Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [71]
“The Cuervo bottle was mine.” Anna sat up on the couch and threw off the afghan. “Man. I’m never drinking again.”
I snorted. “Right. I’ve heard that a time or twenty.”
“Fuck off.”
Geneva lifted both eyebrows at the exchange.
“Geneva, meet my army buddy, Anna Rodriguez. Anna, meet my oldest friend, Geneva Illingsworth.”
They mumbled at each other.
“Are you staying long?” Geneva asked Anna.
“Haven’t decided.”
“So you’re not in the army?”
“No, ma’am. In fact, I got out two years before Gunny.”
Geneva looked perplexed at Anna’s use of my nickname, but she recovered fast. “Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut your visit short for a bit this morning. Mercy has a meeting scheduled.”
“No sweat. I’ll tag along.” Anna stretched. “Won’t take me long to get ready.”
Anna was less sociable than me, and I couldn’t deal with both her and Geneva first thing this morning. “Tell you what—hang out here, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Huh-uh. I’m going.” She shook her finger at me. “Pissing me off when I’m hungover is a bad choice. You know that.”
Anna’s threat wouldn’t fly with me. Once her superior; always her superior. “Back off, A-Rod. I’m dealing with campaign stuff and don’t need your help. Work on losing your bitchy attitude while I’m gone.”
Anna whizzed a decorative pillow at my head. I caught it and flung it back at her Frisbee-style. She grinned. “Just testing your reflexes, Gunny. Hate to think you were getting soft.”
“Soft my ass.”
She hip-checked me as she walked by. “The couch sucks. I’m sleeping it off in your bed.”
I managed to grab my clothes before she slammed the bedroom door in my face. I showered, braided my hair, and slathered on makeup. Dressed in my newest Cruel Girl jeans, a sleeveless blue-plaid shirt, and my sparkly red rhinestone belt, I epitomized the red, white, and blue hometown cowgirl.
Geneva gave me a once-over as I slipped on my Ariat Fatbaby boots with the ostrich skin toes. Wouldn’t be prudent to wear a gun, although I felt half naked without one.
“Do I pass your inspection, campaign boss?”
“Part of me says no, because it’s too casual. Part of me says yes, you look amazing, and I don’t think my ego can handle seeing you in dress clothes.”
My head snapped up. A compliment? From Geneva?
She smirked. “Shocked I have a civil side to my tongue?”
“Uh-huh. That and the fact no one’s called me amazing in a long damn time.”
Except Dawson had a few nights ago. He’d murmured, “You are amazing, Mercy,” as he’d kissed every inch of my skin. Dammit. I didn’t want to think about Dawson and what my active campaigning for his job would do to our relationship.
What relationship? It’s just sex, right?
“Mercy? You okay?”
I looked at her, guiltily, I’m sure. “Sorry. Just thinking about something else.”
“Let’s go.”
Geneva drove a minivan, which didn’t bother me. She drove like Mad Max on meth, which did bother me. It occurred to me, as I white-knuckled the dash, that if I was elected sheriff, I’d have to cite her for speeding.
Too bad I didn’t have the damn badge and ticket book right now. But I gritted my teeth, trying not to look at the speedometer. Or the road whizzing past. Or how she fiddled with the climate-control buttons instead of keeping both hands on the wheel.
“Mercy, I need to ask you something.”
“If it’s about my military service, there are some things I can’t discuss.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
She blurted, “Are you a lesbian? I don’t care if you are, I mean, I’ll still love you . . . but not in that way. It’s just . . . well, you’ve never been married, you’ve never talked about any kind of long-term relationship. Then you’re into guns and all that macho military stuff, and you haven’t dated anyone since you’ve been home. Now Anna shows up and your relationship with her seems really . . . close.”
Maybe keeping my encounters with Dawson a secret hadn’t been a smart move. If I’d piqued Geneva’s curiosity about my sexual orientation, did the rest of the county question it, too? My petulant side wondered if Dawson’s marital status