For Mercy's Sake
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Nancy Gideon
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Chapter 1
He saw the car the minute he crested the hill. It was pulled over at an awkward angle halfway off onto the steep gravel shoulder. Rear flashers beckoned rhythmically for aid, reflecting as bright smears of red in the puddles on the road.
Frowning, Spencer Halloway snapped on his own signal and pumped his brakes. Waves of water swept the dark stretch of highway, turning it into a treacherous ribbon as slick as black ice. The wide tires of his four-by-four skated across the standing water with a roaring whine. What kind of crazy person would be out on the road at eleven-thirty on a Sunday night with the rain coming down like an honest-to-God monsoon?
All the weekend vacationers had long since headed south. It wasn’t one of the locals, because he didn’t recognize the car. And he knew every car in Pine Creek and the outlying lake areas. That was part of his job. And as miserable as the night was, and as tired as he was, stopping to help a stranded motorist was part of it, too. After all, he was sheriff of Pine Creek.
He eased his Chevy S-10 in behind the crippled Pontiac and opened the door of his truck. Rain blew in to pepper the light gray of his uniform slacks with dark, spreading blotches. A cold knot of tension started in his belly, the kind he always felt when he approached an unknown situation. Experience had taught him that what looked the most innocent could turn deadly in an instant. Only a fool took things for granted.
He swung down from the seat into the inhospitable weather and hunched over to the driver’s side of the car. Instinct had his hand reaching up to unsnap the flap of his holster but his hand grew damp as it lingered there at the ready. Easing up to the door, he muttered a brief prayer. Don’t let this be anything I don’t want to get into. He took a slow breath, trying to control the ache of apprehension tightening about his chest. Do your job, Spencer. Do it smart.
He startled movement from behind the foggy glass when he tapped on the window. Someone rolled it down a wary two inches.
A woman was in the driver’s seat. Her face was as pale as the obscured moon above. As he always did in such circumstances, he flicked the glow of his flashlight over the front of his uniform shirt, letting it pick up the metallic glint. He knew the minute she saw the badge pinned to his chest. An alarming stillness came over her as she stared. A man in a police uniform should have been seen as a savior to a motorist lamed on this lonely patch of highway. Should have, but in this case, wasn’t. The lovely features of the driver screwed up into a mask of obvious dismay. And his initial relief became caution again.
“Evening,” he called. “Having some car trouble?”
The stabbing beam of his flashlight fanned across a pair of wide brown eyes. The woman in the car squinted and turned her head slightly, giving him a view of exquisite cheekbones. She seemed reluctant to answer and he was about to ask again, when she said in a breathless voice, “It just quit on me. I couldn’t get it started again. I think I might have flooded it.”
No normal fluster of frustration edged her words. He could swear he heard the strain of fear. To subdue it, he made his tone firm and competent as he suggested, “Why don’t you pop the hood and I’ll see if I can spot the problem.”
Wordlessly, the woman complied.
As he moved around the front bumper and groped for the catch of the hood, he considered the woman’s reaction. It was odd. Damned odd. The rain pounded down on him as he tucked himself into the engine compartment, making it difficult to concentrate on anything other than getting the car mobile and himself back where it was dry. But a part of him was alert and edgy, ready to jump aside if the engine suddenly growled to life. It never hurt to be prepared for anything. And on this cold, wet night, he sure as hell didn’t want to become a statistic in anyone’s book.
After a minute of tinkering, Spencer slammed down the hood and came around to the side. The window had been rolled up tight. To protect against the weather? Or him? As his hand slid back to the holster he wore on his belt, he tapped the rim of his flashlight on the glass and it gave those few cautious inches, not far enough for him to see past her to whatever else the car might hold.
“Sorry, ma’am. Looks like it’s the water pump. I can’t do anything to get you going again. It’ll have to go to a garage. I’m afraid there are none open around here at this time of night.”
Her distress magnified in those deep dark eyes and, wise or not, a dose of male protectiveness crept up inside him to battle caution.
“I’d be glad to give you a lift back into Pine Creek. They’ve got a fairly decent motel where you can put up for the night.” He shivered as the wetness of the evening stuck his shirt to his back. Raindrops beat down on the brim of his silverbelly-tan Stetson hat as he waited for her reply, gauging her response.
