No Mercy Part 11

"You know where I live?"

"Everyone knows where you live."

I frowned at his odd comment. He helped me into the pa.s.senger's side of his truck.

Next thing I knew, Trey shook me awake. I sat up, as stiff as if I'd suddenly developed arthritis. Even after a short nap my head felt like a cannonball teetering on my shoulders. I squinted at the darkened windows of the kitchen. Would it have killed Sophie to leave a light on?

On the porch, Trey said, "Key for the door?"

I snorted. "Please. Like everybody else in this county, we don't lock the door."

"Makes it easy. Whoa. Steady. Where is your room?"

"Upstairs. The one in the far left corner."

"I'd offer to carry you-"

"Not necessary."

We trudged up the stairs, Trey following behind me in case I fell backward. I insisted on stopping in the bathroom first, where I downed two codeine-laced Tylenol I'd h.o.a.rded for emergencies. With the way my head screamed, this qualified.

I stretched out on the bed. The last thing I remembered was giggling as Trey pulled off my boots.

The mattress jiggled. I cracked one eye open at a time. Bright sunlight burned through the blinds, creating a c.o.c.keyed pattern across the patchwork pillow. I raised my gaze.

And saw a naked man roll out of my bed.

Holy cow. A muscled back and an excellent backside were inches from my face. The second I saw those lean hips swivel, my eyes snapped shut. As much as I wanted to see the front side of his body, I was too embarra.s.sed to look.

"Mercy? You awake?"

I groaned. What had I done last night? I rolled over. Looked down at what I was almost wearing: a white lace camisole that doubled as a bra and my bikini panties with big red lips and the words kiss my a.s.s printed everywhere. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight."

Clothes rustled. I peeked over to see Trey sliding wrinkled jeans over his smoothly muscled naked a.s.s. "At the risk of sounding like an idiot, what happened last night after we came up here?"

"My ego is crushed you don't remember."

I think I stopped breathing.

"Just kidding." He gave me the million-dollar smile that'd so thoroughly charmed me last night before I'd knocked back a hundred shots. "Nothing happened. You undressed yourself to what you're wearing now. I bunked down with you because you were really out of it."

Pa.s.sed out next to a strange man. In my own bed. Yeah, I'd taken stupidity to a whole new level. I kept it light; wasn't his fault I was an idiot. "Sorry you had to babysit me."

"It's all right. Wish it'd turned out different. Maybe next time it will."

Flattering, that he wasn't scared off by my haggard morning appearance. So why in the light of day did his megawatt smile seem forced?

"You want me to run you back to Clementine's so you can get your truck?"

"If it's not too much trouble. Let me hop in the shower first. I'll meet you downstairs." I snagged my robe and made a beeline for the bathroom.

Clean, dressed, and in need of caffeine, I was in fairly decent spirits considering the knot throbbing on the back of my neck and a hangover... until I realized I'd sent Trey downstairs without warning him about Sophie.

c.r.a.p. I wouldn't have put it past Sophie to whack him over the head with the cast-iron frying pan and tie him up with the clothesline cord before asking questions.

But the kitchen was empty. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air. I'd sort of expected Trey to be sitting at the table, patiently waiting for me. I peeked into the living room.

The toilet flushed, the old pipes rattled, and the bathroom door creaked open. Sophie stepped out in a cloud of rose-scented air freshener and frowned at me. "What?"

"Ah. Have you seen-"

"If you're looking for that young feller, I think he's out by the barn."

I refused to blush. Dammit. I was a thirty-eight-year-old woman. This was my house. I would not feel guilty for having an overnight male guest in my own house. I blurted, "Nothing happened."

She rolled her eyes, clucked her tongue, and shuffled to the sun porch.

Back in the kitchen, the screen door slammed as I filled my coffee cup. I turned around as Trey trooped into the kitchen with Sheriff Dawson trailing behind him.

I managed not to choke on the hot liquid. What was Dawson doing here at eight thirty in the morning?

"Good. The coffee's done." Trey sauntered over, snagged a cup from the rack, and poured, acting like he'd been in my kitchen dozens of times. He glanced over at Dawson. "Sheriff?"

"No," Dawson said curtly. "I didn't come here to drink coffee."

"So why did you darken my doorstep this morning?"

His hard gaze zoomed from me, to Trey, and back to me. "Because when I drove past Clementine's this morning, I noticed your truck was still in the parking lot. I wanted to make sure everything was all right and you made it home okay."

Trey and I exchanged a quick look. I didn't give a c.r.a.p if Dawson misread it. "Thanks for your concern, but as you can see I'm fine."

