t perfect.”
“You’re right,” she agreed. “I had a similar thought earlier, but nearly all my supplies are still intact, so it’d be rough living but doable. I can temporarily live with that for now. Especially with this case to distract me.”
His lips twisted.
“Jealous?” she asked with a grin. “It’s an amazing case, isn’t it?”
“It is. Considering there have been no leads for decades, and the robbery is practically modern folklore. It’s like a buried treasure hunt, and Ollie found the first clue.”
“Is Ollie okay after his morning?” she asked with a small wince. She’d nearly forgotten the teen had made the grisly discovery.
“He’s okay. I spent some time with him and he was very quiet, but I could tell he was processing it. He’s dealt with death before.”
“He’s been through a lot,” sympathized Mercy.
They silently ate for a few moments until he glanced up and caught her staring at him. Longing shone in his eyes, an appetite and craving that had nothing to do with food, and she struggled to find her breath.
How does he do that to me?
“You know,” he said, his voice low and tempting, “this place hasn’t been christened yet.”
Mercy blinked. “People do that to homes?”
Patience filled his features. “That’s not what I meant.” His brown gaze held hers.
“Ohhh,” she breathed as heat flashed through her.
“Dessert.” His smile was sinful, and energy pulsed between them.
She melted. “Yes. Dessert.”
FOUR
The guard who escorted her into the Two Rivers prison warned her that Gamble liked to toy with people. “He’ll say whatever he can to get under your skin,” the guard stated as they waited for clearance at a third set of electronic doors. “It’s how he entertains himself. I swear he must sit around for hours thinking up ways to bug everyone.” The guard looked at her. “Show no fear.”
“Not a problem,” Mercy promised.
“They say he’s some sort of genius,” the guard went on. “Scored a 130 on an IQ test a long time ago.”
“Isn’t that nearly Mensa level?” Mercy hadn’t seen a mention of an IQ score when she reviewed Gamble’s file.
“Dunno. But he acts like he’s smarter than everyone here. His social status in prison is unusual. He can get anyone to do anything for him, but he doesn’t run around with a flock of followers. He keeps to himself.” A buzzer sounded, and the door slid open.
“Does he create problems?” Mercy asked.
The guard blew out a breath. “Yes and no. He’s never at the center of a problem, whether it’s a fight or missing items. Evidence always points at someone else, but those of us who know him are positive he masterminded things that got other inmates in trouble. It makes me believe the IQ score. He reminds me of a lazy genius—getting everyone else to do his dirty work while he sits by and enjoys watching the repercussions that never involve him. It’s like he’s Teflon coated or something.”
“He has help from higher up in the prison system?” she questioned.
“Oh, hells no. We all know better than to let him get in our heads.” The guard’s tone left room for doubt. “It’s amazing that he can be the nicest, most personable guy and can carry on a friendly conversation about the latest basketball game. But then I’ll see him study a group, and I just know a different part of his brain has taken over. It’s like he’s two people.” He leaned closer to Mercy. “You know he killed an inmate, right?”
That piece of information had been in Gamble’s records. It’d happened during his first year of prison, when he was still at the Oregon State Correctional Institution, and the act had guaranteed he’d die an inmate.
That murder was foremost in Mercy’s thoughts as she took a seat across from Gamble.
He didn’t look like a killer. He looked like the next-door neighbor who was happy to loan you his tools. He was tall, with long arms and salt-and-pepper hair. If they hadn’t been sitting in a prison, Mercy could have seen him as a typical dad cheering on his teenager at the high school football game. He spoke slowly and deliberately while keeping his facial muscles and shoulders relaxed. Only his eyes indicated that his mind was working at top speed; his gaze was fierce.
Shane Gamble’s gaze lingered on her left hand. “You married?”
Mercy wasn’t about to share her relationship status with the prisoner sitting across from her. “Generally that’s what a ring on that finger means.” Her engagement ring suddenly seemed ten times larger than its actual size.
He deliberately looked at it again, and she swallowed hard at the intensity in his eyes. This is why they suggest removing jewelry before visiting. She’d shrugged off the recommendation since she would be interacting with only one prisoner.
“Awfully shiny. Looks brand-new.” His dark eyes met hers, and she forced herself to hold his gaze.
“I like shiny things,” she answered casually.
Shane Gamble continued to pointedly study her. “For someone who likes shiny things, you aren’t wearing any other jewelry. Or much makeup. Seems like those two things go hand in hand with most women.” He leaned closer and squinted at her.
Mercy held perfectly still, her hands preparing to aim a powerful thrust at his throat if he tried anything. He was chained to the table, and she knew he couldn’t reach her, but her protective instincts couldn’t help themselves. The guard standing near the door and out of listening distance cleared his throat. “Gamble,” he warned.
Gamble leaned back in his chair. “You wear a little makeup. I was trying to determine if that was a bruise near your eye. You did a good job covering it up.”
She did have a bruise. The fault of her inattention and a cupboard door corner. She’d painstakingly been covering it with makeup for days, not wanting strangers to wonder if a man had beat on her.