“No, thank you, officer. I’m not going that way.” Her voice was a low purr, calmer than before, sounding like the vibration of a well-tuned motor. A man couldn’t help wondering how sweet it would rumble if revved up in earnest. Ordinarily he would have, if the better part of his passions hadn’t already been soaked clear through. She hesitated, unwilling to volunteer the information, then finally told him, “I’ve got a cabin on Big Bear Lake. It should be only a few miles farther.”
“That it is. I’m going there myself. Why don’t you grab what you need and I’ll give you a lift.” Again, the hesitation on her part. “It might be a good long while before anyone else passes this way tonight,” he added for good measure.
“All right,” she murmured in heavy resignation. “Thank you, officer.”
He heard the latch pop on the door and he opened it for her, anxious to get a quick look inside the car at what she might be anxious to hide behind that overly cautious attitude. It was then he got his first glimpse of her—all of her. She must have been a tall woman from the way she was wedged beneath the wheel. A snug beige-colored skirt was hiked up to expose an incredible length of shapely leg. He stared in a helpless moment of masculine appreciation, and as he did, he leaned toward her. His head tipped to follow that clean line and all the rainwater collecting in the curve of his Stetson rushed forward to funnel off the front of the rolled brim. Right into the woman’s lap.
She gave a gasp and brushed ineffectively at her skirt from where she was trapped behind the wheel.
Oh, damn! “Sorry,” he muttered inadequately, feeling hot color seep up his cheeks.
He’d meant to rescue, not drown her. His reserve momentarily scattered in the face of his embarrassment. “Let me give you a hand.”
When he pulled out his handkerchief and automatically reached to blot up some of the dampness, she struck his hand away. From the brusqueness of that move, he expected to see irritation in her features, not the apprehension he found there.
“It’s all right. Really,” she stammered anxiously. “No harm done.”
Only when he straightened and moved back did her anxious pose ease. Then she twisted on the seat and when he followed the supple curve of her body with his flashlight beam, he saw for the first time that she wasn’t alone in the car. On the seat beside her, wrapped in a quilt, was a sleeping child, a girl he guessed to be about six or seven. A real dangerous pair—mother and child.
Feeling foolish for his earlier apprehension, Spencer resnapped his holster. His relief made him eager to please.
“I’ll help with her if you want to go on and get in the truck.”
“No!”
She dropped into a protective crouch over the child. The sharpness of her tone set him back. As if realizing how she’d sounded, she managed a tight smile of apology that was as strained as the moment.
“I’ll carry her. It’s been a long day and she’s exhausted. If she should wake up, I don’t want her to be frightened by the sight of a stranger.”
She could have been telling the truth. But instinctively, Spencer knew she wasn’t. The woman simply didn’t want any part of him or his help. She’d made it clear she was accepting the ride with the utmost reservation, probably only for the sake of the child. His wary nature working overtime again, he stepped back to let her ease out of the car with the burden of the little girl in her arms. It was a nice view, her cute rounded bottom wiggling toward him as she backed out of the interior. It took all his willpower to keep from placing a helping hand on that nicely curved fanny—to assist her, of course. All part of the job. But nervous as she was around him, he was afraid she’d bolt back into the car and lock the doors. And he didn’t want to be responsible for the two of them shivering the night away on the shoulder of the deserted highway.
The woman straightened. She was tall. He was over six foot and she nearly topped his shoulder. An enticing amount of that height was made up of trim calves and sleek thighs. His gaze moved up from there in lingering appreciation, stopping dead at the expression on her face. Under his detailing scrutiny, she looked like a doe caught in the glare of headlights.
“Do you need anything out of the car?”
She blinked and some of the glaze faded. “If you’d just grab that case in the back seat for me,” she said, as she struggled to hold the girl and maneuver the quilt so it covered her against the downpour. The woman froze when Spencer tugged the edge of it up over the child’s head, as if she expected the gesture to hold some threat. Then, she ran quickly toward the shelter of his truck.
He watched them go with a slightly pensive frown on his face, then, anxious to get out of the weather himself, Spencer pushed up the bucket seat to retrieve the single bag in back. As he straightened, he noticed she’d left her set of keys in the ignition in her haste. He palmed them, wondering what had flustered her enough to make her forget something so basic.
When Spencer climbed up behind the wheel of his four-by-four, he was surprised to find she’d placed herself between him and the girl. Because the back seat had been taken out, there was no choice but for all of them to squeeze into the front. It seemed an awkward arrangement, her long legs twisted to accommodate the hump on the floor. But nice, he noted, as an assessing gaze followed the smooth bend of her knees. Real nice. When his hand moved toward them, he heard her suck in a quick breath.
