She could easily recognize the voices of Mike Bevins, Chuck, Tim, Randy, and Les.
Craig Rafferty had typically been a silent shadow when she encountered a group of the hands. One whose presence she always felt; he’d emanated the aura of a large, silent man. She’d assumed he was shy or tongue-tied around women.
When she’d delivered scones to the ranch on Thursday, she’d listened closely. Craig Rafferty hadn’t been around, and most of the men she’d met were too young. It wasn’t until she was locked in this room that she’d realized Craig was one of the men who hadn’t been present.
Had he purposefully avoided her?
His heavy steps told her the kidnapper was a large man.
He’d spoken to her as if he knew her, which he did.
Every name but one had been crossed off her list.
She’d been ready to pretend she didn’t know his name until he’d threatened her sister. No one threatened her family.
What did I do?
Her legs began to shake.
She’d instinctively defended her sister, and now Craig had a witness who could identify him.
For the first time, she was truly terrified.
The pillow against her stomach wasn’t going to stop him.
THIRTY-SIX
“Mercy?”
It took her a moment to realize the whispered voice wasn’t part of her dream. As she woke, she was surprised to find that she’d fallen asleep. Nervous energy had kept her pacing her parents’ home past two in the morning. Her parents had gone to bed and Pearl had crashed in a spare room while the FBI and county sheriff maintained a quiet vigil in the kitchen.
Truman had ordered her to sit on the couch at one point and sat beside her, threatening to hold her down if she didn’t stop pacing. “Give me your hand,” he commanded.
She’d given him an odd look but held out a hand. “Now lean your head back, close your eyes, and . . . count pieces of wood as you imagine swinging your ax.” She’d snorted. He’d grabbed her mother’s hand lotion from the end table, squeezed some into his hand, and started to massage her fingers and palm.
Mercy instantly melted. “Holy crap. Where’d you learn that?”
“Close your eyes.”
“Done.” His fingers were brutal as they stroked and rubbed.
“Swinging your ax?”
“Yes,” she muttered. “Don’t stop.” It was nearly painful. Every joint she’d abused with swing after swing of the ax was melting into a pool of butter.
“My mother used to do this for me when I worked for the Highway Department in high school. I used a shovel all summer. My hands would cramp every night.”
Mercy couldn’t think of an answer.
Then a low voice was calling her name, and she woke with her head on Truman’s shoulder as they lay on the sofa. Actually she was glued to his side from the hip up. She sat up, feeling the cold as she left his body heat. “Levi?” she whispered. Faint light illuminated a silhouette squatting in front of her.
“I need to talk to you. Outside.”
“What happened?” Shock jolted her fully awake. “Did they find Rose? Is she okay?”
“No word on Rose,” he whispered.
She deflated.
“Come with me.” He took her hand and pulled.
Mercy stood and yawned. “What time is it?”
“Almost five.”
“Mercy?” Truman spoke behind her. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she said. “They haven’t found Rose. I’m going to talk with Levi.”
“Shouldn’t I hear this too, Levi?” Truman asked.
Mercy froze at the suspicion in his voice. She met Levi’s gaze. Even in the dim light she could see the anguish and pain.
And guilt.
“Levi?” Her voice cracked. “What’s going on?” Apprehension raced through her muscles.
He tightened his grip on her hand. “We need to talk.” He sounded next to tears.
“I’m coming too.” Truman stood. “Outside. Now.”
Mercy glanced toward the kitchen, hearing the faint murmur of voices. What did Levi do?
Outside she slipped on a jacket, zipped it up to her chin, and buried her hands in the pockets. With the sun gone, the chill reminded her that winter weather was coming fast. Warm days would soon be a faint memory. She sniffed, inhaling the fresh crispness that hinted at snow and ice.
Levi looked sick. His eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders stooped. He wouldn’t make eye contact. Truman stood silently beside her, and she wondered what’d made him insist on listening to their conversation.
“I might have an idea of who took Rose,” Levi started.
White-hot shock raced through Mercy. “Who? Tell the police. Now!”
Levi held up his hands. “Hear me out first. I could be wrong.”
“No! If you have an idea, we need to get on it now!”
“Give me sixty seconds, Mercy!”
“I suspect you’ve already wasted half a day,” Truman shot back. “Start talking, Levi. Fast.”
Levi seemed to crumble beneath his coat. “Remember how I told you I disposed of . . . that thing by myself?”
Mercy couldn’t speak.
“Jesus Christ,” said Truman. “Someone helped you get rid of the body?”
“He knows?” Levi hissed.