A Merciful Fate

by Elliot, Kendra

  “He didn’t see the truck, but the man verified that he owned a truck like the deputy described before cursing him out and slamming the door. He locked the door and refused to answer again. My deputy peeked in the garage behind the home, but it was empty.”

  “I wonder where it is.” Her mind sped through possibilities.

  “The guy’s name is Silas Dillon. He’s fifty-one and currently unemployed. His record includes two DUIs and an assault conviction. He’s renting the house. I’m trying to contact the owner.”

  If he was involved in the Gamble-Helmet Heist, the age is about right.

  Pearl stepped into Kaylie’s small room and gave Mercy a silent wave when she saw her on the phone. Her focus immediately went to Kaylie, and she laid a hand on the girl’s forehead, leaning close, whispering something Mercy couldn’t hear.

  “Mercy? Hang on a second.”

  She listened as Evan spoke to someone in the background. Her gaze wandered over Kaylie and Pearl, appreciating the mothering look on Pearl’s face as she straightened Kaylie’s sheets and light blanket.

  The voices in the background rose, and she heard Evan curse. Her focus whipped back to the phone call.

  “Evan? What happened?”

  “He took a shot at one of my men—”

  “Is he okay?” Her heart rate started to rise again.

  “He missed. We’re pulling SWAT together. Looks like we’ve got a hot one.”

  Mercy’s mind split, torn between Kaylie and the investigation. “I’ll be there. Text me the address.”

  “No! I know you’ve got more important things to do.” Evan exchanged more words with someone else, their tones heating up.

  “Pearl is here, and Kaylie is stable. It doesn’t help if I just sit and stare at her.”

  Kaylie’s shooter.

  I’m losing my mind. I forgot the hunt for her shooter.

  “Evan, have you talked to Ortiz about Kaylie’s case?”

  “Yep. Ortiz works a desk across the room from me. I think he’s been there most of the night.”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  “Hang on.” Murmuring voices in the background.

  “Agent Kilpatrick.” A new voice came on the line. “Ortiz here. Evan says your niece is stable this morning. I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Yes . . . thank you. What have you found on her shooter?”

  He cleared his throat. “We found the bullet and a nine-millimeter casing. The casing was in the dirt adjacent to a narrow side street on the west side of the parking lot.”

  Mercy knew the location. From her building, trees and shrubs blocked a view of the street. It was perfect cover for a shooter, and it was dense enough to hide a waiting vehicle.

  “And the car?”

  “We’ve got security video from a business down the street. It shows a silver Camry speeding by at the time of the shooting.”

  “Plates?”

  He paused. “Not on the video. We’re searching for a way to identify the car.”

  Mercy waited a long moment and then realized he was done. “That’s all you have?” Her voice cracked.

  “Agent Kilpatrick—”

  “Mercy, please.” This is personal. “Detective Ortiz . . . I might have been the target of Kaylie’s shooting.”

  “I was about to ask you about that possibility. According to the receptionist I interviewed from your office—”

  “Melissa.”

  “Yes, Melissa.” He paused. “She stated Kaylie was wearing a white jacket of yours when she left.”

  “Exactly. I wear that coat all the time.” Mercy closed her eyes. A vision of Kaylie’s blood seeping onto the jacket had slammed into her brain. The red stark against the white.

  “Your niece bears a very strong resemblance to you,” Ortiz stated carefully.

  “I know. Someone could have mistaken her for me,” she whispered. Her new hair color. Kaylie had been wearing black yoga pants that were similar enough to the black slacks Mercy still wore from yesterday.

  “The big question is who and why,” Mercy went on. “It could be related to the robbery case I’m working.” Indecision swamped her. “Or it might be something else . . . But I can see someone trying to stop my robbery investigation.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Thinking about this is my job, Agent Kilpatrick. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll keep in touch.”

  “Mercy?” Evan was back on the line. “I’m heading out to that house. The situation is heating up.”

