Merciless

21

When I reached my truck, I realized two hours had passed during my B &E at Sheldon’s house.

I checked the camera for a memory card. Finding none, I threw the expensive camera out the window as I headed home.

Two things occurred to me: When Sheldon saw his house had been broken into, he wouldn’t call the cops. But he’d know exactly who had done it when he saw the ceramic mushroom and the pictures were missing.

He could torch his house and his garage, erasing evidence of his psychotic ways. But he’d still be gunning for me.

I just had to outgun him. And that was something I was very, very good at.

On my way to the ranch, I called Jake. “Listen carefully. You need to pick Lex up from the bus stop and keep him at your house overnight. Tell him that the hospital called and said his dad can’t have visitors tonight and that urgent FBI business came up and I’m away on a case. Take extra precautions with Hope and Joy. Do not trust anyone with information about me, except for Shay Turnbull. Do not let anyone in your house. Not even anyone you know. Hunker down until I give you the all clear. Okay?”

“Okay. What else?”

“Can you get your hands on a gun?”

“I’ve got one.”

“Good. Keep it with you at all times.”

“I won’t ask what’s goin’ on, but I will tell you to be careful.”

“Thanks.” I lingered on the line, half wanting to say something sentimental for him to pass on just in case… but I slammed a lid on that mind-set and hung up.

• • •

I picked a hidden vantage point beyond where the bus dropped Lex off to make sure Jake didn’t run into any problems when picking him up. I’d texted Lex an apology, an update from the nurse on his dad’s condition-no change-and the promise we’d go to the hospital first thing tomorrow.

Lex’s response? “’kay.”

Daylight had started to dim when I pulled up to the house.

I rolled the pictures and shoved them and the memory card in my purse. I’d stashed the Carhartt behind the seat. In my haste to get home I hadn’t put my other coat back on, so I shivered as I hustled up the porch steps.

In the kitchen I ducked down and put the pictures and the memory card in the oatmeal container, shoving it onto the back of the lazy Susan.

I grabbed a Coke out of the fridge. I turned around when a phone on the kitchen table, a phone I’d never seen before, started to ring. I went on full alert and answered it. “Hello?”

“Mercy. I hoped you’d be the type to pick up a ringing phone.”

Sheldon War Bonnet was on the other end of this call.

Play it cool. “Sheldon? Why would your phone be in my house?”

“After I heard about the sheriff, I felt so bad for you and the boy that I dropped off some cookies. No one was around, and I assumed you were sleeping, so I just left them on the table. I only realized today that I must’ve left my phone there.” He laughed. “Sort of pitiful, isn’t it? That no one ever calls me and I just noticed it was missing… five days later?”

Such a liar. Did he really believe I wouldn’t notice a cell phone on my kitchen table for almost a week? “Do you want to meet someplace so I can give it back to you? I’m not doing anything right now.”

He said, “I know.” But then amended it to, “But I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

My guts twisted when I realized he’d known exactly when I’d gotten home. He had to be someplace close by. “No, I insist. As a matter of fact, why don’t you come out to the ranch and get it?”

Silence.

Then he sighed. “I hear the distrust in your tone.”

“Well, it does appear you broke into my house. If you wanted to talk to me, you could’ve just called the house phone, rather than using this type of ploy.”

“Technically, it wasn’t breaking in since you didn’t lock your door.” He tsk-tsked. “Too bad you don’t lock everything up as tight as your gun safe.”

The bastard had been in my bedroom.

Before I could retort, he said, “Speaking of safe… have you checked in with your family? You know they’re all alive, and well, and accounted for?”

A spike of fear lodged in my soul.

“Well, you know the sheriff is buttoned up tight in room four oh six at the hospital. Last I checked, roughly a half hour ago, your sister Hope and your niece were snug in their trailer. Along with the sheriff’s son. Jake will return from feeding cattle soon. That takes care of the Red Leaf family. At least, that branch of the Red Leaf family. Have you talked to John-John lately? Probably not. I heard that bit of nastiness he said to you that night at Stillwell’s about his stupid vision. He really is such a flaming faggot, you’re better off without his friendship.”

Faggot. I hated that word. “Sheldon, what do you want?”

A noise clunked against the receiver; then, “How about Sophie Red Leaf? When was the last time you spoke to her? When was the last time anyone saw her?”

Hope had told me yesterday she couldn’t get ahold of Sophie. I’d intended to call her today, but I’d gotten sidetracked. Still, she was safe. Devlin and John-John were constantly around her, all of them grieving together.

