Ruthless

by Marlie May

Flint nudged his chin at Jax. “See if you can hack into their networks. I need something—someone who’s desperate, someone we can tap into on the ground.”

  “Absolutely,” Jax said. He made a note on his paper.

  Flint focused his attention on Haylee and Gabe. “Even though I used him in Mexico, Eli has just started. Coop will handle his orientation because I’ve got to go to D.C. with Uncle Sid.”

  “If…” Jax gulped. “If you’re thinking of sending Haylee”—his gaze cut to her again—“I can go, too.”

  “Actually,” Flint said. “I really need you here stateside.” His attention returned to Gabe. “Which leaves you two the only ones available for recon.”

  Sweat broke out on Sid’s forehead, and his coffee cup smacked the wooden table. “But—”

  “Always happy to head south for vacation.” Haylee shot her father a weighted look before smiling at Gabe. “Time to pack your swimsuit, buddy. Don’t forget sunscreen or that baby-fine skin of yours will blister.”

  As hardened as we all were from multiple tours, it was doubtful Gabe had anything baby-fine left on his body.

  Jax stiffened, but I knew Haylee. Always a tease, she didn’t mean anything by her comment to Gabe.

  I studied Gabe and Haylee’s assignment, which seemed simple enough. Fly into Cancun and settle inside a plush resort. Hang out at the swim-up bar for a day or two to give the impression they were there for some fun and relaxation.

  Then disappear, going undercover.

  5

  Mia

  “9-1-1. Please state your emergency.”

  “Guts and heads are strewn across my windshield.” While wedging my phone between my ear and shoulder, I shifted my shopping bags to my right hand.

  The dispatcher’s voice might’ve started out serious but it ended prissy. “Is this a prank call, Miss…?” Was the repetitive sound in the background the woman tapping her shoe?

  “Mia Crawford. Doctor Mia Crawford, I mean. I work…well, I’ll soon work at Crescent Cove General Hospital.” I’d bought a house and moved here two months ago, but I’d delayed my start at the hospital until after Labor Day. A fortuitous plan, because I not only needed a break after what happened in Mexico, I planned to attend a two-day conference where I’d highlight the Juniper Foundation’s progress in reducing sudden cardiac death in the over-fifty female population in the Yucatan. “I start in September, actually.”

  The sweat trickling down my spine—let alone the reek rising off the entrails strewn across my windshield—made the month very clear. A carcass, or, in this case, bits of multiple carcasses, didn’t fare well in this heat.

  “I don’t understand,” the woman said. “Could you please state your emergency?”

  “Oh, yes. Back to the guts.” A few beheaded creatures stared up at me, their eyes milky white and accusatory in death. Skimming my gaze across the plump, slimy strands lying in loops and curls on the glass brought out my shudder. Flies flitted around, enjoying the feast.

  This was why I’d turned down that surgical fellowship. I could handle blood as much as the next doctor, but innards made me squirm. We all had our weaknesses.

  “Is anyone injured?” the dispatcher asked. Her voice grew louder. “Wait. Did you say heads?”

  “Sorry, I should’ve been clearer.” I winced. “Not human heads. They’re fish.” If the scales glinting among the gook were anything to go by.

  “Fish heads? If this is an act of vandalism, you probably need police assistance.”

  “Yes, please.” With my key fob, I unlocked my car and juggled the shopping bags onto the backseat. “Can you notify someone? I want to fill out a report.” Not that I expected much to come of this. It had to be a sick joke perpetrated by a teenager. Whoever had done it was probably sitting in a car nearby—an air-conditioned car if they were wise—snickering while watching me squirm.

  “I could call Sheriff Moyer. He’s local to your area.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the supermarket.”

  “Located in which state and town?”

  “Oh, sorry. Crescent Cove, Maine. As for the supermarket, it’s on East Main. The only one in town.”

  While some people might be put out by the lack of a mall or exciting places to dine, Crescent Cove’s rural location was a big reason why I’d moved here. I’d needed an escape, and a sleepy Maine town fit perfectly. Everyone I’d met so far was kind and non-threatening. Nosy, but that meant they watched out for each other, another huge plus after my nightmare with Russell. The welcome I’d found in this community allowed me to relax my guard for the first time in months.