  “Evan . . . what’s your opinion on Ortiz?”

  His answer was immediate. “He’s the best. After me, of course.”

  Determination shot through her, and she set Kaylie’s shooter aside for the moment.

  Kaylie is safe. I need to let Ortiz do his thing while I do mine.

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Now, Mercy—”

  “Don’t argue with me, Evan. Get me that address. All I need to do is change my clothes.”

  She was done sitting in chairs.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Mercy beat SWAT to Silas Dillon’s home.

  The home was set back from a winding road off one of the main highways. His neighbors were few and far between. Their properties were acres of flat land peppered with lava rocks of all sizes intertwined with the scrub brush. Mercy knew the rocks had come from ancient volcano flows. The rocks were a common sight south of Bend.

  The home was a one level with a small garage behind it. It appeared someone had plopped the little house down in the middle of nowhere. It had boring views of rocks and low, brown hills.

  Four county vehicles waited on the winding road, set far back to create difficult targets for Silas Dillon. A deputy stood at each vehicle, shotgun casually in hand. Mercy pulled in behind an unmarked Explorer that she recognized as Evan Bolton’s. He approached as she stepped out of her vehicle.

  “You didn’t need to come.”

  “Good to see you too,” Mercy replied. “I’m tired of sitting still. I need to feel like I’m doing something.”

  She opened the back of her truck, grabbed her bulletproof vest, and strapped it on as tension went up her spine. An hour ago she’d been sitting by Kaylie’s bed. Now she was at a SWAT situation.

  Before she left the hospital she’d stopped by Bree Ingram’s room. A bored-looking deputy still guarded Bree’s door, and Lucas Ingram had been sitting in a chair like the one Mercy had spent the night in, a Lee Child novel in his hand. He’d stood as Mercy entered and hugged her. “I’m so sorry about Kaylie.”

  “She’s stable. How’s your mom?”

  “The swelling on her brain has gone down. They’re hoping she’ll start coming around.” His tone was somber, his usual happy demeanor nowhere to be found.

  “We’ll find who did this to Bree,” Mercy promised. “I’m following a lead as soon as I leave.”

  Lucas was startled. “What about Kaylie?”

  “Pearl is with her. She won’t be alone.”

  He’d studied her eyes and then nodded. “Good luck. And thank you, Mercy.”

  “You should go home occasionally.”

  “Sandy and I trade off.”

  “Good.”

  She’d clutched her duffel, hugged him goodbye, and dashed to change in a restroom.

  Now, as she studied the skepticism on Evan’s face, she wondered if she should have left the hospital at all.

  What if Kaylie takes a turn for the worse?

  She pushed the thought out of her head. “Where are we at with Silas Dillon?”

  “He fired once when the deputies pulled into his driveway. Hit the grille of that one over there.” He pointed at one of the vehicles. “They immediately backed out to this road and called it in. One of them tried to reason with him through the bullhorn, but he told them to fuck off.”

  “Lovely. Did you reach the actual owner of the house?”

  “No.”

  “What
else do we know about Dillon?”

  Evan handed her a sheet of paper. “This mug shot is from last year.”

  Mercy stared into Silas’s eyes, searching for a resemblance to Trevor Whipple or Nathan May. She couldn’t see one. Could this be the driver? Was Tabitha wrong about it being female? “You have deputies checking out the other addresses for the red trucks?”

  “Yes.” He frowned as he took the sheet. “I can tell that you don’t think this is the guy who hurt Bree Ingram.” It wasn’t a question. “Why?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He raised a skeptical brow at her.

  “We have a theory that Bree might have been assaulted by someone involved in the Gamble-Helmet Heist.”

  Evan’s brows shot up. “Why?”

  “It’s complicated . . . and it’s only a theory. I’d hoped to see a resemblance between Silas and one of the men from the robbery in this mug shot, but I don’t. That doesn’t mean Silas didn’t assault her.”

