Merciless by Lori Armstrong Read Free Book Online

with Shay. Since we had interviews scheduled for first thing this morning, I’d drop
     by his place at the Diamond T after work tonight.
    Jake must’ve come by early because the dogs weren’t around when I stepped onto the
     porch. I squinted at the sky. Another dreary day. The moist air seeped into my bones,
     and I shivered. Wet cold is worse than dry cold. I’d take winter in the high plains
     desert over winter in the supposed warmer clime of North Carolina. At least if it
     snowed, the dulled, gray, lifeless tones of late fall would be hidden beneath a blanket
     of white.
    The parking lot at the tribal police station was nearly full—an odd occurrence this
     early in the morning on the rez. I remembered to put my FBI parking tag on the dash.
     Hopefully, that wouldn’t earn me a tire iron to the windows or headlights.
    Inside, a dozen or so people crowded around the receptionist’s desk, arguing about
     wrongful incarceration of a family member. I dodged fighting kids and skirted a hefty
     woman in a wheelchair who was blocking the door. After winding my way through teetering
     boxes in the hallways, any calmness evaporated once I reached the conference room.
     I hated that I wanted Agent Turnbull here. I hadn’t dealt with the tribal cops much,
     and I was still finding my footing as to who was in charge in what circumstance.
    Officer Ferguson was kicked back, with her boots on the table and a file folder obscuring
     most of her face. Those boots dropped with a thump when she saw me. “Sorry, Agent.”
    “No problem.” I spied a coffeepot and poured myself a cup.
    “Is your partner coming today?” she asked.
    No surprise she’d be asking about Shay. The man’s amazing looks could’ve landed him
     on the cover of a historical western romance, where the scantily dressed, brave Brave
     held the virginal white girl in his big strong arms. “Special Agent Turnbull is not
     my partner. He’s my supervisor. So I assume he’ll show.”
    “Oh, I didn’t know.” She gave me a curious look. “Do you think the reason we’re interviewing
     Arlette’s friends is because we’re women?”
    Oddly enough, that comment relaxed me, because I’d had the same thought. “Probably.
     But I’ll take a dozen teenage girls in interview any day over one strung-out male
     meth head.” I sat across from her and sipped my coffee. “Do you know these friends
     of Arlette’s?”
    She shook her head and slid me a file folder.
    I skimmed the lone document. “Where’s the other girl’s statement?”
    “That’s all we’ve got.”
    I bit back a comment about the seemingly haphazard treatment of documents at the tribal
     PD. When I glanced up, I noticed the curtain to what I’d assumed was a window was
     now open. It wasn’t a window but a two-way glass to a viewing room. That’s where Turnbull
     would be.
    Three raps sounded on the door, and the receptionist stuck her head in. “Fergie? Are
     you ready for Naomi Malloy? The Kicking Bird family has taken over the front office,
     and she’s getting spooked.”
    Officer Ferguson looked at me and I nodded. “Bring her in.”
    After the door closed, I said, “So . . . Fergie, huh?”
    She rolled her eyes. “I got that nickname after Fergie, the former Duchess of York,
     became a household name, but before Fergie, from the Black Eyed Peas, became popular.”
     She smirked. “But I’m sure you can see my resemblance to the latter.”
    Redheaded Officer Ferguson was about five feet three and as curvy as a tipi pole.
    “One of my nicknames in the army was Gunny, which pissed off the marines we were stationed
     with, because that name is used exclusively fora male gunnery sergeant. They still gave me the stink eye after I pointed to my name
     patch and explained Gunny was short for Gunderson.”
    “Fucking jarheads,” she muttered. “I was in the air force for a decade, so I know
     how they are.”
    “You were military police?”
    Fergie nodded. “Ended up