He didn’t reply, and Mercy was startled by a moment of vulnerability in his eyes that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. His casual mask of indifference returned.

He’s done.

Mercy stood. “Thank you for your time. Let me know if you wish to speak with me again.”

He leaned back in his seat, his shoulders down, his gaze distant.

Fuming, Mercy left.

Damn you, Gamble. Who or what are you protecting?

TWENTY

Ollie’s phone vibrated with a text from Truman.

Where are you?

Dairy Queen, Ollie sent back.

Ollie set the phone on the truck seat beside him and stretched to grab his backpack. He was parked down a dirt track in the woods a little way from Bree’s house, nowhere near the Dairy Queen. He’d parked there a few times since her place was vandalized, just to keep an eye on things, hoping he could catch who had targeted her.

A sharp rap on his window made him jump in his seat and turn toward his door.

Truman glared at him.

Oh shit.

Ten minutes later Ollie sat in Bree’s living room as the two adults silently stared at him.

Ollie couldn’t look Truman in the eye.

The police chief stood with his feet planted far apart and his arms crossed on his chest, his focus drilling a hole in Ollie’s skull.

Ollie shrank into Bree Ingram’s comfortable sofa as if it could protect him.

“Go easy on him, Truman,” Bree stated. “You’re scaring him.”

Ollie straightened. I don’t need her to protect me. He looked to Truman. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Then explain why your truck is tucked into that grove of woods on the edge of Bree’s property. And not at the Dairy Queen like you just told me?”

“Not illegal,” he muttered, dropping eye contact again. “Just keeping an eye on things.”

“Ollie.” Bree’s voice was kind. “Were you at the park the other day, watching Sandy and me?”

Disbelief hovered around Truman. “Did you do that, Ollie?”

If a giant wormhole abruptly opened next to him on the couch, Ollie would be fine with that. He looked at Bree. It was easier than looking at Truman. “Yeah, that was me. I’m just worried about you. You go everywhere alone.”

“You’re following me?” she whispered. She fought to keep a look of horror off her face, but Ollie spotted it.

This isn’t how this was supposed to go.

“Jesus Christ, Ollie. Is that true?” Truman turned to Bree. “I’m really sorry, Bree. You understand that he hasn’t been around people—”

“Stop it!” Ollie ordered, defensiveness tightening his chest. “I’m not some stupid backwoods hick!”

“Then what the hell are you doing?” He suspected Truman would strangle him if Bree weren’t present. “Normal people don’t follow and spy on others.”

Ollie hung his head. I had good intentions.

“Answer me.”

He’d never heard that tone from Truman. Deep disappointment wrapped up in anger. Ollie cleared his throat and looked to Bree again. “After the vandalism on your property, I felt the need to watch out for you. You’ve been a huge help to me with my studies . . . I thought maybe I could spot who did it.”

Bree didn’t speak. Her usual peppy and chatty self had yet to make an appearance. Instead she looked bewildered at his actions. Not like the confident woman who’d taught him for the past six weeks.

Ollie cringed. I did that to her.

Truman scratched his cheek, perplexed. “Are you saying you’ve appointed yourself some sort of secret bodyguard?”

Hot embarrassment rose in Ollie’s face. “Not quite . . . Just hoping to prevent anything worse from happening.”

“That’s very kind of you, Ollie,” Bree told him, “but I wish you’d told me what was going on. I was seriously spooked.”

Misery flooded him. “I’m sorry. That’s the opposite of what I wanted to happen.”

“You suck at surveillance, Ollie.” Truman sighed and faced Bree, clearly done with listening to him. “What do you think?”

Bree tucked her hair behind one ear, still looking troubled. “I think his intentions were in the right place. But he needs to learn that’s not acceptable behavior.”

“Agreed. We’ve been working on social nuances—”

“I’m right here,” Ollie muttered. It was embarrassing enough to make stupid mistakes, but he didn’t need his lack of socialization discussed in front of him.

“I think the two of you can work this out,” Bree said, looking from Truman to Ollie. “Let me pack up some stew to send home with you.” Bree’s change of subject triggered a wave of relief for Ollie. But she left the room, and the relief evaporated because he was alone with Truman. He didn’t know which was worse, angry Truman or disappointed Truman.

