Cindy, Rose’s parent assistant, was just inside the door, greeting children as they went in. She spotted Mercy hesitating and frantically gestured for her to enter. Cindy’s smile filled her face. “Rose is impatiently waiting for you.”

“What’s going on with Rose?” Mercy whispered as a tiny girl backed into her leg. She grabbed the child’s shoulders before she toppled and steered her in a new direction. “I can’t stay long. I need to get to work.”

“I’ll let her tell you.” Cindy looked ready to burst with her secret.

Mercy wandered into the organized chaos of Rose’s preschool, stunned as usual that ten small children could make so much noise. Rose sat on a chair in the center of the room. Children rushed her for hugs, tugged on her arm for attention, and talked all at once. Mercy watched as Rose greeted each one, knowing which children needed to stick close for reassurance and which needed to immediately immerse themselves in the toys. Her blind older sister was amazing. Once Rose was down to only two children glued to her side, Mercy approached. “Rose?”

“Mercy!” Rose turned toward her voice and her face lit up.

Mercy took one of her hands. Rose also looked ready to burst, but not in the I’ve-got-a-secret way that Cindy had. Rose’s stomach was huge. She was starting the last month of her pregnancy, and it appeared she’d hidden a giant basketball under her dress. One of her students gently patted the side of Rose’s belly, a blissful look on her small face.

Damn, Rose will be a great mother.

Mercy bent over to kiss her sister’s soft cheek. “What did you need me to stop by for?”

Rose tugged at her necklace, pulling the chain out, and Mercy saw a diamond ring dangle and sparkle in the light.

Glee surged through Mercy, and she hugged her sister. “Nick proposed? You said yes?” The questions tumbled off Mercy’s tongue, their answers apparent from the happiness on Rose’s face.

“We had a long talk about getting married a few days ago and made some decisions. I thought that was the end of it until after the baby came. Instead he surprised me last night. I thought we were going out to eat, but he took me to his home. He’d made dinner, and afterward, he took my hand and laid the ring on my palm.”

Mercy lifted the silver ring. “It’s lovely, Rose.” The center diamond was nestled in a delicate filigree setting and was encircled by six smaller stones and elaborate engravings.

“It belonged to his grandmother.”

“It’s an amazing heirloom—a work of art. The intricate setting is from a different era.”

“We aren’t getting it sized until my pregnancy fingers shrink back to normal,” Rose said with a grin. “Nick also thought ahead to have the chain ready last night.”

“He’s very thoughtful. Nick’s a good man, Rose.” An understatement. “Do you have a wedding date?”

“My due date is thirty-two days away. Everyone tells me I’ll need three months after that to feel halfway human again, so that puts us in fall. We’re tentatively planning on mid-October.” She leaned closer to Mercy. “He asked Dad for permission to marry me,” she whispered.

Mercy bit her lip, holding back a laugh. “How did that go over with Dad?”

“He was thrilled but wasn’t about to show it. I could hear the restraint in his voice.” She laughed. “He got his wish to marry me off.”

“We both know how ridiculous that was.” Mercy had been furious at her father’s awkward attempts at matchmaking for his pregnant daughter. He’d believed Rose should be married because she was pregnant. Who the man was hadn’t seemed to matter.

“It was. But I’m sure he’ll take credit for the match after the wedding.”

“It was all Nick,” said Mercy. “He’s been googly-eyed over you for ages.”

“I just couldn’t see it,” she quipped.

Mercy choked on laughter. “Jeez, Rose, I love you so much.” She hugged her sister again and squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened. “You deserve this. Nick is freaking lucky.” Mercy pulled back and studied her sister’s beautiful face, wishing she had half the peace that Rose shared with the people around her. “You’re confident in him now?” she asked in a soft voice, hating to bring up Rose’s worst fear.

The father of Rose’s baby was a murderer and rapist, killed by Mercy and Truman as he held Rose hostage. Rose had worried that no man could ever accept her and her child.

“Yes.” Beaming, Rose set her hand on the head of the little girl who was now using both hands to pat Rose’s baby basketball. Rose frowned. Her hand slid over the girl’s hair to her forehead. “Addie? Are you okay?” She moved the child to stand in front of her knees and ran inquisitive fingers over the child’s face as her frown grew deeper. “She’s burning up.”

