He couldn’t comprehend the mind of a human who’d do that to another person. Especially a woman he’d once claimed to love.
The boyfriend was tried and sentenced. Truman avoided the trial except for his own brief testimony. He couldn’t have stomached the statements from the victim’s mother, who had pleaded with her daughter not to date the man, or the words from the medical examiner about the condition of her corpse.
If only I’d arrived sooner.
If only I hadn’t run for the fire extinguisher first.
Would it have mattered?
The psychiatrist had shown him how to get a handle on the survivor’s guilt, and techniques for managing the panic attacks, but he hadn’t been able to restore Truman’s faith in humankind. He’d been close to leaving law enforcement for good.
Then he’d received the call from Eagle’s Nest and his brain had seized the idea, as if someone had thrown him a lifeline. A small town where everyone knew everyone else. A town where people looked out for their neighbors and didn’t set their significant others on fire.
It became a beacon of change in his mind. A city where he wouldn’t deal with gangs or excessive homelessness.
A town where he could be a person, not a uniform, who helped.
“Shitty people are everywhere,” the psychiatrist had told Truman when they’d discussed his job offer. “Small towns, big cities, African villages. You can’t run away from it.”
Truman had known his doctor was right, but a quick visit to the town of Eagle’s Nest, where he’d spent those high school summers, rekindled a fire that had been doused when that car exploded. He’d felt compelled to follow that new energy and hold tight to its source. Since the explosion he’d been lost, drifting through life, searching for something that made him feel alive.
He’d been willing to follow that feeling to Eagle’s Nest.
He strode across the creaking floor of the bar. It’d been the right decision. He’d been welcomed to the small town. He felt wanted and he felt needed. No longer an anonymous face with a uniform and a badge, he had friends, he had a purpose, and he slept soundly at night.
But after that panic attack, tonight might be an exception.
SIX
Mercy peered out her motel room doorway and checked the outdoor walkway for Eddie. It appeared he’d settled into his room. She quietly walked past his door and down the iron steps to the parking lot. She opened the rear of the Tahoe, then stretched to yank the blanket off the heavy-duty backpack she’d stowed before they left Portland. Twenty minutes earlier Eddie had helped her lift their suitcases out of the back and accepted a bottled water from the stash she’d stored in the rear of the SUV, but he hadn’t asked what was under the blanket.
It’s not a big deal. Everyone carries extra supplies when traveling over the Cascade Mountain Range.
Then why hide it? She pulled the jerky, almond butter, and fresh celery out of the backpack, leaving the freeze-dried foods. She hated to leave the pack in the Tahoe overnight. People break in to vehicles. But she didn’t want to answer questions from Eddie if he spotted her with it in the morning, and she didn’t want to leave it in her motel room. Common sense wouldn’t let her drive anywhere without it.
Common sense? Or paranoia?
She ran through a mental list of the contents, deciding what else she needed in the hotel room, and dug in a side pocket for a Leatherman tool. She shoved the pack far into the Tahoe’s depth and tossed the blanket back over it.
The backpack kept her sane. If they broke down in the middle of nowhere, she had supplies to last them for several days.
They’d checked in to a pathetic, small motel ten minutes outside Bend. Some sort of conference was going on in the city, and every semidecent room had been booked for months. The FBI administrative assistant in Portland had apologized profusely as she handed them their assignments, promising she’d get them switched to a nicer place close to the Bend FBI office in a few days.
It made no difference to Mercy. Small was good. Less likely to attract attention, and she preferred to see her vehicle from her room. If a situation arose, she could have her backpack in hand and be off the motel grounds in twenty seconds.
Back in her room, she locked the door, slid the bolt, and hooked the chain. The door was a surprisingly heavy wood and blocked all cold drafts. She moved a chair across the room and propped it under the door handle. Then she opened and closed the big sliding window next to the door, checking its weight and lock. It also had been constructed to keep out the temperatures, a necessity in the cold winters of Bend.