“You were doing your job.” Sandy huffed as she spoke. “I can’t be offended by questions when that young woman was murdered, Bree was beat up, and your niece was shot. I overreacted.”

Kaylie flashed in Mercy’s mind. Hopeful, she pulled out her phone. No service.

“Told ya,” Sandy said.

“Just checking.” Mercy looked up as she heard the engine of a far-off plane. The blue of the sky and the white clouds looked fake—as if from a painting.

Sandy stopped and used the hem of her shirt to wipe sweat from her brow. “This is a pain in the butt.”

“Just think of all the money you might find.”

Sandy laughed. “I don’t think I’ll get to keep it.” She gave Mercy a hopeful look. “Or would I?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What I would do with two million dollars,” Sandy said softly as she plunged her shovel into the ground. “No more problems.”

“I suspect that was what the robbers thought too. I’d say the money brought them some problems.” She pictured Ellis Mull’s skull. “And worse.”

Mercy’s shovel clinked. Her heart racing, she bent down and brushed away the dirt. Rock.

Disappointment radiated through her. They’d hit rock at least a dozen times. She leaned on her shovel and looked around. “There’s got to be an easier place to bury things.”

“We can scout out the right side, but there’s more rock than this one.” Sandy put her shovel on her shoulder and looked to the horses they’d tied up in the little grove of pines. “I don’t think they’re going anywhere.” Neither horse had moved, and they both looked bored.

“This way,” said Sandy. She led Mercy along the rock horse’s neck and into another small grove of pathetically ratty-looking pines. They looked exactly as one would expect with little access to water and rich soil. Mercy followed, threading between the trees. They rounded the rock that formed the neck and came out on the south side of the horse. Sandy was right. No eyeball.

The ground was all rock. Mercy’s heart sank.

“You’re right to call this a wild-goose chase,” Sandy said softly. “I’m sorry I took you away from your niece in the hospital. I jumped to stupid conclusions based on Bree saying ‘buried.’” Sandy slammed her shovel tip into the dirt. “Really stupid conclusions. When you told me Bree might know one of the thieves, I couldn’t get it out of my head that she’d loaned me money from the robbery.”

Mercy plopped down on a rock bulge. “Where else would Bree have hidden money?”

“We’re assuming she had the money,” Sandy pointed out as she sat next to Mercy. “I hope we can ask her at some point.” Her voice cracked, and sympathy filled Mercy.

“She’s a tough woman. Bree will pull through this.” She patted Sandy awkwardly on the shoulder, unsure of how to comfort the woman. Mercy wasn’t a hugger. Although Kaylie and Rose had pulled more hugs out of Mercy in the last eight months than she’d given in the previous fifteen years.

“They say the longer she’s unconscious, the worse her chances of full memory recovery,” Sandy whispered, wiping her eyes.

“Don’t give her problems that don’t exist yet,” ordered Mercy.

“She’s so strong,” said Sandy, staring at the amazing vista. “There have been several times when I’ve fallen apart over money . . . stress . . . customers, and she was always there to pick me up.” She turned to Mercy. “You know how many times I’ve picked her up? None. The closest I’ve seen her come to cracking was the other day, when she told me about the reporter confronting her.”

“Everyone adores her.”

“I’m sorry I brought you up here on a stupid whim.” Sandy sighed and wiped her eyes. “I was so sure . . .”

“It was worth checking out. Why don’t we look around a little more?” she suggested, looking at the spread of rock under their feet. Art was right. This lead was a disappointment.

“How about over there?” Sandy pointed at a patch of dirt with a few scraggly weeds. It was a good twenty feet from the horse.

Why not?

Sandy was embarrassed.

At least Mercy has been a good sport about it.

She and Mercy had dug for a good hour and turned up squat.

How did I come up with such a wild idea?

Mercy paused, leaned on her shovel handle, and wiped the back of her neck. But Sandy could tell she wasn’t giving up.

“I’ll dig some more near our first spot,” Sandy told her. “You keep on this one.” Guilt was making it hard for her to work next to the agent.

Mercy nodded and continued to dig.

Sandy worked her way around the horse’s neck, fighting back tears. How could I be so stupid? And she’d convinced an FBI agent to join her on the quest. Mercy would never take anything she said seriously again. Sandy eyed the large patch of ground they’d disturbed. They hadn’t gone very deep—they couldn’t. The type of soil and the rocks made it impossible. Sandy inhaled and looked around. Where would I bury treasure?

