Fatal Frost

by Nancy Mehl

Mercy hated showing weakness to Elias, but she couldn’t help it. She was so dizzy she could barely walk. They made their way to the bathroom with the kid right behind them. When they got there, Mercy sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

  Mark searched the medicine cabinet until he found some pain relievers. “Will this work?” he asked her.

  Mercy nodded. “Anything would help, but I’d love to find my pain pills.”

  “I left them on the kitchen counter. Are they gone?”

  “I have a feeling our friends found them. We can ask when we go back, but for now this will have to do.”

  Mark took a small paper cup from a nearby dispenser and filled it with water. Mercy took the pills.

  “Thanks,” she said. “The gauze and tape are below the sink.”

  “I know. I changed my bandage earlier.”

  Mercy shook her head. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  While he retrieved what he needed, she reached up into the cabinet behind her and got the hydrogen peroxide. After asking Mark to remove his shirt, she tended to his wound. Though they’d tried to keep it clean, the skin around the wound was red—a sign of infection. Mercy didn’t say anything since there was nothing they could do about it. She decided telling Mark would only make him tentative. And right now she needed him to be as sharp as possible.

  Her contingency plan was now the best chance they had to get out of this situation alive. She wanted to tell Mark what she was getting ready to do, but the kid stood in the doorway, watching their every move. Finally, Mercy leaned over just enough so she could partially hide behind Mark. Then she caught Mark’s eye, winked, and ever so slightly nodded toward the gangbanger holding a gun on them. Thankfully, he didn’t see her. Mark frowned but didn’t say anything. It was the best she could hope for under the circumstances. At least he would be somewhat prepared when she made her move.

  She quickly used the rest of the bandage on Mark’s arm and taped it down. She wouldn’t need Vargas’s scissors after all. When she was done, Mark helped her up.

  Mercy turned her attention to the kid, who gave her a look that made it clear she would have trouble with him if they were ever alone together. “Um, I need to . . .”

  He looked clueless, so she tried again. “Could I have a minute alone? I need to use the bathroom.”

  He smiled slowly. “Go ahead. We won’t look.”

  “Hey, jerk,” Mark said, “unless you want me to call your boss over here, back up and let the lady have a little privacy.”

  Mercy wasn’t sure the kid’s boss would be that concerned about her need for privacy, but Mark’s threat did the job. It was obvious he was afraid of Elias.

  “You got two minutes,” the kid said. “And we gonna stand right here and wait for you.”

  “How comforting,” Mercy said.

  The kid and Mark stepped back as Mercy closed the door. She quietly locked it and then went over, reached behind the toilet tank, and removed the loaded gun taped to its back. She hadn’t watched The Godfather over and over for nothing.

  Now things were about to change.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Nine

  Mark locked eyes with the punk standing outside the bathroom. The kid’s expression was meant to intimidate him, but it didn’t. He saw guys like this every day, brought up in poverty and filled with rage because they’d been told nothing was their fault or responsibility. They were convinced the world had it out for them. There was no way they could ever get ahead. Their victim mentality excused every robbery, every assault, and every crime they ever committed. The world owed them. Sadly, the kid didn’t realize he had an expiration date. Vargas would never allow him to live after this was over. He couldn’t take the risk of letting the kid brag to his friends about what had happened here.

  The punk started banging on the bathroom door. “Time’s up, lady. Get out here now or I’ll come in.”

  “Okay. Take it easy.”

  The door opened slowly, and Mercy stepped out. She still looked pale and she was unsteady on her feet, but Mark noticed a look in her eyes. He’d seen it before—right before she took down a perp.

  He stared at her questioningly. She smiled at the kid, who seemed to salivate every time he looked at her. She had some kind of plan, but Mark couldn’t think of anything she could do that wouldn’t put them in more danger. Yet in that moment he realized he’d learned to trust her. He gave her an imperceptible nod in return.

  “Get goin’,” the kid said, pushing Mercy with his gun.

  “Give me just a minute,” she said, slurring her words. “I . . . I don’t feel so good.” She kept her eyes on Mark as she collapsed back into the kid. Momentarily distracted, he tried to grab Mercy, moving the gun right toward Mark, who snatched it out of his hand. He quickly put the gun to the kid’s head.

  “Just give me a reason,” Mark hissed, hoping the kid wouldn’t figure out that one gun against Elias and his crew wouldn’t give them much of an edge. He prayed Mercy really did have a plan. If she didn’t, she might have just signed their death certificates.

  Mercy reached behind her back, pulling out a pistol. Mark recognized it as her backup weapon.

  “How in the world . . . ?”

  She grinned at him. “The Godfather. This is the first time I actually got to use it.”

  If they weren’t still in incredible danger, Mark would have laughed out loud. Instead he just smiled at her and shook his head. “Now what?” he asked.

  “You take care of the guys in the kitchen. I’ll handle Elias and Ace here.” She scowled at the kid.