“Mercy?” he asked with a sharper edge. “When was the last time you saw Sophie?”

“Last week.”

“That long?” He tsk-tsked again. “Isn’t the woman almost a mother to you? I’ll bet if you called her right now, she wouldn’t pick up. I’ll bet if you marched up to her front door right now, she wouldn’t answer. I’ll bet if you broke the door down, you wouldn’t find her at home. Where do you think she could be?” Sheldon laughed. “Ooh. I know exactly where she is.”

Fear, outrage, and more fear built inside me-I was done playing dumb. “What the hell have you done with her? She’s an eighty-year-old woman, you fucking sick bastard.”

“Ah, ah, ah. I’d curb that tongue if I were you. Don’t give me a reason to take out my frustration with you… on poor Sophie.”

“Why are you doing this? She’s done nothing to you.”

“But she means something to you, doesn’t she? I’ll bet she means everything to you. I’ll bet you’ll do anything to get her back.”

I paced. My heart raced, but my mind seemed sluggish. How the hell had he gotten to Sophie? “Tell me where she is.”

“Tell you what. I’ll give you a chance to win her freedom.” Sheldon’s tone mellowed to that of a lover. “But first, let’s get to know each other better. Seems our talks were always interrupted. I hated that. Didn’t you?”

That stopped me from pacing. “Why do you want to talk to me?”

“Because you’re a fascinating woman. But before you do anything stupid, like try to use your house phone to ring up your federal pals, be aware that I cut the phone line. This is between you and me. No using your cell phone during our conversation. If I find out you’ve talked to anyone besides me or signaled them in any way… I will gut Sophie slowly and pull out her entrails while you listen. So continuing this conversation is entirely up to you. I’ll give you a minute to think on it.”

I had déjà vu for the second time today. This reminded me of the phone call from Theo the morning he’d taken Hope. The little jerk-off had called me, warning me about all the horrible things he planned to do to my pregnant sister if I didn’t follow his instructions.

Oh, I’d followed his instructions. And then I’d killed him.

Did Sheldon know that, no matter how tough he played this, he was just as dead as Theo? No one threatened my family and got away with it. No one.

I looked around. When had he put my house under surveillance? I doubted he’d installed cameras in here-too obvious, too much money, and too time-consuming. Which meant right now, he was close enough to see into the house. I suppressed a shudder and steeled myself for a conversation with a madman. “Fine, Sheldon. I’m listening.”

“Good. But I want you to ask me questions.”

What the fuck was with psycho killers wanting to keep a running dialogue with me? Theo. Iris. Saro. Sheldon. Did I give off some trust-me-with-your-twisted-secrets vibe?

Maybe it’s because like recognizes like.

No. No. No. I was not like any of them. Not at all. “What kind of questions?”

“Like how long I’ve been involved in this sideline?”

“I’m betting… about five years, since you first realized you could get away with killing women and making their deaths look like accidents.”

“You really were doing your research in my archives, weren’t you? I’m impressed. But you didn’t know I was the one you were looking for, did you?”

“No. You had everyone fooled.” I paced. “So why change now and kill Arlette in such a public way? No one knew what you were doing. You could’ve gotten away with it for many more years.”

“I got bored. There’s very little premeditated murder on the rez. Usually, it’s one Indian killing another in a drunken fit at three o’clock in the morning. So I wanted to up the stakes. The death of the new tribal president’s niece carried an air of political intrigue.”

Political intrigue. In South Dakota? “So Arlette wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Give me a little credit,” he said tersely. “One time I asked her about a book she carried around, so she assumed I was interested in her reading habits. She went on and on about the stupid world of vampires. Staking her was my own little slice of irony.”

I ground my teeth at the pride in his voice. “How did you abduct her?”

“I didn’t have to. That was the beauty of it. She’d skipped school to do a research paper. I knocked her out, put her in a big garbage bag, then drove up to the back door and loaded the garbage into my car. Even if anyone had been watching me, they’d never have suspected because I dump the garbage once a week.”

“Handy. I wondered how often you used the doors. So with the political-intrigue angle, you intended for Rollie to take the blame for Arlette’s and Verline’s murders.”

“Yes. Arlette went on about Junior. But I suspected something was going on between Verline and Junior when they came in to register the baby. What a sick love triangle, with father and son. Anyway, Verline was easy to get to.”

“Why cut off her hand?”

“I figured that would send the FBI profilers into a tailspin.” He sighed. “I overheard a phone conversation when you were in the archives, and I was very disappointed that you considered Saro a suspect. That man is a common thug. He has no imagination whatsoever.”

