No Mercy Part 29

He paused.

And then I knew. I waited for the lie.

"Just being neighborly."

The west side was the most accessible section of our land that showcased the river flowing through the canyon. Of all the places on the ranch, that gorgeous vista would bring top dollar. So I figured Kit tried to schmooze the owners of the old Jackson place into letting him onto the Gunderson Ranch. Why? Because I'd denied him access and he wanted to prove my threats were idle?

I didn't know whether to be p.i.s.sed off or p.i.s.sed off. And . . . p.i.s.sed off won.

"Kit, I told you what I'd do if I caught you trespa.s.sing."

Out came the good-ol'-boy grin. "Now see, Mercy, that's where you and I don't see eye to eye. I don't think of it as trespa.s.sing. I think of it more as a sneak peek at the potential uses for such a unique piece of property."

"It is a shame and a waste of your time. No one needs a peek because the Gunderson Ranch is not for sale."

His face fell. "But . . . I thought you told them guys no because we had an agreement that you'd at least consider the offer from my investment group first. And Hi said you'd stopped by his place. How can you say no when you haven't even heard it?"

"Because it doesn't matter. You could offer me $100 million and I wouldn't sell a single inch to you."

He sneered, "It ain't worth that kinda money."

I didn't respond. Just waited for him to pull the noose a little tighter.

"So that's it?"

"Yep. I'll show you out." I stood and walked to the kitchen door.

His big belt buckled sc.r.a.ped the table edge as he pushed away. "Trey was right. You are stone cold."

He'd succeeded in jarring me. "You know Trey?"

"Could say that. The boy's been working for me for the last year."

Kit's nasty smile curled my innards.

A thought occurred to me: had Trey knocked me out that night at Clementine's on Kit's orders? Then "found" me and offered to take me home? He'd actually slept in my room, in my bed, right next to me. The opportunistic little f.u.c.ker could've slit my throat in my sleep.

Just like Sue Anne's.

A worse thought arose: had Kit or someone else killed my nephew in the ultimate ploy to cause us additional grief? Thinking neither Hope nor I would want to stick around after such tragedies befell us? He'd threatened me. Had he executed his threat by executing my nephew?

My violent streak surfaced. I pushed him hard. The sudden move knocked Kit's hat off his head, as well as the John Wayne collectible plate off the wall. Using a wristlock, I whipped him around and rammed his face against the wall. "Did you kill Levi? Or did you use that rhinestone cowboy Trey?"

He squirmed. "What is wrong with you?"

I shoved harder, trying to catch his bulbous nose on the nail that had held the plate. "I'm p.i.s.sed off, Kit. So if I were you, I'd start talking before you see what I'm like when I'm"-another push from me-"extremely p.i.s.sed off."

"W-wh-what do you want to know?"

"To know if you had anything, and I mean even a f.u.c.king whisper, to do with Levi being murdered."

"No! What kind of a man do you think I am?"

"Slimy, but I a.s.sumed you weren't stupid enough to mess with me."

"Let me go."

The vicious part of me longed to inflict more damage. I had to force that part to let go of his hands. Immediately I backed up, in case he decided to come out swinging.

Kit grunted as he bent down and plucked up his hat. He fingered the bent brim and wouldn't meet my eyes. Embarra.s.sed to have been shown up by a woman. Too bad.

"I don't know why you're acting like this. I'm chalking it up to grief. But I will tell you that if you ever come at me like that again, you'll be sorry."

He stomped past me and out the door.

I let the adrenaline fade, picked up the broken plate, and poured myself a gla.s.s of water.

Christ. It'd already been a long-a.s.s day. But it'd be an even longer wait until nightfall.

After a lunch of peanut-b.u.t.ter crackers and grapes, I called Geneva. No answer. I called Rollie. No answer. I called John-John. No answer. Why didn't people answer their d.a.m.n phones? I hated talking to machines, but I left messages anyway.

I hated to admit I was lonely and wished Sophie and Hope were around.

Sick of silence and my own c.r.a.ppy company, I flopped on the couch and indulged in an entire afternoon of TV. All cla.s.sics: Petticoat Junction, Green Acres, and Hogan's Heroes. Reminded me I'd always wanted a pet pig named Arnold. Maybe it was time to seriously look into it. Wouldn't Sophie have a fit? Cheered by that thought I roused myself and ventured outside.

It neared Jake's usual quitting time, and I needed to talk to him before he left. I a.s.sumed he'd be in the place he loved and I hated: the old wooden barn. As far as barns went, it was considered antique. Constructed of wide oak planks, painted red, with a hayloft; a Norman Rockwell portrait come to life. Charming, right? Wrong. For me it was a mausoleum.