“Thought I’d get a little heat going in here,” he told her as he slid the appropriate levers on the dash. She tucked those gorgeous legs of hers nearly up under her chin to avoid the brush of his forearm. Only when a sigh of warmth started blowing from the vents and Spencer had settled back into his seat to click his shoulder harness into place did the woman relax to any degree.
Huddled against the opposite door, the well-cocooned child slept on, seemingly dead to the world.
Spencer eased the truck out onto the highway and started the wipers on high to keep up with the rain. He could almost hear the heartbeat of the woman at his side echoing that same frantic tempo. Most people wouldn’t equate a ride from the local law with being picked up by a possible madman.
Yet she was afraid. Of him. Despite the uniform. Or because of it.
“You say you’re headed for Big Bear?”
The sound of his voice startled her. He felt her flinch nervously away from him as her big eyes darted in his direction. And he heard her draw in a long breath, pausing to carefully phrase her reply.
“Yes.”
That was it. Not a particularly gabby female.
“Buying or renting?” he prodded.
“Borrowing. From a friend.”
“For how long?”
“The summer.” An edge had crept into her voice and that spark almost made him smile. Spencer could hear Mind your own business, buster in her tone. She had some spunk, afterall, he thought with satisfaction. Well, weren’t policemen supposed to be inquisitive? It came with the territory.
“Which place? So I know where I’m going,” he qualified rather pointedly; the model Good Samaritan. She sounded suitably chastened in her response.
“It belongs to a family by the name of Cheswick. On the east side of the lake.”
“Oh, yeah. I know which one. I’m just on the other side of the cove. We’re neighbors, you might say.”
She made no sound that would indicate her pleasure in that arrangement. It was going to be hard being neighborly with this one. But worth the effort, he decided with another glance at those bared legs canted his way. He’d bet the payoff on his truck that she was a knockout in a swimsuit.
“I’m Spencer Halloway.” When a long silence followed that disclosure, he prompted, “And you are—?”
“Um, what? Oh. Mercy. Mercy...Royce.”
That bit of information was offered so unnaturally, it was immediately suspect. Mercy Royce. Sure she was. He wondered if that was how her driver’s license read. It came out too stilted to be a name she was familiar with. Why? Was she lying or just reluctant to volunteer anything about herself? Again, why? His instincts were quivering. Just as his interest was simmering.
Mercy gave him a sidelong glance, noting the way his lips pursed in thought, then quickly, she looked away, turning her attention back to the sleeping figure beside her to make sure the seat belt was snug but not tight.
Now that was handled real well, Mercy.
She held her groan of frustration as their reflections briefly appeared on the windshield as a semi roared past, making the smaller truck shudder. She was shuddering, too, at the clumsiness of her words. If he wasn’t already suspicious, she was pushing him toward it. She was no master at deception. Lies didn’t come easily to her lips, especially when she was so frightened, every tendon in her body ached.
Of all the terrible luck. First to be stranded when they were so close to their goal. Then to be rescued by the last person in the world she wanted to see—a policeman. How could he miss the guilt stamped upon her features? She might as well have confessed all while staring at his badge in horror. How could she expect to maintain the lie all summer when she couldn’t support it for the first few minutes under the probing eyes of a lawman?
A cop for a neighbor. Great. Just great.
For long minutes, only the shush of the windshield wipers sounded in the steamy interior of the truck. Words appearing wavery through the sheets of water proclaimed Big Bear Lake on a road sign. Mercy felt a rush of relief. Almost there. She smiled with grim satisfaction, her hand rubbing the small shoulders of the sleeping child. Again she glanced furtively at the lawman behind the wheel.
In the glare of the mercury lights irregularly spaced at some of the lakeside cottages, she could form a clear picture of him. He had a nice profile; clean, fine, strong. Before, she’d seen only the badge set between broad shoulders. She supposed women would find his chiseled features attractive. They would see his easy smile as roguishly charming, the way it lifted one side of his mouth with a lazy tug, then coaxed the other to follow. It was a smug, confident smile, spelling out Male and Proud of It with one brief flash of white teeth. She’d seen the interest warm in his eyes when he looked at her. She was used to the response and wasn’t flattered by it the way she figured most women would be; the way he expected her to be. And that could spell trouble with a man as arrogantly sure of his appeal as Spencer Halloway. The last thing she needed was a lawman sniffing about her door.