“That’s what you call what you did to Penny? Using your imagination?”

“Of course. I hadn’t intended on Penny Pretty Horses to be part of this, but her valiant struggle with cancer and her going against her family’s wishes to live on her own terms touched me. I had to do something to end her suffering. I picked her up on my lunch break when she was out walking. Instead of fading from people’s memory as just another cancer victim, Penny Pretty Horses will be remembered a lot differently.”

Let him feel superior. Let him ramble.

“Did you see me there? At the scene?” he asked.

“No, I was a little busy dealing with grieving family members and crime-scene containment.”

“You really should be more observant. Then you would’ve figured out that you were supposed to be the third victim, not Penny.”

“Me,” I said dully. “Why me?”

“I saved the best for last. You’re a worthy adversary. I’m done talking. It’s time to discuss the rules of the game.”

“You actually believe I’ll play some game with you?”

His genial, albeit psychotic, demeanor vanished. “You will play. Look under the place mat.”

I didn’t want to. So help me God, I didn’t want to. A ball of fear inched up my throat. I eased aside the quilted place mat and saw a stack of photos. Copies of the ones I’d taken from Sheldon’s garage, different from the ones he’d left in my truck.

“I especially love the one of you in your bathrobe as you’re feeding the dogs.”

I’d especially love to feed you to the fucking dogs.

The last photo was of Dawson and me together, standing by his pickup in a private moment. It appeared as if the photographer had been within a few feet of us. Dawson’s head was annihilated by an X, and red covered my face.

“The last one is my favorite,” Sheldon said cheerfully. “Can you imagine how horrible it would be to feel your lover’s warm blood coating your skin? Having bits of his brain matter and chunks of bone in your hair? Watching his life end as he falls to the ground like another bag of meat?”

My vision swam, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the gruesome images clogging my rational thought. Imagining Dawson dead.

Stay focused. He’s distracting you from talking about what he did with Sophie.

“I know why the FBI was so hot to snap you up-other than the fact you’re a woman, a vet, and a minority.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re a killer. See, that’s where we’re alike, Sergeant Major.”

He had no fucking right to use my rank with such familiarity. No right.

“But you think you’re better than me. I saw it in your eyes that night at Stillwell’s. You think that because you went to war and I didn’t, you know how to win a battle. I’ve studied thousands of offensives. I know ops inside and out. I’m your equal in tactical maneuvers. I’m your equal in everything. And I’ll prove it.”

“How?”

He paused. “I want to test your skill as a soldier against mine.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You won’t. After I kill Sophie I’ll move on to your sister. I’d get her worked up by placing my gun against her temple. Maybe I’d put the barrel in her mouth. Or between her legs. I know how she feels about guns. She might be one I try to literally scare to death.”

The blood coursing through my veins like lava instantly turned ice cold. “Fine, I accept your challenge. But I have a condition.”

Sheldon sighed again. “I thought you might say that. What is it?”

“I want to talk to Sophie to make sure you haven’t already tortured and killed her.”

“Are you questioning my honor?”

“Honor, intent-whatever you choose to call it. I need proof.”

“Or what? I’m holding all the cards.”

“Not so. If you don’t prove she’s alive, then I’ve got nothing to fight for. I’ll assume you’re a liar. I’ll assume you killed her. I’ll call the Eagle River Sheriff’s Department, the FBI, and the tribal police right now. I’ll have my sister and our family in protective custody before you can touch them.” I stormed to the kitchen window and looked out.

A laugh burned my ear. “Glaring out the window seems overly dramatic for you.”

And he just gave himself away. He wanted me to know that he was someplace close and I still couldn’t get to him. He had to prove he was aware of my every move.

It took every bit of resolve to turn away and act flustered. “You live on the rez. I’d send the tribal cops to your house first.”

“You really think I’m stupid enough to hold her at my house?” he sneered.

“You really think I’m stupid enough to agree to your game without demanding proof of life? Tactical error on your part, Sheldon. It’s always the first maneuver in a hostage situation. You should know that with all your book learning about military ops.”

Silence.

I held my breath, wondering if I’d gone too far.

“Listen very closely.” A pause. “Sophie? Say something to Mercy.”

An inhuman wail burned my ear as the drawn-out word no echoed back to me. Had he hurt her to get that response? I didn’t feel a sense of triumph. I just felt sick. Wait. Where had I heard that type of wail before? When Theo had Hope? Had she made that agonized sound?

“Satisfied?”

No, you vicious cocksucker. I won’t be satisfied until your blood saturates the ground. “Yes.”