When Dawson continued to stare, I bristled. "Is there something else you need, Sheriff?"

"The other reason I stopped by was to ask you some questions about what we talked about last night."

"Refresh my memory. Some things from last night are a little fuzzy." I smiled coyly at Trey. I didn't care if Dawson misread that look either. "And some things not so much."

"Fuzzy from too much to drink?"

"No, fuzzy from someone smacking me in the back of the head with a tire iron."

Dawson was by my side in two steps. "Where were you hit?"

"Forget it."

"Like h.e.l.l. Where?"

"On the left side of my neck."

"Let me see."

The words f.u.c.k off danced on the end of my tongue. I bit them back and angled my neck so he could look.

Dawson's dry fingers lightly traced the swollen spot. I withheld a s.h.i.+ver at his touch. "Did someone look at this?"

"No."

"When did it happen?"

"About half an hour after you went into the back room."

"Why didn't you report this?" Dawson's gaze lasered into me. "I was right there in the bar."

"After you made a big point of telling me you were off duty?"

His mouth tightened. "I'm on duty now."

"I'll go get the truck ready," Trey said, and vanished.

What a little chickens.h.i.+t.

Dawson pointed to a chair. "Park it. I want to talk to you."

I sat.

"Last night you talked about digging for answers in the Yellow Boy case. I'm here to ask you to stay out of it."

"Why?"

"A number of reasons."

"Give me two."

"First off, I'm not convinced this is a homicide. The county coroner's report was inconclusive as to the nature of death. But she's tagging it as accidental."

"That's one."

"Two, if I do suspect foul play, as you so eloquently phrased it last week, I can't have you running around spooking people before I get a chance to talk to them."

"You've had time. My understanding is you haven't contacted any of the people who might know anything about why Albert ran away."

"Who told you that? Estelle?"

I nodded.

"Mercy. Think about it." Dawson angled forward, the picture of sincerity. "Nothing I do is enough. Albert was her child. She wants this case solved yesterday. She doesn't realize things don't happen overnight or like it does on TV."

"So you are working on Albert's case?"

"Yes. Just because I have other daily duties occupying my time doesn't mean I've blown the case off." He frowned. "There's some funky things happening around here. Things that don't fit. But it's nothing I can share with Estelle at this point."

"Why not? G.o.d, Dawson, give her something. Some hope that whatever secret thing you're working on might eventually lead you to why Albert is dead."

He didn't say a word. Which in my mind meant everything he'd just said was a bunch of hogwash. I stood. "Fine. I'll tell her you're doing your best and she shouldn't worry."

"And you'll stay out of it?"

I smiled at Trey through the screen door. "Come on, cowboy. We got places to be."

A chair sc.r.a.ped. Dawson loomed over me. "I mean it. There are plenty of other things to keep you busy without messing in my business."

"Like what?" If he suggested joining a quilting club, I'd club him.

"Like have you made a decision on whether you're selling this ranch?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Gee, Sheriff, the way you keep bringing it up makes me think you might have designs on it yourself."

"I don't. But some folks around here do." He dropped his guarded expression for a second. "That knot on your neck wasn't an accident."

His words sent goose b.u.mps across my flesh. I looked at Trey. He had the oddest expression on his face. Probably he was as confused by this cryptic conversation as I was.

We left, and I didn't look to see if Dawson followed.

Hope's Honda was parked out front when I returned home. She and Sophie looked up when I dragged a.s.s into the kitchen.

My sister smirked. "Hear you got yourself a new beau. Or was he hanging around because you were babysitting him?"

I should've let it slide. Instead, I spun the chair around and straddled it. "Tell you what. If you dish the dirt on the guy Theo, who's been warming your bed, I'll return the favor."

Her face went as milky white as the tea in her cup.

"Didn't think I knew, did you? How long before you planned to tell me?"

"Mercy, be nice," Sophie warned.

I ignored her. "When you bringing him by so I can meet this great new love of your life?"

"See? That's why I didn't tell you. Because you'd get all sarcastic and mean."

Sophie patted Hope's hand and murmured to her, her s.h.i.+ny black eyes shot deadly daggers at me.

My focus s.h.i.+fted to a bottle of pills in the middle of the table. Thank G.o.d. A jumbo container of aspirin. Just what I needed to stop the throbbing pain in my head.

"Hey! Gimme that! It's mine!" Hope said, trying to s.n.a.t.c.h the bottle from me.

"Relax. I'm just gonna borrow a couple."