by Nancy Mehl
“We’re not going to die, Mercy,” he said, his expression solemn. “I know it. Trust me. We’ll be okay.”
She nodded, but she couldn’t share his confidence. “I’m ready,” she said, removing her gun from its holster, steeling herself for what was ahead, and fighting back the nausea rising inside her.
He smiled at her and nodded before turning to open the door. So much snow had blown up against it that he had a hard time pushing it open enough so they could slip through.
Once they were finally outside, they found themselves fighting through a chest-high snowbank. Even after they freed themselves from the pile of snow that had drifted against the house, they still had to wade through snow that was almost to their knees.
Mark pushed ahead of Mercy, trying to clear a path. They fought their way around the house until they reached the front.
“There’s the snowmobile,” Mark said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “Hold this. I’ll try to pull it over here. Then we can start it up.”
“You can’t drag that thing by yourself,” Mercy said. “Especially with one arm. You’ll need my help.”
“I don’t want both of us out there. We have no idea if we’re being watched.”
“We have no choice, Mark. If we have any chance of getting that snowmobile, we’ll have to work at it together. And I’ve been thinking. We should check the barn first before we try getting help somewhere else. If Tally’s there, going the other direction doesn’t make sense. I think it’s the most logical move, don’t you?”
“Maybe, but that isn’t what we planned.”
“I know. I’m just trying to get to Tally as quickly as possible.”
“I understand. But once we get away from the house, we’re liable to be seen.”
Mercy nodded. “We could leave the snowmobile here and get to the barn on foot.”
“So then we’re slow-moving targets? Not sure that’s a good idea either.”
“We’d need to stay as low as possible, blend in with the snow.”
Mark shook his head. “I say we get the snowmobile first, and then we’ll decide what to do.”
“Okay, okay. Should we just run out there and grab it?”
“Well, I could try calling it, but I’m not sure it would obey.”
She slapped him lightly on the arm. When she did, she remembered his gunshot wound. “I’m worried about your arm.”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Mark’s expression hardened. “We don’t have many options, do we?”
“What if you hurt yourself even more?” Mercy asked. “If your wound opens up, it’ll start bleeding again.”
Mark grunted. “You let me worry about my arm. If I say I’m okay, I’m okay.”
“All right,” Mercy said. “Just don’t try to be a hero. I’m taking the front—you push from the back.” Mark started to say something else, but Mercy held up her hand to stop him. “No debate. That’s it.”
Mark frowned at her but didn’t offer any further resistance.
Mercy peeked around the side of the house. Thankfully the wind was still blowing enough that it reduced the visibility somewhat. That should help them. Although the day was cloudy, the sun periodically came out from behind the clouds. When it did the snow glistened with so much brightness it hurt Mercy’s eyes. It felt like someone stuck a knife in the side of her head. She closed her eyes for a moment and refocused. Her pain wasn’t important right now. She had a job to do. She forced her eyes open and glanced around, ignoring the sharp twinge once again. She couldn’t see any movement beyond the road.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
Mark nodded. “Let’s go.”
They both moved carefully around the front of the house, staying behind the snow-covered bushes on the side of the porch. When they were as close as they could get to the snowmobile, they got ready to run out from behind their hiding place, grab the snowmobile, and drag it to the side of the house. Just as Mercy began to move, Mark grabbed her.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Stay here,” he ordered.
Crouching low to the ground, he stepped out from behind the bushes. After getting only a few feet away from the house, he paused for a moment. Then he quickly returned to where Mercy waited.
“What’s going on?” she asked when he righted himself and leaned against the side of the house.
“We won’t be using the snowmobile,” Mark said.
“What? Why not?”
“Someone cut the fuel line. Gas leaked out all over the ground. We wouldn’t get very far.”
“Can we fix it?”
“Not without tools. I think our choices have been whittled down to two—the barn or the house. Either we go back inside the house, or we try to get to the barn without being killed or captured. Hopefully, Tally’s there. We’re taking a big chance, though, Mercy. He may not be anywhere nearby.” Mark looked deeply into her eyes. “I know what your choice is, but I don’t think our chances are good. I just—”
“I know,” she said. “Maybe you should send up a few prayers.”
“Believe me, I have,” he said. He took her hands and bowed his head. “Father, we need your help. Please keep us safe and help us to rescue our friend.” He looked up and saw Mercy watching him. “And please, God, will you show Mercy how much you love her? She needs to know.” With that he lowered his head again, leaving Mercy stunned by a sensation that seemed to envelop her in a warm cocoon of love.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
“Get up.”
Tally’s head snapped up at the loud command. How could he have fallen asleep? True, he hadn’t slept for over thirty hours, but being held captive wasn’t exactly relaxing. He shook his head to clear his mind and looked up into the angry face of Elias Vargas.
“Get up, I said.” He kicked at Tally, his boot striking his thigh. More than anything, Tally wanted to put his fist through the face of the smug drug dealer. Annie wouldn’t approve, though. She was always preaching forgiveness and love. Although he respected her sweet nature, being a police officer wasn’t about love. It was about justice. And right now he’d like to dole out a little justice to the man who stood over him.