  Until someone took sick pleasure in strewing fish parts on my car.

  “What’s the make of your vehicle so the sheriff can identify you when he arrives?” the dispatcher asked.

  I bumped the back door closed with my butt and leaned against the overheated metal. “Older Toyota Camry. Light blue.”

  “You’re lucky,” she said, her fingers tapping away. “The message is now out, but he’s in your area already. You should see him in—”

  Her words were cut off by a siren growing louder. A white SUV with a police emblem on the side screamed into the parking lot, and the sheriff got out. He squinted around before zoning his attention in on me.

  A uniformed woman strode around the vehicle to flank him in front of the grill.

  “I take it he arrived?” The dispatcher’s chuckle came through the line.

  “Yes. Thank you very much.”

  “Anytime.” She ended the call.

  Approaching me, the man thrust out his hand. “Sheriff Moyer.” He gestured to the woman, who rocked forward onto her toes, her hands on her hips. “Deputy Patricia Franks.” She nodded. The Sheriff removed his broad-brimmed hat and scratched his thinning salt-and-pepper hair before plunking the hat back on his head. “Understand you called 9-1-1. Something about fish heads?”

  “Yes.” I waved at my windshield. The reek overwhelmed my sinuses even from four feet away. “I was in the supermarket for about twenty minutes. Shopping. I came out to this.”

  “Hmm.” Sheriff Moyer frowned and leaned toward the car. “Looks like pogies to me.”

  “The guts or the heads?” I asked.

  “Both.”

  Confused, I flicked my gaze between them.

  “Pogie is another name for menhaden,” Deputy Franks said as if that would make perfect sense to me. At my blank stare, she added, “An oily fish used as bait. Pretty common around these parts.” She rocked forward again. “Imagine the perp snagged a bucket of them down at the pier. Tossed ‘em your way. Well, your car’s way, that is. Not sure why, though.” Her brow narrowed and she swept a flinty gaze down my face. “Doctor you said?”

  “Yes. I moved here from Massachusetts a few months ago.” I ran away after my ex was convicted, actually, but no need to mention that. I’d left that history behind me.

  “Glad to have you,” she said. “We need more medical personnel in town.”

  The hospital had been excited when I approached recruiters. Said they rarely saw more than those recently finished with residency applying to work in a small town far from big city life, let alone someone who’d begun a cardiac fellowship. I’d been fresh off a rotation in Boston, which only made them more eager to sign me on.

  The Sheriff pulled out his phone and fumbled with a stylus, grimacing. “Damn office told me I had to get with the current technology. Far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing wrong with a note made with pen and paper.”

  Deputy Franks leaned near to me, shading her mouth from the sheriff with her palm. “They can’t read his writing.”

  The sheriff huffed, but the Deputy’s eyes sparkled, giving me the feeling these two joked around on a regular basis.

  She pulled her phone and started taking pictures of my car while the sheriff laboriously typed out his note.

  “You say you came out of the store and found it, jus
t like this?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Didn’t touch anything?”

  “Just the back door to put my groceries on the seat.”

  “Your vehicle was locked?”

  “Of course.” I’d never leave my car—or house, for that matter—vulnerable.

  “All right.” He watched Deputy Franks a moment before stepping forward to join her. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”

  I moved back, leaving them to their investigation.

  A woman pushed a shopping cart between my car and the one next to mine. She must’ve caught the smell, let alone the disgusting display strewn across my windshield, because she released the handles of the cart, turned green, then doubled over and heaved.

  Deputy Franks, who was passing us, squeaked and hopped backward. The sheriff swallowed deeply and brought his phone close to his face as if the screen could block out everything going on around him.

  Rushing to the woman’s side, I shifted the cart aside and supported her under one arm while holding her long chestnut-colored hair away from her face. As her belly settled, I patted her back. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

  “Ugh,” the woman said, straightening. All color had fled her face. “I’m really sorry.”

