Merciless

“Before, the killer was content, probably smug, in the knowledge he was getting away with it. But his method has gotten more disturbing. That’s a point of pride for him now. Some initial theories within the tribal PD and the FBI were that Rollie Rondeaux killed Arlette Shooting Star as a screen so he could get away with murdering his live-in, Verline Dupris, a week later.

“It might’ve initially served the killer’s purpose to throw suspicion at Rollie Rondeaux. Then Rollie was arrested and placed in tribal jail. This is where his need for attention has come in. Now he’s afraid Rollie will get credit for his kills. So he kills again, in a very brutal and very public place. This time the killer wanted everyone in law enforcement to know that Penny Pretty Horses wasn’t a copy-cat murder.”

Silence.

“Thank you, Agent Gunderson. I appreciate the legwork on this.” Shenker peered over his bifocals at Agent Turnbull. “It appears it was a good thing Mr. Rondeaux was placed in tribal police custody before we went to the assistant U.S. attorney to ask for a grand jury investigation.”

Turnbull remained stoic.

“But we are still looking at three first-degree murders and no suspects.” Shenker frowned and pulled out his BlackBerry. “Sorry, I’ve been waiting for this call. Take ten, people.”

Chairs creaked as everyone got up, but I stayed put, figuring this would be the quietest place. I closed my eyes, wondering if I could get in a quick ten-minute combat nap.

But there was always the possibility I’d drift into a combat nightmare.

“Great job laying out the cold cases’ facts, Mercy.”

I opened my eyes and looked at Shay. “Thanks.”

“You pulled my ass out of the fire, because guaranteed, Shenker was holding a blowtorch.”

“You would’ve deserved it.”

“Definitely.” He grinned. “I might make an FBI agent out of you yet, Sergeant Major.”

I leaned closer and whispered, “Fuck off. Sir.”

Shay laughed. “Any issues with the Red Leaf and Pretty Horses families?”

“No. In fact, I had no idea the family had requested early release of the body.”

“It’s been a long week.” He paused. “Do you have plans for the weekend with the Dawson boys?”

I must be giving off friendly vibes for Turnbull to ask about my personal life. “Mason is riding in the Sheriffs Association charity event Saturday night.”

Shay lifted a brow. “Riding? Like, motorcycle? A poker run or something?”

“No. It’s a rodeo benefit, so he’ll be bull riding.”

“Better him than me, I guess.”

With all the tragedy and drama that’d gone on in our lives recently I was looking forward to a night at the rodeo. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Working.”

“Why?”

He grinned at me again. “Someone’s gotta figure out what’s going on with these cases while you’re off jerking on Dawson’s… rope.”

17

If Dawson was nervous about riding a bull, he hid it well.

Lex peppered his father with questions. Dawson answered in the measured tone I’d started to think of as “daddy speak,” where he showed loads of patience, and rarely allowed his explanations to venture into pure lecture territory. I was still trying to find my balance with Lex. Dealing with Dawson’s son wasn’t the same as dealing with my nephew.

“So when was the last time you rode a bull?” Lex asked, leaning over the back of the seat from his place in the middle of the club cab.

“A couple of months ago at a bull-riding expo at the Eagle River powwow.”

My head swiveled toward him. “Really? How come I didn’t know that?”

“Because you woulda chewed me out and reminded me I’m too old,” Dawson said with a grin.

“You are too old,” I retorted sweetly.

“Probably. But I managed to stay on eight seconds, and that’s what counts.”

“I don’t think you’re too old,” Lex offered, sending me a scowl.

Talk about a case of hero worship.

You were exactly the same way with your father at that age.

Dawson snatched my hand off the seat and kissed my knuckles. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry from a million miles away in Virginia.”

Mollified, I let him hold my hand. I gazed out the window, tuning out their conversation and trying not to think about Penny’s body dangling from a tree. Trying not to think about the pain in Sophie’s eyes. Trying not to chastise myself because we weren’t any closer to catching the murderer than we had been the day Arlette Shooting Star turned up dead.

Billboards zoomed by as we hit the outskirts of Rapid City, and then we were among grocery stores, fast-food joints, secondhand stores, and car dealerships.

I hadn’t taken in a rodeo since I’d gotten out of the army. Stepping through the arena doors, the unique smells of sawdust, dirt, manure, livestock, and cotton candy blasted me in the face, the scents carried on the hot air blowing from the heaters. I glanced over at Lex, who was wrinkling his nose.