by Nancy Mehl
“I’m praying you have an explanation for this. Something that will make sense to me.”
Carol raised her head and met his eyes. It was clear she’d been crying.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to understand,” she said softly.
Batterson pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and sat down. “Try me, Carol. I really want to understand. Is Marlon all right? Did someone threaten him?”
Carol was a single mother, raising her son, Marlon, who was only thirteen. Batterson couldn’t remember her ever mentioning any other family. It had always been her and Marlon, and for as long as he could remember.
“Marlon’s fine. He has nothing to do with this.”
“Then why? Was it the money?”
A tear traced down her cheek. “Marlon is a good kid. His grades are almost perfect. He deserves to go to college. He deserves a chance to be . . . someone.”
“But being someone isn’t all about money or education, Carol. It’s about character and ethics. It’s about being the kind of person who can be admired. A person who stands up for what’s right. Who helps people. Like I do. Like you did.”
“I’ve been here for ten years,” she said, venom in her tone. “I can barely pay my bills. All that helping people certainly hasn’t helped me—or my son.”
Batterson fought to control the resentment that rose up inside him. “Explain to me what’s going on. This information was supposed to go to Mark St. Laurent. I’m assuming the file you gave him is different from this?”
She rubbed her eyes with the hand that wasn’t cuffed to the table. “Yes.”
“Carol, did you change the address?” He pointed at a spot on one of the papers.
She nodded.
Dread filled him as he slid the other paper over in front of her. “Is there anything else?”
The silence was awful as he waited for her answer. Finally she pulled the piece of paper next to her and pointed to a picture. “This,” she said.
Batterson swore loudly. “You’ve betrayed the Marshals. You’ve aided and abetted known criminals, and you’ve put the lives of two Marshals and a police officer in danger. If they die—”
“Don’t try to put that on me,” she snapped. “I’m not holding a gun on them.”
“No. You just handed them to the cartel on a silver platter. That makes you an accessory. If I have my way, you’ll never see the light of day outside of prison again.”
Her previously impudent expression melted and was replaced with apprehension. “But what about Marlon?”
“I guess you should have thought about that before you engaged in criminal activity and put our friends in harm’s way.”
Batterson didn’t bother to hide his disgust for the woman. He hurried over to the door, swung it open, and ordered the two deputies waiting outside to take her away. He didn’t bother to look back as they led her down the hall, but he heard her call out to him.
“Please, Chief. Please take care of Marlon.”
When he got back to his office, he picked up the phone and made a couple of calls. Within minutes two of his top deputies sat in front of his desk.
He handed them each copies of the papers Carol had altered. “She took the file I gave her and changed the information before giving it to St. Laurent and Brennan.”
Deputy Thomas’s thick eyebrows shot up. “What does that mean?”
By the way he asked the question, Batterson was aware he knew exactly what it meant, but someone needed to say it.
“It means we have no idea where our people are. And the team I sent after them won’t be able to locate them. The only thing we can be sure of is that they’re in great danger—and not only from the outside. Frankly the threat from within is even worse.” He pointed at the paper that contained a picture of LA Detective Jess Medina, along with his bio and professional information. “Carol sent them right into a trap set by the Vargas cartel. Unless we get our deputies and Lieutenant Williams out of there right away, they’re dead.”
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Mercy went over and grabbed her coat.
“That won’t be enough,” Mark said. “You need to put on all the clothing you can. Double or triple your socks, put on your boots—wear anything you can to protect yourself from the cold.”
“How long do you think we’ll be out there?” Mercy asked.
Mark, who had grabbed his own outerwear while Mercy was in the basement, pulled on his third sweater. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Mercy would have laughed at him. Mark looked like the bundled-up boy in A Christmas Story who complained to his mother that he couldn’t put his arms down.
“Like you said, we may not be able to come back at all. Once we vacate this house, whoever’s out there just might take it over.”
“I hope that doesn’t happen,” Mercy said, shaking her head. “We may need to get Tally somewhere warm, and fast.”
“We’ve got to take the snowmobile. I know it makes us a target, but at this point I don’t think we have a choice. We’re running out of time. I didn’t see many other houses out here, but we passed a couple of farms on the way to this place. Maybe we can reach one of them. We need help finding Tally. If we can get a call out to law enforcement, we’ll have a much better chance.”
“But if our phones are out, what makes you think everyone else’s isn’t?”
“You might be right. Still, we’ve got to try. One of the farms may have a snowplow, or some other way of getting help. If nothing else, at least we can stay warm.”
“And put an innocent family in danger.”
Mark paused in his efforts and glared at her. “If you have a better idea, I’m happy to hear it.”
“Maybe one of us should go for Tally, and the other one should guard the house.”
“Absolutely not. If we split up it will make it that much easier for the cartel to take us out. Our greatest strength is to remain together.” He shook his head. “Look, either we stay here and protect ourselves until help comes, or we search for Tally. We can’t do both.” He took a deep breath, then blew it out forcefully. “If everything goes our way, maybe we can rescue Tally and get back to the house before the cartel finds us.”