  “I get it.” I smiled in sympathy. “I’m beyond tempted to join you. Are you dizzy? Feeling all right for the moment?” At her nod, I popped open my back door and grabbed a fistful of tissues from the box on the floor and handed them to her. “Here. You seem to have hit the pavement, but you can wipe your face with these.”

  The woman rubbed the tissues across her forehead and mouth. She grimaced and bunched them in her fingers. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “It’s completely understandable.” I grimaced at my car. “One look sent my belly into spasms, too. You want to sit down?”

  “Sure.” After rolling the cart to the back of the other vehicle, she keyed it open with her fob. “This one’s mine, obviously.” Abandoning her groceries for the moment, she opened the driver’s door and sank into the seat.

  “I’m a doctor, by the way,” I said. “My name’s Mia.”

  “Lark,” she said. “I actually meant this isn’t the first time I’ve been sick.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a tin of mints and shook them in the air. “I’m living on these babies lately.”

  “If you’ve been sick for some time, maybe you should be seen by someone?”

  Lark’s lips twisted with humor. “Other than you?”

  “A real visit, I meant. I’m actually a cardiologist, not a general practitioner.” Well, I’d be a full cardiologist once I completed my fellowship. “You should get checked out. Make sure this is nothing serious.”

  “I should.” Lark leaned the back of her head against her seat and rubbed her face while sucking on a mint. On her left hand, a huge diamond and sapphire ring winked in the sunshine. “I can’t keep going on like this. Dag, my fiancé, is worried out of his mind.”

  “It could be a virus. Plenty of those going around.”

  She squinted up at me. “Viruses make you hurl your guts out every morning like clockwork?”

  I tapped my chin, having an ah-ha moment. “Not usually. But…a baby might.”

  Lark’s hand shot to her belly. Her eyelids popped open, and tears glistened in her teal eyes. “Oh, my, you think so? The idea did occur to me, but with the stress of the wedding, and…” Her face colored. “Too much information, right?”

  I chuckled. “Your doctor would have to run a few tests to be certain, but I assume pregnancy is a possibility?”

  “Yeah.” The word came out dreamy. Lark stared forward, through the windshield, a big grin blooming on her pretty face. “But I can’t be pregnant right now,” she said softly. “I’m getting married in two weeks.”

  I rubbed her shoulder. “Sounds like the perfect wedding present to give your soon-to-be hubby.”

  “Yeah.” Said in an even more dreamy tone. “Dag’s going to beat his fists on his chest and hoot, and then call his parents. His mom…She’ll scream her head off.” At my frown, she added, “She’s dying for grandkids. But I’m getting ahead of myself.” With renewed energy, she swung her legs out of the car and stood, staring toward the supermarket. “I need to go get a test.” After putting her groceries in the back of the car, she started toward the store but turned back to face me. “Thanks for your help, Mia.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck with the wedding and…” I wanted to hug her because she seemed so happy but settled for a grin instead. “Everything else.”

  “Thank you!” Hand cupping her flat belly, Lark essentially skipped toward the supermarket.

  I turned back to Deputy Franks, who was strolling around my car, studying and photographing it from every angle. “Nothing else seems to be out of the norm.” Opposite me, she bent forward then returned to this side of the car with a black bucket in her rubber-gloved hand. “Evidence,” she said pertly. She tilted the top of the bucket toward me, revealing residue of the crime: fish scales.

  “I assume this is a sick joke,” I said. “It’s not like anyone has any reason to target me.” Not any longer, now that Russell was in jail.

  “Imagine so,” the sheriff said, still writing. “We’ll ask at the pier. See if anyone’s missing some bait.”

  “You think a fisherman did this?”

  The sheriff turned sharp eyes my way. “You having problems with fishermen?”

  “Only with their fish.”

  Distracted from his note, the sheriff drilled me with intent gray eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I can’t eat it.”

  “Why not?” Deputy Franks lowered the bucket into a garbage bag. After securing the top, she removed her medical gloves. “Fish is pretty much a staple on the menu around here.”

