“That fits with what you said about his character,” agreed Truman.

“I probably made Gamble’s day with my visit yesterday—I probably made his decade. How could I be so stupid?” She ran her hands through her hair and tugged until her scalp protested. “I thought I was so smart during our interview, but instead I gave him something big to play with, and he put himself in the spotlight.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Truman pointed out. “Anyone could have leaked the story.”

“The fact that it was leaked to a tabloid means something—and I suspect it’s Shane Gamble who deliberately chose it.” Why? Her mind raced. “I could interview him again . . . and not let him know that I suspect he leaked the story. Maybe I can find out what he’s up to. We’ll see how he likes it when—”

“I think you need to focus on finding the other thieves and money,” Truman said gently. “Not picking the brain of a convict to satisfy your personal curiosity.”

Mercy took deep breaths instead of giving in to her impulse to reject Truman’s point. He’s right.

“Don’t let him get to you. And do the same with this reporter. Ignore them. Focus on the information that’s in front of you.”

“I don’t like being used,” she grumbled. “And yes, I know you’re correct.” She shot him a rueful side-eyed glance. “How can you be so levelheaded and not upset?”

“I don’t see much to be upset about. But I’m annoyed that she called you a bumbling backwoods FBI agent.” His brown eyes warmed her. “That’s not true at all.”

“And she claims she only prints facts,” complained Ollie. “I should talk—”

“No one is talking to her,” Truman stated firmly. He pointed at Ollie. “Eat your pizza.”

Mercy bit into her own piece, glaring at her plate.

Tabitha Huff is in for a surprise if she talks to me again.

THIRTEEN

The next morning Truman was almost to the Coffee Café when Kaylie stepped out the front door with two men. The three of them stopped to talk outside, and Kaylie put her hands on her hips and pushed her chin forward, presenting a profile that Truman had seen a dozen times on Mercy. In other words, something had pissed Kaylie off.

As he drew closer, he recognized Cade Pruitt and his father, Glenn.

Uh-oh. What did Cade do now?

Kaylie spotted him and relief crossed her face. Glenn turned and held a hand out to Truman. “Hey, Chief.”

“Glenn. Cade,” Truman replied, quickly checking Cade’s expression. The young man didn’t appear upset. In fact he’d just set a comforting hand on Kaylie’s shoulder. “What’s up?” Truman directed the question to Kaylie.

“Reporters,” she said grimly. “They all seem to think the local coffee shop is the place to slyly probe the employees with questions.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re so obvious.”

Truman understood. “Seen a few today?”

“Three so far. The story has spread far beyond that tabloid,” Kaylie said. “They act as though I’m their best friend and then ask if I know the way to where that body was found.” Her nose wrinkled. “Please. How stupid do they think I am?”

“I heard the same thing happen to a waitress in the diner,” Glenn told Truman. “They’re descending on the town like vultures.”

“Tell everyone to ignore them,” he advised. “They’ll eventually leave when they realize no one is talking.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised to hear someone had taken a reporter up there for money,” Glenn said. “I can think of a few people who can be bought.”

Truman could too. “I’ll get word to Christian Lake to put some security in the area.” He can afford it.

Cade leaned toward Kaylie, heavy concern on his face. Truman lifted a brow. “Is there more to it than that, Cade?”

Frustration crossed the young man’s face. “I don’t like people harassing her.”

“I can take care of myself,” Kaylie said pointedly. No eye roll was visible, but Truman heard it in her voice. Mercy had told him one of the things that bothered Kaylie about Cade was his overprotectiveness.

“I know you can.” Cade didn’t sound convinced.

“I need to get back to my customers,” Kaylie stated, breaking the quiet. She gave Cade a kiss on the cheek and went back inside the coffee shop.

“She’ll be fine, Cade,” Truman told him. “Reporters aren’t threatening. Just nosy. They have bosses to answer to if they step out of line.”

“You’re not even together now,” Glenn told his son. “Or are you?” He looked at Truman. “I can’t keep track.”

Truman couldn’t either.

“We are,” answered Cade. “I need to get to work.” He lifted a hand at Truman and headed toward his vehicle. As he left, Truman noticed Cade walked with the same left shoulder tilt that he’d seen on Glenn. He’d call Cade Glenn’s Mini-Me, but both men were well over six feet tall.