Mercy knew he didn’t actually believe that. And he was right. In the St. Louis PD, cops told each other that they “had their six”—had their back. Right now, rescuing Tally and watching out for each other was their most important job. Keeping the house secure came last.
“Let’s just get out there. Tally needs us.”
Mark finished pulling on his coat. “I found these in the closet,” he said, grabbing some large rubber boots. “I don’t know if they belong to Angel or the homeowner, but I’m taking them.”
“If this isn’t the place we were supposed to be,” Mercy said, “then what happened to the people who own this house?”
“I think Angel told the truth about the homeowner being gone. I saw some brochures for a resort in Florida in a kitchen drawer. Who knows? Maybe the guy who lives here is a friend of the cartel. My guess is the cartel picked this place because it was the closest thing they could find to fit the original description. I wondered why horses would be kept in a barn instead of in stables, but it was the lack of a corral that really made me suspicious.”
Mercy stopped pulling on another pair of boots she’d found in the closet. “Maybe there are horses. We need to check—just in case. They might need help.”
Mercy had a soft spot in her heart for horses. When she was little, she used to take riding lessons at a local stable. It was the one thing her dad did with her. When he left, her mother stopped the lessons since they couldn’t afford them. Mercy not only lost her father, she lost something else she loved—her horses.
“I’m as sure as I can be that they’re not there, Mercy, but we’ll check on it when we can. It’s clear we’ve got to see inside that barn for a variety of reasons. Hopefully we won’t get an unpleasant surprise. I’ve been wondering if Va
rgas’s people are hiding out there.”
“Which means Tally might be with them.”
“It’s possible.”
They were both silent as they finished preparing for their trek outside. Mercy couldn’t help glancing at the man handcuffed to the banister. It was still hard to believe Jess had turned out to be Angel Vargas. Why hadn’t she sensed something was wrong sooner? Where was that gut instinct she thought she could trust? It seemed to be failing her. “Which way out?” she asked when she was ready to go.
Mark hesitated for a moment. “The snowmobile is still in the front yard, but we can’t just walk out there since we’ve already been fired on once from that direction. Let’s go out the basement door and around the side of the house. If we stay down and keep ourselves behind the bushes, we might be able to pull the snowmobile out of sight before we start it up.”
“Okay. Whatever you think.”
Mark turned toward her. “Could you repeat that? I’m not sure I heard you right.”
“Very funny. Trust me, if I think you’re wrong, I’ll tell you.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
He walked toward the stairs. Angel didn’t say anything, just glared at Mark as he approached
“Hey, what if our guys get here while we’re gone?” Mercy asked. “Shouldn’t we leave a note to let them know this is Angel Vargas? He could tell them anything. The last thing we need is for him to talk his way out of those handcuffs.”
Mark stopped in his tracks. “Good point.”
Mercy grabbed a notebook on the kitchen counter and wrote a quick note explaining who Jess really was.
“Don’t mention why we’re not here or where we’re going,” Mark said. “No point giving the cartel a way to find us.”
“I agree.” She left the notebook open to the page she’d used for her message. “That’s all we can do.” She then remembered something. “What about his gun and ammo?”
“I hid them. I don’t think he’ll find them if he manages to free himself, which would be almost impossible.”
“Okay. Let’s get out of here.”
Once again they headed for the stairs. Mark was already downstairs and out of sight before Mercy started down. As she stepped around Angel, his hand grabbed her ankle. She yelped in surprise as she tumbled down the stairs.
“Mercy!” Mark called out. “Are you all right?”
“I’m . . . fine.” But she didn’t feel fine. She’d slammed her head on the hard floor when she got to the bottom and for the first time in her life understood what it meant to see stars. She pulled herself up into a sitting position. Through the strange lights and images that floated in front of her eyes, she saw Mark run past her and slug Angel.
“Stop it, Mark. I said I’m fine.” She grasped the stair railing and shakily pulled herself up.
Mark hit Angel one more time before backing away from him. Mercy could see the anger on Mark’s face, but hitting Angel wouldn’t help anything. He ran back down the stairs to Mercy. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
She nodded, even though the movement made her feel as if she might pass out. “I need to stop by the bathroom for just a minute,” she said, trying to paste a smile on her face. “Don’t know why falling down the stairs makes you have to use the bathroom, but I do.”
Mark stared closely at her, but Mercy kept her expression steady.
“There’s a bathroom down here,” he said, pointing to his right. He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Please don’t lie to me. If you’re in trouble, tell me the truth.”
“I told you I’m all right. Quit interrogating me. I’m not some delicate flower you have to protect.” Mercy was barely holding on to consciousness. Maybe she should tell Mark the truth, but he needed her help, and so did Tally. She had no intention of letting either one of them down.
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll meet you at the basement door.”