“You agree to my game. My test of skills?”

“Yes.”

“There’s another envelope inside the bag of dog food on your porch. Get it and open it.”

My skin crawled, as I could feel his unseen eyes on me. I snatched the envelope, folded back the metal clasp, and a sheaf of papers spilled out. Papers that looked like a fictional spy’s dossier, something you might see on TV. Maps. Christ. The only thing he hadn’t added was TOP SECRET stamped in red lettering on the front of the envelope.

“Anything look familiar?” he prompted. “Find the map marked A.”

I didn’t want to play his stupid games, but I had no choice. He’d printed out a topographical map and marked off an area with a red square.

“It’s the upper section of the Gunderson Ranch. The area known as the mini-badlands. Bordered by forest on one side and a rocky canyon on the other. That part of your land, about ten square miles, isn’t used for grazing or anything else, so we won’t be interrupted.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s because I haven’t explained the rules yet,” he snapped. “Tomorrow morning you can enter that marked-off section on the map from whichever side you choose. You’ll have from sunup to sundown to find the six items at the six locations I’ve marked on your map. You’ll need all six… hints, if you will, to figure out what bunker I’ve hidden Sophie in.”

This guy had a massive chip on his shoulder about not being called to war. An elaborate ruse to prove his prowess? What a psychotic motherfucker. I imagined he probably had a fake uniform decorated with fake medals. “What will you be doing while I’m gathering clues?”

“While you’re completing your assigned mission,” he corrected testily. “I’ll be trying to stop you. By any means necessary. Just like in real war.”

“If you capture me, will you kill me?”

“Not until you’ve exhausted my entertainment options.”

“So if you win”-I hated saying that-“and you have me to keep you entertained, then you won’t need Sophie. You’ll let her go?”

“I’m a man of my word. If I say I’ll let her go, then I’ll let her go.”

“If I win, in addition to your telling me exactly where you stashed Sophie, I’ll expect to haul you in so you can stand trial for your crimes.”

He laughed. “You’re such a little do-gooder patriot. That’s why I picked you for this challenge. You understand fair play. You’ll follow the rules. Rest up tonight, Sergeant Major. You’ll need it. This will be a physically demanding op.”

Op. Fuck him.

“Last two items of business: Don’t leave the house. Period. For any reason. And as soon as we’re finished talking, destroy both cell phones.”

But what if the hospital called about Dawson? No house phone, no cell phone-they’d have no way to get in touch with me.

“These are non-negotiable points. I will know if you disobey either directive.” Mr. Chatty hung up.

He was really into reinforcing my paranoia.

Think, Mercy. I went with the assumption he was using one of those cone-shaped audio devices that required a physical presence within two hundred yards and a pair of binoculars. That’d give him eyes and ears on me.

I quickly and quietly slipped the battery out of my phone. I found a meat tenderizer and beat his disposable phone into pieces. I piled the busted phone on top of mine. Even up close, they both looked broken.

I paced for a good five minutes.

If Sheldon got bored watching me, he’d head home. That would fuck up everything. With his genial tone and excitement about his stupid challenge, he didn’t know I’d broken into his house.

I had a small window of opportunity to turn the tables. Because I wasn’t waiting around for Sheldon’s elaborate plan for me to role-play The Most Dangerous Game. I didn’t figure he’d play fair.

But I wouldn’t play fair, either.

I’d do what I did best.

Go on the offensive.

It’d taken Sheldon days to come up with such an intricate and well-ordered strategy. By purposely choosing Gunderson land on which to carry out his game, he expected me to feel smug in my advantage over him.

But my advantage was op planning on the fly. Change, adapt, execute. Almost as much a part of my military sniper mantra.

I needed to draw Sheldon out and get him off balance.

So I’d blatantly break his specific rule to stay put. If my guess was correct, he’d be too curious to see what would make me break the rules, if only so he could throw it in my face and use it as an excuse to hurt Sophie.

Hopefully, Dawson’s cell phone had enough juice after being shut off for a few days for me to make one call. I grabbed my notebook from my messenger bag and trudged to my bedroom, fished out Dawson’s cell, and headed to the bathroom. I turned on the shower in case Sheldon aimed his listening device in this direction.

I dialed the number on the slip of paper and paced while I waited for her to pick up.

“Hello?” she answered warily.

“Is this Naomi?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Mercy Gunderson. FBI. We spoke today?”

“Hey, why are you calling me? Am I in trouble?”

“No. How would you like to earn a hundred bucks for helping me?”

A pause, then she said, “For real?”

