“You do have a say. Everyone does. It’s called voting.”
“Our process has gone haywire. It’s time to return the power back to the average guy. He’s the one who understands what life is truly like.” Passion burned in his voice. “People sitting in Washington . . . hell, the people sitting in Salem don’t understand what life over here is like. Why are they the ones telling us what to do?”
Are we really arguing about politics?
“You cops are a by-product of the problem.”
A red haze started at the edges of her vision. “Excuse me?”
“Levi and Craig shouldn’t be dead,” he hissed at her. “You and your cop boyfriend are just tools. Tools of the assholes running this country. We don’t need you. We can take care of ourselves.”
Mercy opened her mouth to argue and then shut it, studying the anger in his expression. He’s not in the mood to listen. “What’s happened to you, Owen?”
“I’ve wised up. I’m tired of bending over and taking it up the ass. Levi was the last straw.”
“I miss him too.”
“You don’t miss him. You don’t even know who he was.” The hatred in his tone tore at her heart.
“He was my brother,” she whispered.
“Well, you didn’t act like much of a sister.”
“I’m here now. I want—”
“Leave it, Mercy.” He cut her words off with a jerk of his hand. “Do whatever you think you need to do. Just keep it away from me. You slunk into town and won over Kaylie and Rose, but don’t you dare come near my kids.”
She couldn’t speak.
He spun on his heel and strode away.
Mercy watched him walk, seeing echoes of their father in his stance and stride.
I tried. She firmly set aside the anger and sorrow he’d ripped out of her heart and replayed his words in her brain. Tools. Bureaucrats. Take care of ourselves.
She didn’t like where his mind was spending its time.
TEN
Truman’s dress uniform felt unnatural on his body, as if he’d borrowed someone else’s clothes. He’d worn it three times since he’d taken the job as chief of police. Once for his swearing-in and the other two times for special events. Today was an event, but it wasn’t a good one. It was a necessity that he passionately wished didn’t exist.
Two law enforcement officers would be put in the ground today. He’d spent half the day trying to get his stomach under control. Waves of nausea struck him at random times, bringing memories of the night the men had died.
It could have been me.
Twice he’d escaped death where other officers had died.
In their entire career, most officers would never have to fire their weapon, let alone nearly die twice. Why did he feel as if his luck was about to run out? By the odds, he should be safe for the rest of his life. Instead he was antsy and anxious, as if death were waiting for him just around the corner, angry that it’d missed him twice.
Beside him in the Tahoe, Mercy was silent, looking authoritative in her elegant navy suit and heavy coat. Kaylie sat silently in the back seat. Earlier in the day, Mercy had questioned the teen, uncertain she’d want to attend a funeral so soon after her father’s, but Kaylie had been firm. She wanted to honor the officers who’d died in the line of duty.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, Truman noticed Kaylie’s face was pale, but determination shone in her eyes and her posture. She looked like a younger version of Mercy. Lighter hair and a few inches shorter, but just as stubborn and tough.
He was proud of her.
He parked, and the three of them walked across the lot toward the small crowd as it moved into the county civic center. Satellite news trucks filled the far end of the parking lot. Cameras and reporters stood behind a rope, their lenses silently pointed in the direction of the mourners. A few county deputies stood in a sparse line, facing the cameras, enforcing the distance between the watchers and the attendees. Truman spotted two national cable news network trucks and heard Mercy quietly swear under her breath. He squeezed her hand. He had taken hold of it as she got out of the truck and wasn’t about to let go. Kaylie paused as her gaze found the cameras, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“Ignore them,” he told her.
“It’s CNN,” she muttered. “Why are they here?”
“Police shooting.” It was all he needed to say.
“This shouldn’t be a thing,” Kaylie muttered as she wiped her cheek.
“Damn right,” Truman agreed.
The parking lot was packed with a variety of patrol cars. He saw logos from Washington, Idaho, and Nevada. The majority were from Oregon’s east side of the Cascades, and his heart swelled as he spotted logos from tiny rural towns whose officers must have driven for hours and left their communities shorthanded to pay their respects.
When officers died, you did your damnedest to show up.
Kaylie’s attention wandered, and he noticed as she zeroed in on a tall young man, her steps slowing and her shoulders straightening. Cade Pruitt was up ahead with what appeared to be his parents. He hadn’t seen Kaylie yet, and he stopped to greet a cluster of people. Truman recognized Cade’s three buddies from the other night among the several older men in the group.
Truman tried to place the older members. More family? Some of them wore heavy camouflage jackets and carried their hats in their hands, appearing to be typical hardworking rural men. One or two of them looked slightly familiar, but not enough for Truman to remember names.
Cade stood out among the men of his age. He didn’t slouch, and he was wearing slacks where the others wore jeans.
Maybe Kaylie picked a decent one.
He saw Mercy’s gaze dart between her niece and the young man, two lines deepening between her brows.
Mother bear.
They filed in and took their seats, Mercy sitting between him and Kaylie, his hand still tightly gripping hers.
The next forty-five minutes ripped out his heart.
The slide show of Damon Sanderson’s life. Images of him and his pregnant wife. And then pictures of his new baby girl. Ralph Long’s brother valiantly spoke without shedding a tear about Ralph’s love of his job, but left the entire audience holding wet Kleenex. A police soloist had been flown in from Seattle and made grown men weep with his version of “Amazing Grace.”
As they exited the building, Truman nearly asked Mercy to drive. He’d left his strength and heart on the floor in the auditorium. Even Kaylie appeared to struggle to hold up her head, her energy sapped.
“I feel like I just ran a marathon. Jenna and I probably won’t do much tonight,” Kaylie told the two of them as Truman drove toward her friend’s house. She’d made plans to spend the night with Jenna to work on a school project. Mercy had questioned letting Kaylie stay with a friend while she was still in deep water, but then she’d seen how much work was left on the presentation that was due soon.