“Eddie?” he asked.

The FBI agent pushed back the curtain as relief and exhaustion showed in his eyes behind the thick frames of his glasses. “Glad you’re here. I’m taking off.” He tipped his head at Mercy, who perched on the side of the hospital bed in a gown, looking ready to run out the front door. “She’s all yours.”

“I don’t need to be handed off,” Mercy snapped. “I’m not six.”

Eddied rolled his eyes at Truman. “Enjoy,” he silently mouthed.

Truman sat next to Mercy and pulled her into him, kissing her soundly. She leaned into the kiss after a moment of sitting stiffly and then sighed as she rested her head on his shoulder. He swore stress evaporated from her like rain on hot pavement. His own stress lessened as he held her against him and felt her skin touch his. The entire drive to the hospital, he’d worried about hidden injuries, terrified he’d arrive and find her unconscious.

He hugged her tighter.

“Did the X-ray confirm that you’re in one piece?” She smelled like the hospital—bandages and disinfectant. He noticed a Band-Aid on the crook of her arm and wondered if they’d tested her blood for alcohol. If the police had brought her in, he could understand the need for a draw.

“I haven’t been told if I’m in one piece. They took the X-ray thirty minutes ago and I’m waiting for someone to review it. I haven’t busted in half yet, so I assume I’m okay.” She followed his gaze to her arm. “I requested the blood draw. I don’t need some overseeing agency asking if I was drunk when I wrecked government property. Better safe than sorry.”

Irritation dripped from her tone, and he knew it was hard for her to wait. Mercy was a doer. No doubt she would have rustled up her own radiologist and been checked out by now if she’d been allowed. The irritation encouraged him; she sounded like her usual self.

She asked, “Any leads on the vehicle that hit me?”

“None,” said Truman. “Both Deschutes County and my guys are keeping an eye out for a red pickup with some front-end damage.”

“If he’s smart, the driver would have immediately hidden the vehicle.”

“If he was smart, he wouldn’t have run an FBI agent off the road.”

“True,” she agreed.

“Why did they do it?” he asked bluntly. “You must have some ideas.” On the way to the hospital, he’d talked with her boss, who’d also theorized that she and Eddie had stirred up some anger out at the McDonald ranch.

Mercy looked at the floor, clearly mulling over her options. “Most likely it was someone from the McDonald ranch. The move was clearly deliberate, for God’s sake. I spun in front of their vehicle. If it had been accidental, they would have stopped.”

“Unless they were uninsured or scared.”

“True again.”

“Joshua Pence had a red truck that we haven’t located yet.”

Mercy’s gaze flew back to him. “That crossed my mind too. You think it’s been commandeered by someone at the McDonald place?”

“Pearl said Pence came into the coffee shop with McDonald a few times, so it’s possible he worked out there, even though that’s not the story you got when you visited the ranch. The vehicle hasn’t turned up yet, so I wouldn’t be surprised if someone who knew he was dead simply decided to start driving it around.”

“Idiots,” muttered Mercy. “We need to go back there and look at the vehicles out—”

A tired-looking young doctor stepped inside the curtain. “Ms. Kilpatrick. Your films look fine.” He wore light-blue scrubs and running shoes Truman had considered buying until he saw the price was nearly $200. He glanced at Truman and kept talking. “A radiologist will also review the films. You’ll get a separate bill from their office and—”

“I know,” Mercy said, cutting him off. “But you don’t see any issues?”

“No.”

“Can I leave?”

“I’m printing out your discharge papers. You might have some pain and stiffness tomorrow morning. Take some OTC pain relievers and use ice as needed. If you have any severe headaches, I want you back here, or go to your doctor right away.”

“I don’t have a doctor yet,” she said. “I’ve only been here a few months.”

“A good time to find one then,” he said with a polite smile that indicated this wasn’t his problem. He vanished.

“Get dressed.” Truman stepped outside the curtains and stood guard as she changed. A weight lifted off his shoulders in his relief that she hadn’t been hurt.

But who would purposefully run an FBI agent off the road?

He had hard questions for the men at the McDonald ranch.

Truman drove toward her apartment, wishing she would come home with him. She’d said she wanted to be home for Kaylie, to make sure she got up in time for school in the morning. He’d known it would be tough dating a woman with a teenager. Even though Kaylie was pretty self-sufficient, Mercy had a need to be available for her. He had to get over it; the girl had just lost her father.

But sometimes he wanted Mercy to himself.

“Thanks for the ride. You didn’t have to come to the hospital.”

This is enough!

Fury shot through him, and he took a deep breath as he pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the ignition. They were a few blocks from her home. He turned toward her in the SUV’s driver’s seat, his heart pumping and frustration rushing through his limbs. “Why shouldn’t I give you a ride?”

Wide eyes blinked at him. He had her attention.

“Eddie could have driven me. He was already there.”

“Maybe I wanted to drive you. I wanted to be at the hospital.”

“But—”

“No buts. Don’t tell me what I feel.”

“I didn’t want you feeling obligated.”

“I know Eddie had to convince you to let me know about the accident.”

She glared. “That little—”

“He didn’t tell me. Jeff did. Eddie mentioned it to him and Jeff told me when I called him.”

She threw up her hands. “Why is everyone talking about me behind my back?”

“Because we care!” He shoved the words through his clenched teeth to keep from shouting at her.

She opened her mouth to reply, but slammed it shut as she stared at him in the dim light of the cab.

“Why is it so hard for you to let people take care of you?” he asked in a normal voice.

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” she snapped. “I’m an adult.”

“Taken care of isn’t the way I should have phrased it . . . Why is it hard to let people do nice things for you? Why didn’t you want me to know about the accident?”

“Because I knew you’d leave work, and it’s important that you do your job. People rely on you. Cases need your attention. Important cases.”

“You’re important too.”

“But I had Eddie. Why did I need two people to respond? How many people was I supposed to notify that I’d screwed up and gotten run off the road?”

“It wasn’t your fault, and I want you to always call me when shit happens to you.”

A passing car’s headlights illuminated the inside of the SUV, making her green eyes shine. Are those tears?

“Why is this so hard for you?” he asked, gently taking her hand. It was like holding ice.

“I don’t rely on other people. I rely on myself.” She paused for a long moment. “If I wasn’t able to rely on my family—people who are supposed to love me unconditionally—how can I rely on someone I barely know?” Her words ended in a whisper.

It was a fragile moment. She had pulled aside her emotional curtain, exposed her vulnerability. He was scared to move, let alone speak, for fear of her shutting him out. How do I reassure her that she is safe?

“Tell me this,” he said carefully. “Do you want Kaylie to rely and depend on you?”

“Yes! Her world was yanked out from under her, and she needs stability. I want her to know I’ll always be available . . . something I didn’t have after I turned eighteen.”