“I’m really sorry,” he told Truman.

“Do you have some sort of crush on her?” Truman asked in a low voice, his forehead wrinkling.

“No! It’s not like that . . . She’s just nice and helpful. Besides teaching me, she’s always giving us food, and Lucas is really lucky . . .”

“Ahhh.” Truman nodded in comprehension. “She’s a mother figure.”

I’m not four years old.

But Ollie was done with defending himself. “Maybe that’s it,” he answered, wanting the topic to go away.

“Mercy’s not motherly.”

Defense shot through him, and he sat up straight. “Mercy’s amazing.” He scowled at Truman and balled his hands into fists. How could he put her down?

Truman laughed. “You should see your expression. Ready to beat in my face over a casual comment. Mercy would agree with me if she was standing here. She wouldn’t take it as an insult. And you don’t need to tell me how amazing she is. I’m well aware.”

Ollie relaxed a fraction.

“Bree’s not like Mercy,” Ollie said slowly. “I know Mercy can take care of herself. Bree’s—”

“She’s tougher than you realize, Ollie. Bree has run the farm since her husband died years ago. She’s not helpless, and Lucas isn’t as much help as you’d think. But I get what you’re saying.” Truman glanced in the direction of the kitchen and lowered his voice. “There’s something about her that makes you want to stand guard with a big sword.”

“She listens to me and really helps with school. It never feels as if she’s doing it because she’s paid,” Ollie whispered.

“Her heart is bigger than she is,” Truman agreed. “Let’s establish a rule.” Truman put on what Ollie called his lecture face.

More rules. Every day the list grew longer.

“Number one. You don’t spy on other people.”

Ollie nodded.

“Number two. Don’t pretend to be a cop. If you want to do that, you can go to the police academy after you get your degree.”

Police academy? “I want to teach.”

“Number three . . .” Truman paused, thinking hard. “I can’t think of how to phrase number three . . . except ‘Don’t do stupid things.’”

“You’ve already put that on my list of rules,” Ollie said sourly. “Several times.”

“Clearly it needs to be added again.”

Bree reappeared, a plastic storage dish in her hands and an innocent look on her face as if she hadn’t heard Truman’s scolding. She handed the dish to Ollie as he stood. “Now, get on with you, my hidden protector.”

Ollie wanted to melt into the floor. Truman’s laugh didn’t help.

He gave her a weak smile and followed Truman out the door. Ollie’s gaze immediately went to the red X that was still on Bree’s truck.

“Need to get that taken care of,” Truman muttered.

Ollie agreed. It made the hair on the back of his neck rise every time he saw it. Like now.

He shifted the dish to his other hand before opening his own truck door. He paused, glancing around the property, feeling watched.

This is why I followed her.

Every time he came close to the property, he felt it.

He opened his door and tossed the stew on the bench seat.

Not my problem anymore.

Mercy leaned against the rail of the wide footbridge that crossed the Deschutes River and soaked in the late-afternoon sun. Her office sat on a bluff that overlooked the river as it flowed through Bend, miles of walking and hiking trails along its banks. The footbridge led to a touristy district of restaurants and shops, and she waited in the exact middle of the span, watching bikers and families pass by.

I feel like a spy in a bad movie.

Art had suggested a meet at the location. He was staying in one of the hotels next to the shopping district.

His removal from the investigation had hampered its progress. His guidance and memories had helped tremendously, but until the internal review of the shooting was finished, he was to stay away.

That doesn’t mean we can’t have a personal chat.

Actually, it did, but Mercy didn’t care about procedure right now. She needed help, and no one knew more about the robbery than Art.

She spotted him a few seconds before he reached her. Today he wore shorts and a T-shirt, making her jealous. Her jeans were soaking in too much heat from the sun. A Portland Timbers cap and aviator sunglasses completed his carefree look.

“I feel like an informant who’s meeting to slip you the secret codes,” he said as he leaned beside her.

“You look like a retiree whose big decision of the day is whether to play golf or sit on a bar’s sunny patio with a beer in your hand.”

He flashed a grin. “Both of those have crossed my mind for today. I’ll probably do the latter.”

“You don’t seem like a man under review by the FBI.”

The grin vanished. “Trust me. I can’t think about anything else. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I simply have to wait.”