“Cool it,” Tally said. “It’s hard to stand up when you’re handcuffed to a pole. Maybe if you took these off . . .”
Vargas bent over and slapped Tally across the face. “May I remind you that you’re not in control, my friend? Do what I tell you, and do it now!”
Swallowing his anger, Tally pulled his feet up and shimmied himself into a standing position. The handcuffs caught several times on the pole as he pushed himself up. He had to shake them free to keep them from stopping his ascent. He felt the skin on his arms tear as warm blood oozed from the cuts. When he was finally on his feet, he glared at Vargas.
“I’m standing. Now what?”
A smile spread across Vargas’s face as he pulled a gun from inside his jacket. He then walked around behind him. Tally was surprised when Vargas undid his handcuffs. Could he overpower the drug dealer and get away? Before he had a chance to make a move, Vargas pointed the gun at Tally’s head. “Now take off your clothes,” he said.
Mark had found a small shovel in a storage shed in the backyard. He would use it to help them get to the barn. Unfortunately, any previous tracks they could have followed had been covered by blowing snow.
For camouflage, he was wearing Angel’s white jacket to blend in with the snow. Mercy’s coat was blue, so she removed it and turned it inside out since the lining was a light beige color. The deep snow froze their legs, making them feel numb. Little by little they pushed their way closer and closer to the barn, wondering if at any minute bullets would start raining down on them.
Mark couldn’t help but wonder if this effort to find Tally wasn’t a suicide mission. Batterson wouldn’t approve. He would have told them that
stopping the cartel came first. Unless the cartel’s plan was quashed, law enforcement across the nation would be under their thumb for quite some time.
Anyone with a family or a career to protect would feel overwhelming pressure to cave to the demands of the cartel. And law-enforcement officers’ lives would be ruined if the doctored videos got out. There was no question about that. The only thing that would stop them was the video on Darius Johnson’s flash drive. Proof that the doctored videos weren’t real. Mark realized that in the end, Johnson could actually end up helping the police if they obtained and released the original footage. He would have been outraged to know he’d assisted the people he hated. But Johnson had already paid the ultimate price for his stupidity, and he wouldn’t be around to see the results of his mistakes. He would only be a sad footnote of an even sadder story. He was already part of the past, and no one mourned him. Gangs preached loyalty, but the truth was their members had no friends.
Mark became aware of Mercy’s grunts as she trudged through the snow. She was behind him so he couldn’t see her, but he imagined she was beyond tired. Lack of sleep and the physical exertion it took to keep moving forward was exhausting. His chest burned, not only from breathing the cold air but from clearing a path for Mercy. He had to rely on his good arm, since the other one was still hurting badly. The shovel helped, though not nearly as much as he’d hoped. Nonetheless, he was determined to keep going.
He wasn’t so sure about Mercy, however. He wanted to offer her a chance to rest but was certain her pride wouldn’t allow her to admit she needed it. Yet he had an overwhelming urge to protect her. He stopped and twisted around. “Do you want to stop and rest for a minute?” he asked.
She shook her head. Mark noticed her face was bright red. He’d tried to get her to wear Angel’s ski mask, but she’d refused. He certainly wasn’t going to wear it and let her go without, so they’d left it at the house. He should have insisted she put it on. Then again, he thought they’d be riding the snowmobile. Mercy could have kept her head down and protected her face by leaning against him.
He stopped and turned around again. “Seriously, Mercy, it won’t hurt us just to stop long enough to catch our breath.”
She didn’t answer, just shook her head. Mark was concerned about her labored breathing. She’d die trying to save Tally if that was what it took. He nodded at her and went back to shoveling his way through the layers of ice and snow.
As they fought their way toward the barn, once again Mark questioned the depth of his love for her. Why were his feelings so strong? They couldn’t share the most important thing in his life. How could they work as a couple if she didn’t believe in God? He’d even talked to his pastor about her.
“Instead of thinking about this woman romantically, as someone you want to be with, can’t you just see her as a friend?” Pastor Andy had asked him. “I suspect she’s in your life for a reason. Just love her because . . . you love her. Sure, sometimes we do need to walk away from people who want to keep us from our God-given destinies, but you know what? If we walk away from everyone who rejects God, what have we shown them? That they’re not good enough for us? That they’re not good enough for God? Is that the message we want to send?”
“But our relationship wasn’t exactly . . .”
“Chaste?”
Mark had nodded, embarrassed.
“When I was in my twenties,” Andy went on, “I was in a rock band. And I got caught up in the lifestyle. You know, drugs, girls, rock-and-roll. Yet Jesus took me anyway. What I experienced back then was nothing like the closeness and passion my wife and I share today. Don’t worry about what you’ve already done, Mark. That’s gone and forgiven. It happened, but it doesn’t shape who you are now.”
“I don’t think Mercy sees it that way.”