  “He’s got the right type of vehicle, and he’s clearly violent,” Evan pointed out. “And stupid enough to fire at a law enforcement officer.”

  “But no one can find his vehicle. The deputy said the garage was empty?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’s he getting around, then?” Mercy frowned. “And where is the truck?”

  “Maybe he ditched it, suspecting that it’d been seen the night he attacked Bree.”

  Mercy turned to study the quiet house again. The flutter of a window curtain indicated they were being watched. “How far out is SWAT?”

  “Another twenty minutes. They’re bringing a negotiator.”

  “Twenty minutes? Dammit.” She needed results now. “Where’s that bullhorn?”

  “Now, Mercy—”

  “I’m going to ask some questions. Don’t worry. I have negotiation experience. The most important part is to not say the wrong thing.”

  Like it’s that simple . . .

  Evan turned around and swore under his breath. He strode to a county vehicle and got a bullhorn from the deputy.

  “Tell them to put their shotguns back in their vehicles,” she said as he handed her the bullhorn. “I don’t want him to believe we’re ready to attack.”

  “No one will attack.” His glare stated she was ridiculous.

  “I know that, but to him four deputies with shotguns look threatening.”

  Evan considered, nodded in agreement, and gave the order.

  Mercy considered what to say and then brought the horn to her mouth. “Silas Dillon. I am Special Agent Mercy Kilpatrick from the Bend FBI office.” She paused. “We’re looking for a truck that fits the description of yours.”

  Put the focus on an object. Not him.

  “I understand the truck is not here. Can you tell us where to find it?”

  “Why is the FBI here?” The shout came from the open window where Mercy had seen the curtain flutter.

  “The truck may be linked to a federal investigation. We’d like to confirm it’s the correct truck.”

  “It’s not here!” Another shout.

  Mercy sighed. “If it’s not the right truck, we’ll be done here, Silas. Can you tell us where to find it?”

  Don’t remind him that he shot at an officer. Shift his focus.

  “I don’t know.” Uncertainty was in his shout.

  Mercy and Evan looked at each other. “He’s lying, of course,” stated Evan.

  “Silas, do you have a cell phone?” Mercy asked through the bullhorn. “I’d much rather talk instead of yelling. I’d like to understand why you don’t know where your truck is.”

  “I have a phone.”

  Mercy rattled off her cell phone number through the bullhorn.

  “Why the hell would you do that?” muttered Evan. “Now he has your number.”

  “I’ll get a new one. Not important at the moment.”

  Her phone rang. “Silas?” she answered.

  “Yeah. I don’t know where my truck is.”

  “I appreciate your call so we don’t have to yell.”

  Let him believe he’s helping the situation.

  “When did you last drive your truck?” She switched her phone to speaker so Evan could hear.

  “What’s this about?” he asked nervously. “Is someone hurt?”

  He sounds confused.

  “Not exactly,” she lied. “We saw a truck like it parked next to a . . . house we’re investigating.”

  “You’re just looking for my truck,” he said slowly. “No one was hit.”

  Hit?

  “Hit by your truck?” Mercy frowned. She exchanged a confused look with Evan.

  “Yeah.”

  “No. We aren’t looking for a vehicle that was in an accident.”

  Silas exhaled loudly over the phone. “Thank God. I thought I fucked up.”

  “Silas . . . I feel like we’re talking about two different things.” The suspicion that she was talking to the wrong man grew stronger and stronger. “Was your truck in your possession the day before yesterday?”

  “Yeah.”

  She didn’t want one-word answers. “Did you drive it somewhere that day? Where did you go?” she added quickly before he answered with another yeah.

  “Timbers.”

  Evan grimaced. Mercy was familiar with the dive bar on the outskirts of Bend. The run-down building with the dozen garbage cans out front had never encouraged her to venture inside, and the absence of windows gave her the creeps.

  “And then where did you go?”

  “I don’t know. I woke up when I hit the rock.”

  Mercy and Evan stared at each other. “Where’s this rock, Silas?”