“Do you have a minute?” Glenn asked Truman, a worried look in his eyes.

“You concerned about those two kids?”

“Nah. They’re good friends whether they’re dating or not. Kaylie knows how to keep Cade in line.”

“They’re like a teeter-totter,” Truman said. I swear they broke up recently. There’d been some sort of romance drama that made Mercy bang her head against the wall.

“They’ll grow up.” His expression grew serious. “I heard threats were made against Bree Ingram.”

“What? When?” Truman’s stomach dropped.

Glenn frowned. “I thought you saw them. The Xs on her property.”

“Oh. That.” Truman exhaled. “When you said threats, I assumed something verbal.”

“I’d call red Xs on my stock and vehicle threats.”

“I agree, and I’m looking into it.”

“Do you have any leads? She lives alone. I don’t like it.”

“There’ve been some possibilities,” Truman hedged. He wouldn’t discuss Lionel Kerns.

Glenn waited a long second. Disappointment shone in the man’s eyes when he realized Truman wasn’t going to expand on his comment.

“Do you have an idea who did it?” Truman asked, studying the man carefully. He didn’t know Glenn all that well. The Pruitts had lived outside of town for a long time and were well regarded. Most of his encounters with Glenn had also involved Cade and Kaylie. He’d never heard a bad word said against the man. And in a town that gossiped as much as Eagle’s Nest, that was something.

“I don’t,” admitted Glenn. “If I find out it’s a bunch of stupid teenagers, their parents are going to hear from me.”

“They’ll hear from more than just you.”

After a brief discussion on the weird behaviors of today’s teens, the men shook hands, and Glenn left.

We sounded like a couple of old men.

As Glenn walked away, Truman’s attention was caught by a young woman in a car across the street and a few buildings down. She sat in the driver’s seat of a small Ford and abruptly turned her face away as she realized he was staring at her. Purple flashed in her blonde hair.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered as he strode toward the car.

Both Mercy and Ollie had mentioned the Voice reporter’s purple hair, and the white car looked like a typical rental to Truman.

Which one of us was she watching?

Assuming she had been watching any of them at all, but Truman’s gut told him the young woman had been keeping an eye on someone. If it was Kaylie, the reporter was in for a session with an angry stepfather . . . stepuncle . . . whatever Truman was to Kaylie.

The reporter started the car, and Truman held up a commanding hand as he moved closer. If she takes off . . .

Luckily she rolled down the window and smiled as he approached. “Can I help you, Officer?” Her sugary tone didn’t fool him.

Truman rested his hands on the top of her door and leaned down toward her window. “Why are you parked here?” was his greeting.

Concern filled her face. “Uh . . . I didn’t realize I couldn’t park here. I didn’t see the signs.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Truman stated, putting on his best stone-cold-cop face. “Who are you following? If you say Kaylie Kilpatrick, we’re going to have a serious discussion.”

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. The engine was still on, but he could see the car was in park. “I’m not doing anything. I just got a cup of coffee back there.” Unease settled in her features.

As she spoke, a spicy scent that he recognized as Ben Cooley’s favorite coffee drink reached him. Sure enough, a cup from the Coffee Café was next to her seat. But she didn’t deny following anyone or ask who Kaylie Kilpatrick was. No doubt she was one of the reporters who’d spoken with Kaylie that morning.

“I know who you are, and I know what you wrote yesterday.” Truman struggled to keep his temper in check. “And by the way, Special Agent Kilpatrick is one of the sharpest agents I’ve ever worked with.”

“Worked with or slept with?” Snark replaced her discomfort.

“Both. If you need information for your story, why don’t you ask for a media release instead of writing crap about the agent who ignored you? That’s what a professional would do.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she snapped.

“No, I don’t think you do. Act like a professional and stay away from my family. All of them.” He glanced up as engines rumbled. Two white vans had pulled up and parked down the street, a local news station logo on their sides. Damn. The gate has been opened.

He knew it was just the beginning.

“Looks like my story got some attention,” the reporter stated. “That’s what happens when you print the truth.”