The road had gone from smooth blacktop to washboard gravel. The four-by-four jounced over the water-filled cavities as if trying to shake her from her stiff posture. It was impossible not to bump against the man at her side while she reflexively steadied the little girl. No matter how hard Mercy gripped the dash and braced the awkward angle of her feet, she came in continual contact with his lean, hard form. The spareness of male muscle beneath his water-stained dress shirt didn’t incite appreciation. It quickened apprehension inside Mercy. She gritted her teeth to still their sudden chattering.
Finally, the truck slowed and made a cautious turn into a narrow, tree-lined drive. It was too dark and rain-drenched for her to get a good look at the cabin, but its silhouette had a comforting solidity. Shelter against the weather. Shelter against the storm of her emotions. An escape from their rescuer.
The sound of the rain heightened as Spencer shut off the engine. She looked to him in alarm. Why had he stopped the truck?
“Have you got the key handy?” he was asking.
“Wh-why?”
“I’ll unlock the door for you so you won’t get soaked.”
The thought of him going inside woke a thinly veiled panic. “No. Thank you, but I can manage.”
She could see the brightness of his smile against the dim interior. “It’s no problem. It’s the least I can do after nearly drowning you earlier.” There was a pause and when she refused to surrender the key, he added with a smooth logic, “Besides, you don’t want your little girl to get wet.”
Mercy bit down on her indecision. She wanted to scream out, “Just go away and leave us alone.” But she couldn’t very well do that, could she? Finally, she forced a sigh. She was being silly. She was tired. Her nerves were raw. It was a friendly gesture. She shouldn’t act like it was more than that. She fished in her handbag and silently gave him the single key that would unlock their sanctuary.
He was gone for only a minute. Mercy could make out the outline of his bunched shoulders as he passed in front of the truck’s low beams. She closed her eyes for a moment, lost in the relief of reaching their destination undiscovered. At last, she could get a good night’s sleep.
Mercy gave a start as the passenger door opened. Before she could protest, Spencer gathered up the slumbering child to his sturdy chest and started for the cabin. She had no alternative but to rush after him in a flurry of anxiety, their lone bag clutched in her trembling hands.
He was arranging the little girl on a shadowy sofa when Mercy entered. The interior of the cabin smelled musty, damp and unused; a clammy welcome.
“I’ll get you some lights.”
“No, you don’t have to do...” Her objection trailed off as Spencer’s flashlight beam disappeared down a narrow hall. She was fast learning that he did pretty much whatever he wanted, regardless of her feelings on the matter. He had a take-charge manner, and for the moment, she was forced to endure it. At least, he seemed to know what he was doing. She should have been grateful. She had no idea how to turn on the power and water to bring civilization to the primitive surroundings. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Maybe running into him on the road was more a godsend than a curse.
She was more convinced of it as a pool of yellow appeared beneath a dusty lampshade on a corner table. Looking pleased, Spencer emerged from the back rooms with a cold flashlight and a warm smile.
“Let there be light,” he announced.
“Thank you for your help, Officer Halloway—” Her dismissal was left dangling as he strode into the small kitchen area and abruptly dropped out of sight. Cautiously, she circled the breakfast bar and was surprised to find him down on the chipped linoleum floor, head and shoulders lost beneath the sink.
“What are you doing?” she asked anxiously.
“Getting you some hot water. The place has been shut up since last summer and everything’s still winterized. Michigan winters do a number on the pipes if you don’t flush them out. It’ll take a while to get the hot water tank up to temperature but the shower will be ready by morning.”
With that, he scooted out from under the cabinets, and Mercy instinctively took a few steps back. He stood, brushing his hands off against the swell of his thighs, and finally face-to-face with him, she was able to take the full measure of the man. And was thoroughly intimidated.
He was bigger than she’d first assumed. Taller, broader, with a tensile strength his easy smile couldn’t relieve. He’d taken off the water-spattered hat, but it had left the crease of its band upon his tawny-colored hair, leading her to believe he was more often with than without it. Sort of a northern Michigan cowboy. It fit, that ideal of rangy toughness and gosh-golly-ma’am manners, and she was sure the image would have pleased him. His eyes were gray, she noticed with a sudden clarity. Steel gray, like cold gunmetal in contrast to the warmth of his expression. His aura filled the small space, making her feel totally engulfed. Smothered. She retreated farther, moving back into the open living area.