She thought back to the times she’d been here with Bree. Was there something Bree had always checked out? As lovely as the spot was, Bree insisted they visit a little too often. Sandy had always assumed it was because of the beauty—because it was drop-dead amazing—but now she wondered if Bree had been checking on her prize.

She leaned her shovel against the horse’s neck and ran her hands over the cracks and grooves, working her way to its head. Bree had often petted the horse’s head. Sandy looked up at the ears nearly thirty feet in the air. There’s no way I can get up there. And I’ve never seen Bree go up there.

The money would have to be reachable but hidden well enough from casual visitors.

She climbed up a few feet, still checking the grooves.

“You find my money?” A male voice spoke behind her.

Instant sweat bloomed under Sandy’s armpits. Hanging on by her fingertips, she looked over her shoulder.

I don’t know him.

He wasn’t a big man. In fact, he was compact and wiry. But the rifle in his hands seemed huge. His clothes were well worn, his denim a grungy white in places. His salt-and-pepper hair was a good month past needing a cut, and he’d last shaved at least a week ago. His eyes . . .

Sandy swallowed.

Wrinkles and heavy lids spoke to his age, but his eyes were the most intense she’d ever seen. Icy blue and staring lasers through her skull.

“Answer me,” he said calmly.

“No money.” Her voice was hoarse.

He took in the large dirt area she and Mercy had overturned.

“Not for the lack of trying, I see. Where did Bree say the money was?”

A dozen scenarios ran through her head. The first showed him shooting her as soon as the money was found.

I’m dead if it’s found.

She put her finger to her lips and jerked her head, indicating the other side of the horse. The man’s eyes narrowed on her. “What? It’s on the other side?”

Sandy shook her head, shushing him as she held her finger to her lips.

Understanding flashed. “I know you’re not alone.” He grinned. “Don’t want the feds to find it, eh?”

He believes me.

She nodded and slowly stepped down from her perch, attempting to hide how badly her knees shook.

“Well, we’ll take care of her and then you can show us.”

Us?

Mercy peered from the scrubby pines and caught her breath. A man stood near the rock formation, his rifle aimed at Sandy, who had climbed partway up the horse’s head.

Sandy’s eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open as she stared down at him.

Mercy drew her weapon. I have cause. She lined up her shot, her heart strangely calm, his torso in her sights.

Metal dug into her temple.

Her heart stuttered as she froze.

Who?

“Can’t let you do that, Mercy.”

That voice. Mercy briefly closed her eyes and lowered her weapon. It can’t be. A stabbing sensation rose in her chest.

It’s him.

Art snatched the gun out of her hands and flung it into the trees.

She turned her head the slightest bit, pressing her temple harder into the gun, and met his gaze. “Fuck you. You fucking rat.” Anger shook her voice.

He smiled, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. “You know nothing about me.” Art roughly searched her with one hand, taking too much time at her breasts.

“You’ve been wanting to do that for years, right?” she snapped.

“In my dreams every night, babe.”

Realizations swamped her brain.

“You screwed up this investigation at every turn. You tried to get me to go to Canada, for God’s sake.” Anger flooded her. “Have you done that since the very beginning? For thirty years?” Her fingers flexed, aching to squeeze and destroy something. Preferably his black heart.

“Walk,” Art ordered, moving the gun to press her spine. “Over by her.”

Refusing to raise her hands, she marched over to where Sandy now stood, below the horse’s cheek. Sandy blinked rapidly but seemed in control of herself.

Mercy crossed her arms and took in the second man, who still held a rifle on Sandy, recognizing the eyes and shape of his face immediately. She’d stared at his photos a thousand times. “Trevor Whipple,” she stated. “I’ve been looking for you.” She tilted her head and frowned. “You look a lot older than the photos we had digitally aged.”

Art snorted, but Trevor’s icy-blue eyes glared at her.

“Life on the run hasn’t treated you well,” she continued, deliberately running her gaze up and down him, lingering on the handgun in his shoulder holster. “Scuffed work boots . . . jeans about to disintegrate . . . dirt ground deep into your hands. I don’t think you lived the life of a millionaire. I’d guess you ended up as a ranch hand.”