  “Well, that’s the problem. I remember getting out and looking at how I’d smashed into the rock, but the next thing I know I woke up in my bed. No truck.”

  “Did you walk home?”

  “I guess so. Don’t know who’d drive me. I live alone.”

  Mercy muted the phone while she spoke to Evan. “Get three of your deputies to drive the roads between here and Timbers—closer to here, I assume, if he walked home drunk.”

  “Silas,” she said back into the phone. “We’re gonna help you out and send some guys to locate your truck, okay?”

  “Sure would appreciate that. You sure I didn’t hit no one?” His voice wavered.

  “We haven’t had a report of that recently.” She looked at Evan for verification. He shook his head.

  “Sorry about firing at that county vehicle,” Silas said. “Thought I’d hurt someone, and they were here to take me to prison.”

  “Silas, now that we’ve got this cleared up, I’d like you to come out. Leave any weapons in the house, okay?”

  “What’s going to happen to me?”

  “Well, you did admit to driving drunk, right?” And firing at officers.

  “Yeah.”

  “But no one was hurt. So you’ve got that going for you. You understand you’ll be arrested when you come out, right?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I promise they’ll keep it simple.” Don’t give up on me now.

  “I want you to do it.”

  Surprised, Mercy looked at Evan, who shrugged with one shoulder. “You established a rapport,” he whispered. “He thinks he knows you.”

  “You got a deal, Silas,” she said. “Here’s how we’ll handle it. I want you to come out with your hands up, so I can see they’re empty, okay? And when you get past that first rock in front of your house, I want you to lie on your stomach with your hands on the back of your head. Got that?”

  “Hands. Rock. Yeah.”

  “I’ll have to cuff you, but you already knew that, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll do a quick search of your pockets after that, and we’ll be done. Smooth and simple.”

  “Okay.”

  “You can hang up now. Leave your phone in the house.”

  “I don’t like to go anywhere without my cell phone.
”

  Mercy briefly closed her eyes in exasperation. “Me too. But I’d have to take it away from you anyway, so let’s leave it in the house.”

  “Okay. Hanging up now.”

  “See you outside, Silas.”

  Mercy ended the call and exhaled. “Think he’s being honest?” she asked.

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  “His truck still could have been the one at the Ingram house,” Mercy speculated. “Someone else could have driven it. Even if he’d been drinking at Timbers, someone could have borrowed his truck and brought it back. Sounds like Silas was smashed enough to not notice.”

  The front door of the house opened, and Mercy held her breath.

  Evan positioned himself, his arms on the hood of his vehicle, his handgun pointed at the door. The deputy who stayed behind was in the same position. “We’ll have you covered,” Evan told her. Mercy nodded, her gaze locked on the figure who’d stepped out with his hands up. Silas Dillon was short and round, with his gray hair in a ponytail and a beard halfway down his chest. He followed Mercy’s instructions perfectly. When he was in position on the ground, she walked down his driveway. She felt confident with Evan as her backup, but her nerves were on high alert. Too much confidence caused people to miss signs.

  She glanced at the windows of the house. We didn’t ask if anyone else was in the home.

  Her protective vest suddenly felt small and feeble.

  He said he lived alone.

  Not good enough.

  Her gaze locked back on Silas, she moved closer, her heart pounding as she thought about the open windows of the home.

  Silas watched her walk the entire way down his drive. As she drew closer, she smiled. “You did perfect, Silas.”

  “Holy shit.” His eyes widened. “You’re fucking hot. Are you really an FBI agent?”

  She bit her lip. “Yes. Now move one of your hands to the small of your back. I’m going to slip on the handcuffs.”

  “You can cuff me anytime.” If his voice hadn’t been so pathetically whiny, she would have taken offense. Instead the situation was too ludicrous to be real.

  She locked on a cuff. “Other hand now.” He obeyed, and she did the other.

  “You into dom and sub roles?” he asked hopefully.