  Manuel, Deeray, and Angel had gone to get Tally. There were three more left besides Elias. A gangbanger and two of the men from his cartel were in the kitchen. Mark wasn’t worried about the punk, but he knew the other two guys were tough, well-trained. However, he was smart enough to know that this was their best shot. Mercy had given them a chance, and they had to take it.

  Mark nodded at her and turned toward the kitchen. As he proceeded down the hallway, he prayed silently for God’s help. They needed a miracle. He crept around the corner and saw the three people sitting at the kitchen table. He realized he needed to make his move before Mercy confronted Elias. He put the gun behind him and strolled into the kitchen, trying to look casual.

  “Elias wants a cup of coffee,” he said, catching them off guard. Before any one of them could react, he grabbed the nearest man and put his gun to his temple. He yanked the guy’s gun from its holster and tossed it on the floor, then ordered the other two to place their weapons on the table. The second guy from the cartel appeared to realize that protecting the other two knuckleheads wasn’t the most important thing at that moment. He hesitated a few seconds. It was too long for Mark. He slammed his gun into the side of the guy’s head, knocking him out. Keeping his gun trained on the other two, Mark knelt down and removed the unconscious man’s pistol. He put that gun with the other. Then he took the punk’s gun and added it to the pile. He could tell that the punk was scared—and much less dangerous than Elias’s men.

  “Get up,” he ordered.

  “Sure, man. Don’t shoot me, aight?”

  “If you do what I tell you to, you might stay alive,” Mark said.

  “You got it,” the kid said, his hands in the air.

  “Take that guy’s belt off,” Mark said, gesturing toward the man who was unconscious.

  “Sure.” He slid off the man’s belt and handed it to Mark, who then ordered him to sit down. He obeyed without argument.

  Mark used the belt to tie up Elias’s other henchman, who glared at him with murder in his eyes. It was important to secure this man first; he was clearly the most dangerous. Mark made temporary handcuffs by looping the belt through the buckle twice. It wasn’t ideal but would hold until he could get a pair of real handcuffs. He held the gun in his right hand, ignoring the pain. He needed his left hand to bind up Vargas’s men. If he couldn’t do it, they were in real trouble.

  After taking care of the first guy, Ma
rk ordered the kid to put the unconscious thug in a chair while Mark removed the bound man’s belt. Once again, Mark turned the belt into makeshift handcuffs and secured him to the chair. The man he’d hit was beginning to moan and would soon be conscious.

  Mark stared at the kid for a moment, trying to decide how to keep him from messing things up. He wasn’t wearing a belt, and Mark didn’t want to remove his. He wasn’t sure he could, as the pain in his arm was almost more than he could endure. Finally he ordered the kid into the bathroom, closed the door, and pulled a kitchen chair in front of it, tipping it until it was wedged up tight under the doorknob. With the kid contained, Mark leaned his head against the bathroom door. His arm felt as if it were on fire.

  “You stay in there,” Mark said. “If you try to come out, I’ll blow you away. You got it?”

  “Got it,” the kid responded, his voice choked.

  Was he crying? Mark couldn’t be sure, but he decided to do everything he could to get the kid out in one piece. Maybe he’d gotten sucked into this situation and didn’t really want to be here. Maybe he had a mother who loved him. If Mark could bring him home unharmed, perhaps the kid could still turn his life around.

  He shook his head. Was he getting soft? He had to keep his mind focused on Vargas and his pals, not worry about some young gangbanger.

  Mark hugged the wall as he moved slowly toward the living room, hoping Mercy had everything under control. Sure enough, Vargas was seated on the couch. Mercy sat across from him, her gun pointed at his chest. Ace was lying on the floor, a nasty bump on his head. Obviously, Mercy had knocked him out. With his good arm, Mark dragged Ace over to a chair next to Vargas and dumped him there.

  Mercy looked over at Mark. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Everything’s fine,” Mark said, “But I need the rest of our cuffs from the tactical bag. Can you keep an eye on these guys while I get them?”

  Mercy nodded. “Make it fast, okay?”

  “You got it.” He started to leave when Mercy called him back.

  “Hey, I brought an extra pair of handcuffs. They’re in my valise.”

  He grabbed handcuffs from the tactical bag and found the extra pair in Mercy’s bag. He removed the ammo out of the guns he’d taken from the cartel and the gangbangers. He opened the window in his room and punched out the screen. Using his left arm he threw the guns outside, keeping the ammunition in case he and Mercy needed it. He couldn’t risk having too many guns in the house. So long as he and Mercy had what they needed, it was best to keep any extra weapons out of reach.

  It had started snowing again. He prayed that before long the guns would be buried beneath a blanket of white so they wouldn’t be easy to recover. He hid the extra ammunition under the mattress. Mercy’s reference to The Godfather jumped into his thoughts. He and Mercy were in a war with the Vargas cartel. They’d certainly gone to the mattresses. Hopefully it would turn out better for them than it had for the Corleones.

  Once everything was secure, he hurried back to the kitchen. He added the real cuffs to the men from the cartel and removed the makeshift belts. They wouldn’t escape from these.

