“I’ll tell you about it when we’re done. I’ll be out of range for a few hours.”

Her phone beeped in her ear and she checked the screen. Art was calling.

“I love you,” she said rapidly to wind up her message to Truman. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.” She switched over to Art’s call.

“What’s up, Art?”

“After you told me your theory on a female driver, I started reviewing interviews of some of the women from back then and taking a more recent look into their lives.”

Mercy glanced ahead at Sandy’s back, straight and tall as she sat on her horse.

“What did you find?”

“You knew Ellis Mull had four sisters, right?”

“Yes.”

“The youngest, Shawna Mull, started some heavy spending about seven years ago. She was seventeen when the robbery happened. I can remember her terrified face during our interviews. I chalked it up to her being a high school student with the FBI in her face, but now I wonder if I didn’t look hard enough at her because of her age.” He sighed. “Sometimes our personal mind-sets work against us.”

“What kind of spending?” asked Mercy. Shawna’s face was blurry in her mind. The pictures of the four sisters had blended together.

“Trips to Europe. Cruises.”

“What’s she do?”

“She’s a checker at a grocery store. Her bank accounts look normal—there’s nothing to reflect she earns enough to do this. I’m getting this information from her social media accounts. People document every step they take these days.”

“Sounds like we need to talk to her.”

“You busy this evening?”

Mercy looked behind her. She and Sandy were already in the middle of nowhere. “I’m tied up for several hours. You should take . . . Dammit. You can’t take anyone to the interview because you’re officially off the case.”

Eddie’s out of the loop. Jeff is sick.

“It’ll have to wait until I get back.”

“What are you doing?”

“Would you believe I’m on the back of a horse? It’s for work, I swear.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m on a wild-goose chase.”

Sandy turned around and grinned.

“But no geese are involved,” Mercy continued. “A friend has a hunch about where Bree Ingram might have buried some money—if she was actually involved in the robbery.”

“Mercy,” he said slowly. “Do you know how many times I followed up on a lead about buried money? They all led to squat.”

“This might too. There’s a lot of dirt out here.”

“Where is it?”

“Bree called it Horse’s Head Rock.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, but let me know how it goes.”

“I will. But I really like your lead on Shawna. It’s very promising. We can set something up with her tomorrow.” Mercy ended the call.

I like the information on Shawna. Part of her wanted to turn around and go interview the woman, but Sandy’s story about a stack of money from Bree had to be checked out.

She called Pearl next and learned Kaylie was sleeping, no infection had appeared, and Eddie was still crashed out, to the amusement of Pearl.

Relief tinged with worry wove through her chest. She’d hoped to hear the doctors had declared Kaylie completely in the clear.

No change is good. Better than sliding backward.

The horses entered the pine forest, and the temperature dropped in the shade. The trees were denser up ahead, and the trail was noticeably steeper. Justin increased the power in his legs as he moved up the slope, and Mercy leaned forward, shifting her weight to help.

“It opens up on the other side of this stretch of forest,” Sandy said. “More open, flat areas and then the ridge. You’ll love the view.”

Mercy wiggled her hips, searching for a comfortable place in the saddle, wishing the ride were shorter.

Sunlight struggled to penetrate the forest. Mercy could see clearly, but the dimmer light and the loss of the ability to see for miles were unsettling and threatened to trigger some claustrophobia. She took deep breaths, searching for a distraction. She settled on Sandy’s red hair, admiring the woman’s long ponytail.

I’m embarrassed I thought she might be involved in the robbery.

She patted her horse’s neck, and his ears swiveled in her direction.

Actually Sandy’s done nothing to wipe out that theory. Instead, my focus has been moved to Bree as being involved in the robbery.

Her hand paused on Justin’s warm neck.

Sandy moved that focus. To a woman who is currently unable to speak.

Apprehension shot through her, and she stared at Sandy’s straight back.

No cell service. Remote.

I’ve been talked into a buried treasure hunt.

Mercy touched the weapon at her waist. Echoing through her head was Detective Ortiz’s assertion that Kaylie’s bullet might have been meant for Mercy.

Someone might want her off the investigation.

Am I riding into a trap?