“Of course she doesn’t. But don’t you see that when she realizes the past doesn’t have to define us, she will want that too? Just live your life with God in a real way. Don’t put on an act. It’s the only way others will ever want what we have. They want to see real people who have been changed by the love of God.”
Ever since that conversation, Mark had tried hard to release Mercy to God. He knew there was no chance they could be together unless she opened the door to accepting Him. Sometimes it seemed impossible, but he loved her so much he wouldn’t give up hope. He couldn’t see himself with anyone else.
As he shoveled the path to the barn, Mark forced his thoughts back to the present. He began to wonder whether backup was on its way. If Batterson hadn’t discovered the mole, and no one was coming, it would take a miracle for them to escape with their lives. Angel said the address had been changed in the file. Had it been changed before or after Batterson saw it? There was no way for him to know.
The weather certainly wasn’t helping. First the ice storm, then the snow that covered it.
Mark was fairly certain getting in and out of the area around them was nearly impossible. All he could do was count on Batterson’s loyalty to his deputies. If there was a way, Batterson would find them. For now, the only thing they could do was to keep pressing forward—until someone or something stopped them.
It took almost an hour for them to get to the barn. Once there, Mark stopped and turned around. What he saw concerned him. Mercy’s face was even redder, her eyes glassy. “I want you to stay here,” he said. “I need to get a quick look inside first. We have to know what we’re up against.”
His words didn’t come out quite the way he intended with his teeth chattering so violently, but she seemed to understand. Mark could only pray there was some way to warm her up inside the barn. He doubted if Mercy could make it back to the house.
He noticed for the first time that the wound in his arm was bleeding again. The blood dripped through his white coat and onto his glove. Great. All he needed was for Mercy to notice. Worrying about him wouldn’t help anything. His arms and legs had gone past tired. Now they felt like pieces of wood, something not actually part of his body. He had to purposely move his limbs since he could no longer feel them.
Mark put his ear up against the side of the barn, trying to hear if anyone was inside. There was only silence, but at this point he couldn’t trust his senses. Was it really quiet or were his ears frozen? He spotted a small window nearby, but it was frosted over. He struggled as he moved around the structure until he could see the large double doors at the front. The first thing he noticed was that the snow had been cleared, allowing the doors to open. Not far from the clearing he found tracks in the snow made from large tires. Some kind of all-terrain vehicle had been here—and then left. The tire tracks led away from the barn and the house. That was good news. But had everyone gone or was someone still inside? Someone dangerous?
Mark got out his gun and held it as tightly as he could. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he could fire it. His fingers were so frozen, he could barely move them. He tried one of the doors and found it unlocked. Slowly he pulled it open. He stepped inside and swung his gun around in an arc, making sure no one was behind him or to his side. The building was deathly quiet. He began to walk in farther when he heard a noise behind him. He twirled around, his gun in front of him. He watched, horrified, as the gun went flying out of his numb hand. He looked toward the front of the building. Mercy stood there, staring at him.
“If that’s supposed to instill confidence in your ability to protect me, you just failed miserably,” she said through quivering lips.
Without saying anything he ran over and picked up his gun, which wasn’t easy with frozen hands encased in thick gloves. Whatever made him think he could handle his weapon—especially with his left hand?
“Not funny,” he said when he reached her.
“It kind of was.”
He shook his head while looking around them. The barn appeared to be deserted. “I told you to wait for me,” he said softly.
Mercy pulled her hood down. “What?”
“I said . . . Oh, never mind.” Still holding his
gun, he moved forward, making sure they were alone.
“No one’s here,” Mercy said.
“I guess not.” In one way their discovery was bad news. Someone had been here, and now they were gone. They probably had Tally—if he was still alive. They had no way to know. At the same time, they were inside, out of the cold. Mark found a space heater on a shelf and pulled it down. Thankfully it ran on batteries. After clearing away straw from the floor, he set it down and turned it on. He was grateful to find that it worked. It wasn’t large, but a rush of warmth made him hopeful they could at least thaw out a little.
“Mark!”
Mercy’s voice was almost a scream. Mark ran toward the back of the building and found Mercy standing next to a pole streaked with blood. And on the floor was a pile of clothes.
Tally’s.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
“I’m sorry, son, but I just can’t afford to put a heater upstairs. Even if I could afford one, I couldn’t pay to run it.”
“But I’m so cold, Mama.”
“I know, but you have to be a big boy for Mama, okay? Your sisters need the downstairs room. The only space left is the attic.”
Even at eleven, Tally had understood the weariness in his mother’s face. Hopelessness. In his neighborhood that expression was contagious. It was seen in the faces of those who sold everything they had for the drugs that made them feel better—even for an hour or so. He also saw it in the expressions of the mothers whose children ended up dead in the streets of north St. Louis. He’d seen it in his own mother’s eyes when his older brother Paul died, shot in a gang fight. After that, his mother had become determined the same thing wouldn’t happen to Tally. Whatever strength she had left, she used it to protect him, to keep him away from the gangs that roamed their neighborhood like sharks.
“It’s okay, Mama,” he’d told her. “The blankets keep me warm enough. I’ll be fine.”