As if unaware of her agitation, Spencer gave the cabin’s interior a slow inspection. “Looks like everything’s in good shape. If you have any problems with the pump or anything else, feel free to holler. I’m pretty good with my hands.” The corners of his eyes creased with a hint of humor. She wasn’t amused so he added in casual explanation, “We tend to take care of one another up here.”
As he made the offer, he opened the old-model refrigerator, taking out the stick of wood that held the door slightly ajar and adjusting the temperature-control knob in back.
“Thank you, but I’m sure we’ll be—”
“I’m just on the other side of the cove,” he went on as if she hadn’t been speaking, neatly severing her claim of capability. “The log home. You can see it from the back porch. If I’m not there, just tuck a note in the door. I’ve got a phone if you need one and a TV if the little one gets lonely for the Saturday-morning cartoons.”
Mercy offered a stiff smile. The picture he was painting was growing too intimate for her liking. She made her tone cool and very final. “Thank you, Officer Halloway, but we’ll be fine. We came up here to get away from those things.”
But Spencer wasn’t daunted. He grinned and picked up his silver Stetson. “Just yell out. I’ll hear you. We’re neighbors, after all.”
That was far from a comforting fact.
She stood, gesturing to the door with her gaze. It was as effective as giving him a push toward it. Finally, he took the not-so-subtle hint.
“Well, I’ll be on my way so you can get settled in.” He clapped the hat down on his head so it tipped at a rakish angle. For effect, she was sure. “Don’t worry about your car. I’ll call in for a tow.”
“Thank you,” Mercy repeated with a trace of exasperation creeping into her voice. Would she never be rid of him? She moved toward the door, feeling him following on her heels. How quickly he overwhelmed her with his nearness. She opened the door and with her hand on the knob, turned to him. He was standing so close, they were toe to toe. His shiny badge was at eye level. She could read the numbers on it and the word sheriff. Sheriff Halloway. She repressed a shiver. This was no time for her to act out of the ordinary. She forced a smile. “Good night, Sheriff.”
“Ma’am.” He made that polite title glide like a caress. Then, he tipped his hat brim to show no offense intended. And finally, he was gone.
Mercy shut the door behind him and slid the bolt. Rivers of relief rippled through her. For a moment, she could do no more than lean weakly against the wall and shake. They were safe. For the moment, they were safe.
Because her knees felt too watery to support her right away, Mercy used the long, strength-gathering minutes to assess the cabin. Despite the dampness and grit of disuse, it was a cozy place within its wood-paneled walls. The small, L-shaped living room was large enough for a round dinette next to the kitchen. There were no separating walls to enclose the areas from one another. The furnishings were an old collection of garage-sale refugees, each adding to the rustic decor; an odd chair at the table, a crocheted throw cover over a tattered platform rocker, rag rugs scattered over cold tiles. A potbellied iron woodstove crouched in one corner as the mode of heat. It wasn’t a fancy retreat. No phone. No television. Just an ancient gas range and a tiny fifties-style icebox. But Spencer had said there was a shower. And if there were beds, a lock on the door and a roof that didn’t leak, it had everything she needed at the moment. What she needed was seclusion. What she needed was rest.
Thinking along that line, Mercy moved wearily toward the back hall, turning on lights as she went. There, she found a compartmental bath with just the bare necessities, and two small bedrooms, each with a double bed, an antique dresser and little room for movement. She tossed back the patched and repatched quilt on one of the beds to find it already made up in a set of faded sheets. They would do. Her own were in the trunk of the stranded Pontiac.
Thinking of that, she froze in panic. The car keys. He must have taken them. Would the sheriff look through her car? Had her fearful actions alerted him enough to go to that extreme? She recalled the sharp curiosity of his gaze. A natural part of his job? Or had she done something to make him suspicious? Was there anything in the hurriedly packed bags in the trunk to give them away? No. She didn’t think so. She’d been very careful. And besides, there was little she could do about it now. No use worrying without reason. She let out her suspended breath and forced the panic to subside.