  “I’m allergic. I carry an EpiPen.” The itchy rash was bad enough. The potential of being unable to breath guaranteed a quick trip to the ER. But I stayed away from fish and hadn’t had a reaction in years.

  “Might want to let us clean this up, then,” the deputy said, slanting a glance at my windshield.

  “Maybe someone down at the pier saw someone skulking in the area,” Sheriff Moyer added, tucking his stylus and phone into his breast pocket. “Might gain some further evidence by asking around, but I’ll say right now, it’s doubtful we’ll figure out who did this.”

  “I didn’t think you would. I just wanted to report it.”

  “Why don’t you drive your vehicle around to the back of the supermarket?” he said. “They have a dumpster out there, and I’ve got paper towels in my trunk. We can clean your windshield off lickety-split then hose ’er off for good measure. They’ve got an outside faucet, as well.”

  “I really appreciate it.”

  An hour later, I’d put my groceries away and had started mixing a double batch of cookies.

  Should I call Eli and invite him to come over for a baking session? A bold move on my part, but I’d turned him down when he asked me out in California. A decent guy who appeared to respect boundaries, I knew I’d have to make the first move this time.

  Assuming I dared. After what happened with Russell, I had good reason to be leery of letting anyone close. Caution had become my norm. Hence my turning Eli down months ago when he asked me out. Everyone said time healed all wounds and, with Russell in prison, plus counseling, I’d started to put what happened behind me.

  Put his abuse behind me, that is. My burgeoning trust in men sure wasn’t coming easy. Yet, Eli felt different. Though I’d only known him a short time, I was certain he’d never lift a hand or raise his voice in my direction.

  Which was why I’d made that comment at Viper Force. While I’d been burned, I didn’t want to be alone forever. Something about Eli called to me like no else had before, even Russell.

  I hoped he understood my suggestive comment, because my interest in him hadn’t waned. He was still fun. Sweet. And cute. Cuter tha
n before, actually, with that mop of dirty blond hair hanging in his eyes. Made me want to stand on tiptoe and brush it to the side.

  Now that two-thousand-miles no longer stretched between us, and Russell and his abuse was locked away in my past, I could take a baby step forward.

  It was noon, though, which meant I couldn’t call Eli right now. He’d still be at work.

  Measuring out shortening, I scraped it into the bowl then added sugar and vanilla. Eggs. Mixing in between. Soon, I’d add white chocolate chips and macadamia nuts.

  And, if I found the nerve, I’d invite Eli over for a cookie tasting session.

  I was going to kill Walter.

  Not really. I loved my fluffy orange kitty boy more than life itself. But he was fidgety tonight, keeping me awake along with him. Normally, he’d eat his wet food while I ate my dinner, then he’d climb onto my bed for a bath and a pre-nighttime nap. When I joined him, I’d nudge him to the side and climb under the covers. Even more of a slug-a-bed than me, he’d remain close until morning, stealing heat from my body and creating a lumpy challenge to weave my legs around whenever I rolled over.

  Walter hissed, and I jumped, my heart skipping a beat.

  Moonlight filtered through the lace curtains on either side of my bed, giving me just enough light to see my cat perched by my feet, his unblinking eyes focused on my closed bedroom door.

  Walter plunged over the edge onto the floor when I sat up. He padded stealthily to the door and sniffed. After shooting me a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder, he pawed at the door and meowed pitifully.

  Did he have to go to the bathroom? The litter box was in my laundry room, off the kitchen. Or, he might want a midnight snack. Far be it for me to deprive him of a few kibbles.

  He clawed at the door.

  “Okay,” I grumbled, shoving aside the covers to climb out of bed.

  I’d bought this house a few months ago—a single-story cottage, actually, with one bedroom, a tiny kitchen but decent-sized living room, one-and-a-half baths, and a study. A basement and a tiny, cobwebby attic, plus a nice backyard completed the property. It was perfect for a single person or maybe a couple with a baby. A quiet but mostly friendly neighborhood—excluding the peculiar older man next door, Elwin—it offered peace after the horror I’d been through with Russell.