No Mercy Part 10

"Just a simple enlisted girl keeping the country safe from the evils of terrorism."

He tipped up the brim of his hat so he could bend down and whisper in my ear. "I don't buy it. You can fool other people, Mercy, not me."

"Then I'll be careful to watch my step around you."

Dawson angled his head back. Still too close for my liking. "Speaking of... I didn't get my chance to two-step with you the other night."

I made out the strains of "Boot Scootin' Boogie" above the usual bar noises and the strange pounding in my heart.

A dark brown hand with ruby nails appeared on his chest. Teased and frosted hair brushed my jawline as a woman crammed herself between us.

"I'd love to dance with you, Mason. You wandered off and left me all alone in the back room."

Dawson's face stayed neutral at her little-girl pout. "Just getting a fresh round. Laronda, this is Mercy. Mercy, Laronda."

"Nice to meetcha," she said, leaving her hand on his s.h.i.+rt, practically digging her claws in as a sign of owners.h.i.+p.

This was the type of woman Mad Dog went for? Beauty queen meets Elvira? I could understand his liking her huge b.o.o.bs. But having to put up with a bad dye job, fake nails, a fake tan, clown makeup, and a quart of perfume just to get his hands on those enormous jugs? Not worth it.

Plus, she couldn't have been more than twenty-two. That made him roughly twice her age and me... in desperate need of another shot. I caught John-John's eye. He poured the Wild Turkey and slid it in front of me. It went down the hatch smooth as honey.

"You from around here?" Laronda asked.

"Used to be. How about you?"

"From Belle Fourche, originally. What do you do?"

Kill people. Nah. Not a good midwestern response. "I'm a rancher. You?"

Her witch's beak wrinkled as if I smelled of cows.h.i.+t. "I'm a secretary. For now. I'm studying for my real estate license."

"Sounds interesting."

Awkward silence.

Laronda looked from Dawson to me. "How do you two know each other?"

"We don't." I swallowed a big drink of beer. "Actually, I was trying to pick him up and drag him back to my place to have my wicked, nasty way with him. You've got incredibly bad timing, Laronda."

She glared at me.

Some people have no sense of humor.

"She's pulling your leg. Mercy's dad used to be sheriff. That's how we know each other."

"Oh."

When Laronda made no move to skedaddle, Dawson said, "I ordered a round. Let me settle up and I'll be right there."

"Don't be too long." She smiled at me-a feral flash of crooked teeth-and raked her talons down his arm.

After she stomped off I said, "She seems nice."

Dawson stared at me like I'd grown horns.

John-John swept up the empty shot gla.s.ses. "Need anything else?"

"Four pitchers for the back room." Dawson tossed thirty bucks on the counter.

"Mercy?" John-John paused in front of me. "How you doing?"

"I'm good."

"You're never good, Miz Mercy."

I half chided, "Not the best information for you to share with the sheriff, John-John."

"True. But I'm hoping he's talking some sense into you."

"About?" Dawson asked casually.

"Keeping her from getting involved with the Yellow Boy family's troubles."

The beer mug stopped halfway to Dawson's mouth. "Come again?"

But John-John was oblivious to the tension. "Unci had no right guilting Mercy into helping Estelle, no matter how close she was to Estelle's grandmother."

As if Sophie could guilt me into anything. I had this perverse habit of finding trouble on my own, and I had just stepped into a heaping pile of it. I sent John-John a cold look, but he'd fled the scene.

Dawson's eyes burned with fury. "You messing in my investigation, Miz Gunderson?"

I fiddled with my empty shot gla.s.s.

He crowded in. "Answer me."

"Since my dad was sheriff I know I'm not legally obligated to answer a d.a.m.n thing."

Dawson got his mean on. "I don't give a d.a.m.n how long your daddy was sheriff. If I find out you've uncovered information on an active case that you're not sharing with me, I'll throw you in jail so fast it'll make your head spin."

"You threatening me?"

"Bet your sweet a.s.s I'm threatening you."

"Nice try. On what grounds are you going to lock me up?"

"The dead kid found on your land, who just so happens to have a tie to your family via your nephew. That's enough right there."

He was bluffing. Had to be. "Try it."

"Don't tempt me."

"My lawyer will eat you for lunch. Let me tell you something else, Sheriff. If you were doing your job, this wouldn't be an issue."

His gaze turned razor sharp. "What in the h.e.l.l is that supposed to mean?"