“For real. This is a top-secret FBI operation, so you have to keep it between us.”

“Okay. What do I gotta do?”

“Do you have a vehicle?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind?”

“A Dodge minivan.”

“Is the gas tank full?”

“About half. Why?”

“I need you to drive to Besler’s grocery store in Eagle Ridge. Know where that is?”

“Uh-huh. Then what?”

“Park close to the front doors. Leave the keys under the seat. Go in the store, get a cart, and pretend you’re shopping. Take your time but don’t talk to anyone. Don’t look around, just act like you’re buying groceries.”

“Should I wear a disguise or something?”

“Just a winter scarf. Don’t look for me. I will find you. Try to stay in the back of the store.”

“You ain’t pulling my leg? You’re really gonna be there?”

“Yes. Look, it’s really important you follow these instructions to the letter. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Don’t text or talk on your phone, either in your car or in the store. Don’t deviate at all.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll explain more when you see me in about forty-five minutes.” I hung up. Then I stripped and wrapped myself in my robe, exiting the bathroom and closing my bedroom door.

Keeping the lights turned off fucked with my bad eye, but I had no choice except to work in the darkness. I started adding layers of clothes. A sports bra. A long-sleeved under-armor shirt. I yanked on a pair of jeans and slid on the super-thin subzero winter coat I’d saved from my Afghanistan tour. The light weight allowed me to move and kept me warm, but not too warm. For an overcoat, I pawed through the closet until I found my black duster. Two inside pockets, two deep outside pockets, long and sloppy-looking. Perfect.

Next, I needed hardware. Whatever I took had to fit on my person. The familiar smell of gun oil wafted up as I opened the gun safe. Pity there wasn’t room inside the coat for my H-S Precision takedown rifle. But this op wasn’t about stopping power. Not right away. I required firepower that used standard grade bullets. Nothing too big, nothing subsonic, nothing traceable. I wanted a gun that was light, concealable, and could be assembled in a snap.

I grabbed my AR-15.

At a little over eight and a half pounds, it was my lightest-weight semiauto. I’d had it sited with an Elcan day/night digital rifle scope and an IR flashlight, which served as an image intensifier for night shoots. I’d added a Gemtech suppressor-no more need for earplugs-and replaced the standard trigger with a three-pound Timney trigger for a no-jerk pull. The AR came apart with two easy clicks by pushing the pins from the left side of the aluminum receiver and pulling them out on the right side.

Click-click and the rifle was in two pieces.

Click-click and it’d be assembled. Snap in the clip, pull the charging handle, and it was ready to fire.

The nylon sling was still attached to the upper and lower sections. With the sling looped around my neck, even the sixteen-inch barrel and suppressor were hidden, dangling beneath my armpits.

That done, I slipped on my coat.

Next, I shoved the two magazines, each preloaded with fifteen.223-caliber bullets, into the pockets.

I balled up a nylon duffel bag and tucked it inside the largest purse I owned. I’d started keeping cash inside the gun safe, rather than the office safe, because it rankled having to explain to Hope why I always kept a significant stash on hand. I counted out the bills.

Almost done. I dropped a three-inch knife in a leather sheath, along with my black Merrill soft-soled hiking shoes into the purse. Last thing I grabbed was the monocular thermal-imaging device that had cost me an entire month’s pay. But with the compromised eyesight in my right eye, especially at night, I needed-deserved-the extra advantage. I’d lusted after the thermal-imaging devices I’d used with my sniper rifle, but the army frowned on soldiers taking home a twenty-five thousand dollar piece of equipment.

During this rapid-fire preparation, I’d calmed. I’d reached the place I hadn’t accessed since my nephew had been murdered. The black cesspool that held the memory of all bad things I’d done-without remorse. The dark spot inside me that would never evaporate completely. The hidden parts that were the truest part of me.

Methodical.

Ruthless.

Unstoppable.

Showtime.

I left the bedroom carrying my purse, letting dread slow my movements. I tugged on my gray wool cap with the ear flaps. Jammed my feet in snow boots.

At the kitchen sink I felt Sheldon watching me-no idea where he’d hidden himself outside-but I knew he was close by. I shuffled through the paperwork, several times. Turned the map sideways. Studied it this way and that. Made a disgusted noise and set the papers on the counter. I poured a glass of water, allowing myself to gaze into space. Allowing fear to show. I even gasped and clapped my hand over my mouth, as if trying to hold back tears.

Do you see me as a broken woman, you sadistic motherfucker? Is your sick head swimming with ways to torture me and break me completely?

Bring it.

Because it was on.