The little girl was still asleep on the sofa. Mercy considered waking her to get her out of her traveling clothes but decided against it. She needed the sleep, deep and undisturbed. Besides, the bed would be cold enough without slipping bare skin in between those clammy sheets. Mercy lifted the slight figure to carry her into the first bedroom. Without shedding more than her shoes, Mercy placed her on the too-soft mattress. The girl stirred only long enough to burrow into the covers of the bed they would share.
Tonight, she wanted the child close. In case she woke in the strange place. Just for the comfort of having her near and the knowledge that she was safe. Tonight, she was safe. And that made Mercy smile when she finally switched off the light and drew the warm little body into the curve of her own. Tonight, they could both sleep well.
* * *
Who was she?
On the other side of the quiet cove, Spencer Halloway took another swallow of his beer and studied the blaze of lights within the Cheswicks’ cabin.
What was she running from?
After twelve years of police work, Spencer knew the look. He’d seen it in the eyes of kids he’d caught joyriding in a “borrowed” car. He remembered it from the faces of young runaways when he’d worked the big-city beat. It was an instinct that prickled along his spine when he pulled over a speeder who just happened to have hit an area gas station hours before. They all shared that glaze of panic flickering like a desperate flame behind the eyes, just like the woman behind the wheel of the disabled car. They all managed that tense smile, torturing stiff lips into an unnatural upward bow. And they all brought a sweat of warning to his hands and an acceleration to his heartbeat.
What was she running from?
It could be his imagination, he supposed, as he flicked the lengthening ash from the end of his cigarette. Maybe it was just the fright of being stranded on the lonesome stretch of highway—a woman and child alone in a strange place—that had put that glaze of terror in her expressive dark eyes. Maybe tomorrow some handsome husband and father would show up to kiss and claim them both. But he didn’t think so. It was more than his odd reluctance to attach the mysterious Mercy Royce to another man. It was a gut feeling. The kind a man in his position developed over the years in order to survive. And those gut feelings had only failed him once.
Something wasn’t right about Mercy Royce and her little girl, and Spencer couldn’t stop wondering what it was.
Carrying the beer and smoldering-but-as-yet-unsmoked cigarette with him, he strode to his phone and made a call.
“Pine Creek Sheriff’s Department. How may I help you?”
“Judy, this is Spencer.”
“Oh, hi, Sheriff.” The sleepy voice immediately brightened and distracted him for a moment from his brooding thoughts.
He could picture the pert twenty-year-old on the other end of the line. Judy Alcott made no bones about her interest in him. And he’d done nothing drastic to discourage it. Though he would, eventually. He didn’t mind the playful banter, but he wouldn’t allow the girl to be hurt by her expectations.
Most of the eligible women in Pine Creek knew he wasn’t in the market for more than the noncommittal enjoyment of their charms. As much as he liked their company, he’d posted his heart as strictly off-limits. He made sure they knew that, right up front. He wasn’t lonely in his bachelor status. The influx of summer swimsuits provided ample entertainment during the warm months and when the season ended, there were always plenty of encouraging smiles turned his way from the local ladies. He had no desire to tamper with the innocence of youth or test the parameters of love.
Not again. Never again.
As if in rebellion, his mind conjured the image of Mercy Royce unwinding gracefully from the seat of her car.
“Did I wake you up?” he asked into the phone, forcing his thoughts with a mental jerk back into the present.
A giggling was his answer. “Of course not, Sheriff,” Judy lied cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”
There was no mistaking the open invitation in that breathy drawl. Spencer grinned wryly. He’d have to have that talk with her sooner than anticipated. “You can start by waking up Kevin Hobbs. I’ve got a car out on 37 that needs to be picked up.”
“In this weather?”
He knew she was anticipating Hobbs’s sentiments. “It’s a favor to me, Judy. There was no way to get it safely off the highway and I’d like him to start on it as soon as he can. If he grumbles too much just tell him I could start calling Virg over at the 76 station with my business.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff. Anything else?”
“Yeah. I want you to run a DMV check for me.” He recited the plate number off Mercy’s car. “I want that information A.S.A.P.”
“Sure, Spence.” She sounded disappointed. “I’ll get it right out.”
“You’re an angel, Judy. You can go back to sleep now.”
He set the receiver down and made a pensive face. Soon, he would know Mercy Royce’s secrets. Why it was so important, he wasn’t sure. Maybe because things had been slow in town and she offered a little excitement. He thought of her long, long legs and smiled. Oh, yeah. She was exciting, all right. Then his expression sobered as he recalled the fear shining in her eyes.
What else was she?