THIRTY-FOUR

A beat-up red truck passed by as Ollie waited to pull out of the Eagle’s Nest Dairy Queen.

Instantly his gaze went to the license plate. It wasn’t the same one he’d seen that night at Bree’s, but he didn’t care. The previous plate had been stolen; this one could be too.

He’d followed two other red trucks since the attack. The first had had a SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY sticker in the rear window and been driven by a teenage girl. The other had been driven by a senior citizen who walked with a cane. Ollie had wasted two hours following these trucks until the drivers exited. Possibly either vehicle could have been driven by someone else the night of Bree’s attack, but Ollie’s gut told him neither red truck was right. He knew Deschutes County was doing its own search, but he couldn’t sit still when he spotted one.

With his hot dog in hand, he cranked his wheel and pulled out after the red truck, cutting in front of a blue sedan whose driver expressed his displeasure with a long honk.

Ollie ignored him, his gaze glued to the back of the truck.

He finished his hot dog in two bites and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He’d studied the photo he snapped of the license plate at Bree’s a hundred times. The photo had shown only a small section of the tailgate, but the hint of a dent had shown in one corner of the picture. The tailgate was open on this truck, an ATV extending onto the tailgate and held in place with several straps.

Could be another false alarm.

He swallowed his pessimism and settled in to follow the vehicle, his plans to go back to the hospital postponed. He couldn’t see who was driving the truck. The ATV blocked his view. After a few turns he was positive it was a man but couldn’t guess at the age. The truck turned onto a two-lane highway heading out of town, and Ollie frowned. Please don’t drive to Eastern Oregon. He had less than a quarter tank of gas. Truman’s rule to always fill the tank before only a quarter was left rang in his head.

Dammit.

He knew he should follow Truman’s advice. But there was so much of it.

He hung back, not wanting to raise suspicion in the light traffic. After twenty minutes the red truck slowed and turned on its blinker.

Ollie’s hot dog threatened to come back up. The truck was turning onto the road that passed by Bree’s home.

It’s a coincidence.

Sweat ran down his ribs under his shirt.

If this is the guy, he’d be stupid to drive by Bree’s house.

Ollie barely breathed for the next two miles. When the truck turned down Bree’s driveway, his vision tunneled, and dizziness attacked him. He drove past the driveway, too terrified to look down it.

I’ve got to call Mercy.

A quarter mile ahead, he parked at the same small turnout where he’d seen the truck the night of Bree’s attack. With shaking hands, he dialed Mercy. It went immediately to voice mail, and he left a jumbled, nervous message, his heart pounding in his chest.

He dialed Truman next. Voice mail. He left another scramble of a message.

What the hell?

Do I call 911? He shook his head as he imagined explaining to an operator that he’d seen a red truck.

He sat still, a million options running through his head. His hand seemed to creep to the door handle of its own accord, and he knew what he was going to do. He got out of his pickup and darted through the underbrush toward Bree’s. I won’t get too close. I’ll just get a photo and hope it’s the real license plate. Bree’s not there. No one can get hurt this time.

Pleased with his plan, he increased his speed.

It felt as if he ran forever. His lungs hurt, and he tripped twice, nearly landing on his face. The house finally came into sight, and he spotted the truck down near the barn. It was parked next to a Ford Explorer and a black Tahoe.

Ollie squinted at the Tahoe’s license plate. That’s Mercy’s vehicle.

Confusion swamped him. Was she meeting the driver of the red truck? Why here?

Nothing made sense.

Two men had already unloaded the ATV from the long bed of the truck, a pair of narrow ramps tossed aside. Mercy was nowhere to be seen.

I’ve got to get closer. He stuck to the shadows of the home and then followed a hedge toward the barn, his back hunched as he tried to stay hidden.

“We should have brought two,” one of the men complained.

Ollie stopped and lowered himself to the ground behind the hedge. The men were out of sight about twenty feet away.

“You can stay here.”

“Like hell. I’m going.”

“Then you’ll have to deal with riding behind me. Get over it.”

“Fuck you.”

Silence stretched for a long moment. “Is that really how you want to talk to me?”

“I’ve taken all the risk. I’ve about had it.”

“What exactly are you trying to say? You done? Because you can just say the word, and you’re out.”