I inhaled a calming breath and scooted inside. With the hayloft door closed, it stayed dark. The narrow walkway to the stalls was littered with loose pieces of hay. The smell never changed, even after everything had been scrubbed down. Horse sweat, horses.h.i.+t, wet leather, wet wool, hay dust, dirt, and feed. Mud. Plus the chemical odor of the pesticide needed to keep the flies down.

Three of the four stalls housed horses. I didn't linger, just made a straight line to the tack room.

Jake looked up at me with surprise. "Hey. What's up?"

"Nothing. Just needed fresh air."

"Then you're in the wrong place. The air's mighty stuffy in here." He glanced down at the ropes in his hands instead of at me when he remarked, "Didn't think you came out here."

"Not if I can help it."

"I seen Kit McIntyre's fancy-a.s.s rig pull up. What'd he want?"

"To buy the ranch. I said no. He didn't listen. I said no with a little more force. Don't think he'll be back."

"Shee. Watch out for him. He's a sneaky one."

"He doesn't scare me." I forced my foot onto the plastic milk crate by the wall so I wouldn't run out. "Anyway, think you could get some specific information about the next meeting time and place for the Warrior Society from Bernie?"

Jake's work-roughened hands stopped twisting the rope. Slowly his gaze met mine. "Why?"

"Randall let it slip they're meeting with the leaders in the next couple of days. I want to know where and when."

"I don't know how much Bernie can help. Bernie said a couple of months after Axel was initiated into the group, Axel quit."

"From what I've heard, no one can quit."

"Huh. He did. Anyway, Axel refused to tell Bernie who the leaders are because of some secret oath."

"Would Bernie talk to me?"

Jake frowned. "I don't know. He's kinda closemouthed. What'd you learn from Rollie?"

"About the same thing you just told me. But he gave his blessing for me to poke around on the rez."

"Think you mean curse."

I smiled. "What're your plans for tonight?"

"Hang out. Watch TV." His eyes narrowed. "What're you doing?"

"Taking the Viper out for a spin. The girl gets antsy. Might see what's up at Clementine's."

"I don't like the look on your face, Mercy."

I smiled again. Wider. "Just be d.a.m.n glad that look isn't aimed at you tonight."

FIFTEEN.

So I went looking for trouble.

I called John-John. Trey was at the bar, knocking back a couple of beers. Maybe my luck was about to change.

Gravel roads are h.e.l.l on metallic paint. By the time I'd b.u.mped into the parking lot at Clementine's, an amethyst glow cast the Badlands in shadow.

The metal door banged open. An angry ranch woman stamped out. I paused to see if her significant other would chase after her. But she climbed in her Chevy truck alone and roared off in a powdery puff of dirt.

I sauntered inside and John-John came out from behind the counter to give me a big hug. He whispered, "I don't like the gleam in your eye, Mercy."

I almost said, "Which eye? The good one or the bad one?" but I offered him a toothy grin. "Trick of the light, kola."

"Uh-huh. What can I get you?"

"A c.o.ke. Straight up. But make it look like you dumped whiskey in it, okay?"

"You're scaring me."

I playfully slapped his cheeks. "That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day."

Trey returned from the back room the same time John-John slid my drink in front of me. He'd even added a maraschino cherry. I lifted the lowball gla.s.s in a mock toast. Trey loped over with a big cowboy smile.

"Hey, Mercy. Ain't seen you around much."

"Haven't really been in the party mood."

His grin died. "Yeah. I heard. Sorry about your nephew."

"Thanks. I needed to escape from the house for a while, so I took my car out for a spin. Thought I'd stop in and get a little something to wet my whistle."

"Car? You ain't driving your truck?"

I shook my head. "Wanted to drive fast so I rolled out the Viper."

Trey's mouth hung open like a broken cellar door. "You have a Viper?"

"Yep."

"No way."

"Way."

"A Dodge Viper?"

"Is there any other kind?"

"You pulling my leg?"

"Nope."

"It's out there right now? In the parking lot?"

"No. I parked it on the roof."

He blushed. "s.h.i.+t. Sorry. Can I see it?"

"Sure. Let's go." I downed my c.o.ke and waved good-bye to John-John.

Even without light the black metallic paint on the car gave off its own radiance.

Trey was mesmerized.

"Pretty, isn't she?"

"Yep." Trey's hand caressed the front quarter panel like the curve of a woman's backside. He whistled. "This is one sweet machine, Mercy. How fast will it go?"