When he was far enough away, she staggered to the bathroom, opened the door, and fell in front of the toilet, heaving. When she finished, she cleaned up the best she could and stared at herself in the mirror. Her pupils were too big, and she was unnaturally pale. Gingerly she untied the string under her hood and pulled it down. She slowly removed the wool hat that covered her ears and used her fingers to feel her scalp. There was a large bump on the back of her head. When she touched it, she became nauseated again and dry-heaved a couple of times. She pulled her wool hat back on, being careful not to touch the bump again. She probably had a concussion, something she would take seriously if she were back home in St. Louis, but she couldn’t deal with it now. She had no intention of telling Mark that she was hurt.
She left the bathroom and hurried toward the basement door. As she walked past the stairs, Angel called out, “I’m sorry, Mercy. I didn’t mean to make you fall.”
Mercy stopped and looked at him. “It doesn’t matter whether you did or not. I’m okay. You’re not going to control me—or this situation.”
Angel shook his head, his face bruised by Mark’s fists. “They’ll kill you for that flash drive. You don’t stand a chance. Just give them what they want. I’ll ask them to let you live. I’m the only one who can get you out of this in one piece.”
“Shut up,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, you can drop dead.”
“If that’s how you feel, why did you tell Mark to stop hitting me?”
“Because we might need information from you later. You’re nothing more than a resource to me.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re a good person.” He took a long, shuddering sigh. “Mark isn’t telling you everything, Mercy. You need to be careful.”
“Save it. I don’t believe a word out of your mouth. Your family is the epitome of evil. You use people for your own greedy gain, and you don’t care about anyone.”
“No one is completely evil, Mercy. Maybe I work for my father, but I’m still a human being. Can you really leave me like this? What if you don’t make it back? I could die here.”
“I don’t have a choice. Besides, you caused this. Not me. Not Mark. And certainly not Tally.”
Without another word she walked away. The room swam around her, and she stopped for a moment to steady herself. When she felt stable, she started forward again.
“Are you ready?” Mark asked when she approached.
Instead of answering his question, Mercy reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Before we go out there, I need to say something.” She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the voice that screamed in her head, telling her to shut up. “I know I’m messed up, Mark. I’ve been this way for a long time. I know when it started, and I think I know why, but I just don’t know how to fix it.” She gazed up into his bluish-gray eyes. “When my dad walked out I blamed myself. And my mother blamed me and my brother. According to her, if we hadn’t been born he wouldn’t have taken off. We spent our childhoods feeling guilty—and also responsible. For everything. For my parents’ breakup and my mom’s emotional problems. Since my brother was younger than me, I felt it was my job to fill in for my mother. I may not have done a great job, but he turned out okay and I’m grateful for that.”
She looked away for a moment, summoning the courage to say something that frightened her. But this might be her only chance. “There’s a part of me that’s terrified of being left behind again. Afraid that if I care too much about you, you’ll leave, and I’ll get hurt. Just like when my dad left. Like the way my mom deserted us by climbing into a bottle. When you became a Christian, it felt as if you’d picked something—or someone—over me. As if you were cheating on me with . . . God. I know that’s dumb, but I’m just trying to let you know how it felt to me. You keep telling me about this God of yours, this Father. Can’t you see that I don’t know what a father is supposed to be? I mean, all I got from my dad was pain and rejection.”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” Mark said, his eyes wide. “Look, we don’t have time to talk about this now, Mercy, but unlike our
parents, God loves us perfectly. He is love, and He can heal all the hurt inside you. I can’t do it. No human being can. Including you. Only one person can reach down into our messed-up souls. You don’t have to believe that just because I said it. You just have to give Him a chance. Bruised, battered, scarred . . . He doesn’t care. He’s got the answer to all of it. Healing for everything that hurts us.”
“Maybe,” she whispered. “Maybe I’ll try that . . . sometime. But for now I just needed you to know that I never really wanted to break up with you. Besides Tally, you’re the only one who ever got past my—”
“Walls?” Mark finished for her.
She smiled. “I guess so.”
Perhaps it was the pain in her head talking, but Mercy was afraid. What if she didn’t make it through this? What if she never got the chance to tell Mark how she felt? She took another deep breath. “Just in case we’re not . . . or I’m not . . .”
“You’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She didn’t respond to his attempt at reassurance. Did he understand what she was trying to tell him? Was he taking it seriously? If she died today, she wanted him to know that she loved him. As much as she could ever love anyone.
As she searched his face, she could think of only one way to let him know how she felt. She put her hands on either side of his face and pulled him down to her. At first his response to her kiss was tentative. Then he wrapped his good arm around her and pulled her tightly to him. The passion of that kiss melted into something else. A sweetness she’d never experienced before. Something that transcended a mere kiss. She realized that everything she’d wanted to say had just been said. He knew how she felt. When she gently pulled back from his embrace, she saw the love in his eyes. It was all she needed to know.