Mercy squatted and placed her hand on the girl’s forehead. Addie stared silently at her with tired eyes. Rose was right. “She looks exhausted.”

“Cindy?” Rose called out.

Cindy appeared, holding a small boy with one hand and a headless doll with the other. “Yes?”

“Call Addie’s mom. She’s got a fever. Let’s keep her away from the other kids.”

“I’m on it.” Cindy set down the headless doll, and Mercy spotted the head in the boy’s grip behind his back, shame on his face.

Someone was about to get a lecture.

“I need to get to work,” Mercy told her sister. “Let’s meet for dinner this week to celebrate.”

“I’ll call you,” Rose promised, her attention still on the feverish child.

Mercy slipped out of the preschool, cheered by the happiness she’d seen in her sister. No one deserved it more than Rose.

“Agent Kilpatrick?” A young woman with a pleasant smile and dark-purple streaks in her blonde hair leaned against the door of a dusty little sedan. Parked illegally.

“Yes?”

“I understand you’re working on the Gamble-Helmet Heist.” Her smile didn’t change.

An alert went off in Mercy’s brain, and she stopped, eyeing the woman. She wore denim capris, a white T-shirt, and flip-flops. She looked young enough to be a friend of Kaylie’s.

“Do I know you?” Mercy asked cautiously.

“No. It’s true, though, right? Did you identify the body yet?”

Annoyance shot through her. “Excuse me. I was just leaving.” She stepped into the street to cross to her car.

The woman shoved a business card in front of Mercy’s stomach, making it impossible to move past the woman without either hitting her hand or taking the card. Instead Mercy stopped and gave the woman her best glacial glare.

“My name’s Tabitha Huff. I work for the Midnight Voice.”

“Move your hand, please.” Ice water dripped from Mercy’s tone. The woman worked for the tabloid that had contacted her office last night.

“What can you tell me about the remains?” Tabitha showed no fear, tilting her head in interest as she held Mercy’s gaze.

Why are reporters so pushy?

“Nothing. Go bug a Kardashian.” Mercy didn’t take the card, yet the woman continued to hold it in front of her.

“You don’t deny your case is related to the robbery.” Cunning entered Tabitha’s eyes.

“I deny and confirm nothing.” Mercy pinned the woman with her gaze. “Why are you the only reporter here if you believe this is such a big story? Did someone leak you a false tip?”

The slightest quiver of Tabitha’s lashes told Mercy she’d struck a nerve, so she pushed on. “I would think the local news would be hounding us—maybe even CNN or Fox. Sounds like your source isn’t very reliable.”

Tabitha’s face blanked, her pleasant smile gone. “The public deserves to know. The Gamble-Helmet Heist is part of American lore. If you have the first lead in decades, it’s going to change history.”

Mercy blinked. “Isn’t that a little extreme? The Civil War is history. Not one robbery with a dead victim. I think the correct description is notorious or infamous . . . or how about senseless murder?”

“America won’t see it that way.”

“Then you’re doing your job wrong, because that’s all it is.”

“I’ll check in to see if you’ve changed your mind later. You could be the national face of this investigation,” she said earnestly.

That doesn’t hold the appeal you think it does. “Call the office. I don’t talk to media.” With one finger, she gently pushed the woman’s hand out of the way and crossed the street.

Who is the leak?

And why would they call a tabloid?

Sandy physically hurt at the sight of the graffiti on the back wall of her B&B.

Her chest was full of pain. My beautiful building.

It wasn’t just a building; it was her heart. The amazing result of years of hard labor.

Echoing in her head was her comment to Truman two days ago about wanting the vandal to stay away from the old home. It was as if someone had spray-painted the words in reaction to her wish.

Now Truman and his officer Samuel stood with her. Their silence spoke volumes.

Someone had scribbled BITCH! and WHORE! in angry, three-foot-tall letters.

“Thanks for coming,” Sandy said, needing to fill the awkward silence. She put her hands on her hips, trying to hide the subtle quiver in her hands. “I didn’t spot it until I took the garbage out at nine this morning.” She gestured at the small dumpster and recycling bins to the right of the graffiti. “I don’t know when it happened. I haven’t been out here since early yesterday evening. As you can imagine, I’m rattled.” That’s putting it mildly. She’d seen the dark half-moons below her eyes in the mirror and noticed the cracked and dry lips. She’d had trouble sleeping since the start of the vehicle damage two weeks ago.