"Why is it that a grieving parent is hounding me for answers?" I paused. "Because she isn't getting the answers she needs from you. You think I enjoy having my friend begging me to figure out why her child was killed?"

His mouth tightened.

"Just because my father was sheriff she thinks I have some magic f.u.c.king insight into the criminal mind and how to catch them. I don't. But I sure as h.e.l.l won't brush off her concerns."

"And I am?"

"G.o.dd.a.m.n right you are. It's been over a week since they buried Albert. According to Estelle, you haven't talked to his friends or his other family members. You haven't done a thing besides p.i.s.s and moan that people aren't flocking into your office to unburden themselves. You want people to talk to you and stop treating you like an outsider? Then start acting like you give a s.h.i.+t about what happens inside this county."

I didn't wait for his response. I grabbed my purse, ducked under his arm, and made a dash for the bathroom before I did something I'd regret. Good thing I hadn't brought my gun.

In the stall, the strength of the Wild Turkey shots. .h.i.t me full force. My vision doubled. I felt sick to my stomach. I'd pay for this in the morning. Guaranteed.

Dawson wasn't hanging around when I'd slunk back to the bar. With any luck, he'd left and was brus.h.i.+ng up on his riding skills with Laronda.

The loud people and the thick smoke made my head throb and my lungs seize up. Although I wasn't in any shape to drive home, the thought of being cooped up another second made me nauseous. I slipped two twenties in John-John's hand and bolted.

Outside, I sucked in several breaths of fresh air. I could sleep this off in the truck. Wasn't like I hadn't done it before; wasn't like I wouldn't do it again. h.e.l.l, wasn't like I had anywhere to go tomorrow.

On my way to the back of the parking lot, I stumbled over empty beer cans. Bottles. My own d.a.m.n feet. Muskrat really ought to install lights out here. I couldn't see a thing.

Your vision is limited out of your right eye at night anyway, even when you're sober.

Nice timing for that cheery reminder.

I tipped my head back and studied the stars. Ooh. Bad move. Made me dizzy. I closed my eyes for a minute, and the keys tumbled from my hand.

As I bent over to pick them up, footfalls echoed, something struck me in the back of the neck. I fell forward and everything went black.

SEVEN.

Callused fingertips caressed my cheek. Mmm. Nice. I angled my face into the insistent touch. And a piece of gra.s.s poked up my left nostril like a railroad spike.

I froze. Where the h.e.l.l was I?

I wiggled my arms and legs. Not tied up. Definitely on the ground. Not in the desert. No sand s.h.i.+fting beneath me, but sharp rocks and dirt with the faint odor of skunkweed.

No skunkweed in Iraq.

"s.h.i.+t." I couldn't remember where I was.

"Hey. Take it easy."

The male voice didn't ring any bells. "Where am I?"

"In Clementine's parking lot."

Clementine's. Things started to come back to me. Sort of. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I came out here to take a leak and I tripped over you." Heavy pause. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine as long as you didn't actually pee on me."

He chuckled. "I didn't."

"Good." I tried to sit up but didn't quite manage it.

"Easy." Then, "How much've you been drinking?"

"Not enough to make me pa.s.s out." I made it into a sitting position and opened my eyes. My rescuer squatted down. The young hottie with the great grin who'd gallantly given up his bar stool. "Cowboy Troy?"

His white teeth lit up the night like a beacon. "Trey. Not Troy."

"Well, Cowboy Trey, thanks for not leaving me out here to get run over. Although I feel like I've been a speed b.u.mp for a cattle truck." I scooted back until my spine hit solid metal. I lifted my arm and touched the back of my neck. Even that little motion made me wince. Nice goose egg. No blood, though.

"Maybe I should get John-John or Muskrat. See if they can help you. I ain't real good with first-aid stuff."

"No." I gripped his forearm. "John-John will freak out and blame himself."

"Maybe he should. It ain't right, letting a pretty woman wander out here alone at night. He don't have the most trustworthy customers."

"Except you, apparently."

Trey grinned. "He should've asked me to escort you to your truck. It would've been the high point of my night."

I blinked. "You flirting with me, Cowboy Trey?"

"Yeah. Is it getting me anywhere with you?"

I didn't answer. I felt too c.r.a.ppy to flirt back.

Encouraged, he scooted closer. He plucked a piece of dried gra.s.s out of one of my braids. "You're in no shape to drive home, Mercy." Trey stood, stuck his hands out, and jerked me to my feet.

The second I was vertical... h.e.l.lo, vertigo. I fell right into him.

"Come on. My rig is over here. I'll take you home."