  Then he went back to the bathroom and let the kid out. “We’re going to the kitchen. I’m going to tie you up. Just don’t cause any trouble and I might be able to get you out of this in one piece.”

  The kid blinked away tears. “If they see I been cryin’ . . .”

  With his gun still trained on the kid, Mark grabbed some tissue from the bathroom and handed it to him. “Wipe your eyes and don’t worry. They’re too busy thinking about themselves to be concerned about you.”

  Wide-eyed, he took the tissue, mopped his face and tossed the tissue in a trash can. “Why you bein’ nice to me?” he asked.

  “Because it’s just possible you’re not as dumb as your friend in there. I’d like to see you get out of this alive if possible. Maybe you can redeem yourself.” Mark shook his head as the waterworks started again. “Hey, you need to get it together. These are very dangerous men.”

  “I know, I know.”

  The kid’s dark brown eyes were filled with pain. He was a good-looking kid—under the stupid gang costume.

  “What’s your name?” Mark asked. “Your real name, not your gang name.”

  “It’s Troy. Troy Thomas.”

  “You gotta start thinking with your own brain, Troy,” Mark said. “Don’t believe everything these losers tell you. Can you do that?”

  Troy studied Mark’s face. “They’ll kill me and my dad if I turn against them.”

  “If we get out of this alive, and if you’ll help me put these guys away, I can promise you a new life. Ever hear of the witness protection program?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Look,” Mark said, “I don’t have time to talk about this now, but I’m a U.S. Marshal. That’s what we do.”

  Troy shook his head. “You don’t understand. You can’t help me.”

  “Yes, I can. You’ve got to trust me.”

  Troy nodded and said, “Just don’t let them kill me, okay? I’ll do what I can to help you, but you can’t tell those guys I flipped on ’em.”

  Mark gestured with his gun, letting Troy know it was time to move. “You have my word, Troy. Now let’s go.”

  The kid’s sigh was probably one of relief. Mark just prayed he could keep his promise. He didn’t make the rules, and he couldn’t guarantee Batterson would approve the deal. This boy had touched something in him, and Mark intended to get him and his family out of the life—if humanly possible.

  Mark kept his gun aimed at Troy until they reached the kitchen and then ordered him to sit down. He tied him up with a belt so he could keep any extra handcuffs for Vargas’s men. Mark was careful to treat Troy roughly so no one would suspect he’d cut a deal. The kid was putting on a pretty good show for his friends.

  “You idiots stay in here while we talk to your boss,” Mark ordered. “If I catch any one of you trying to get out of your cuffs, I’ll shoot you. Understand?”

  There was no response. Just glares from the other two and a nod from Troy. Mark went back to the living room while keeping an eye on the kitchen.

  “So now what?” Elias said as Mark came in. “I assume you have a plan?”

  Mark smiled at him. “Actually we have a couple. In one of them, you live. In the others, it doesn’t turn out so good for you.”

  Elias’s harsh laugh was obviously intended to mock them. “You have no idea who you are dealing with.”

  While Elias was trying to come across with confidence, Mark could tell from the man’s posture and lack of eye contact that he was worried. Good. That meant they were on the right track.

  “I don’t think you know who you are dealing with,” Mercy said to the drug dealer.

  Mark heard the determination in her voice, but he had to wonder if she was strong enough to see this operation through. She obviously had a concussion—or worse. He felt responsible for getting them all out. With his injury, Mercy’s concussion, and Tally gone, his odds were pretty slim. But he had no intention of letting Vargas know he was anything but completely sure of himself.

  He walked over to the shelf under the counter where he’d seen Angel put the phone. Mark wondered if he’d been keeping it out of sight so they’d forget about it. He pulled the phone out, put it on the counter, and picked up the receiver. When he heard the dial tone he looked at Mercy and nodded. “We took Angel’s word that the landline wasn’t working,” he said. “We should have checked it out ourselves.”

  “We need to call for backup,” Mercy said. Mark hesitated while he and Mercy exchanged a quick look. There was a mole in the Marshals’ office. Who was it? Would this call give the mole the information he needed to contact Vargas’s people? Mark wasn’t sure what to do.

  “You look a little confused, my friend,” Elias said. His greasy smile meant he knew something, but what was it? Did he know that this call could bring about their downfall?

  “I’m not c
onfused,” Mark shot back. “Just trying to figure out how to tell them where we are.” He looked at Mercy. “Angel said we were two miles away from the original address, right?”

  She nodded. “Tell Batterson to look for a large house with a barn within a two-mile radius of the address he has. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

  “Too bad they can’t pick up the GPS on our cellphones,” Mark mumbled.

  “They can find the car with GPS, but I have no idea how far away it is, or where we are in relation to its location.”

  “I know.” A thought occurred to him, and he snapped his fingers. “The landline. If it shows up on caller ID . . .”

  “It won’t,” Elias said. “Sorry. Private number.”

  Mercy grinned at him. “Sorry. Law enforcement. We can trace any number we need to.”

  Elias’s smug expression slipped a little, but he quickly pulled it back up. “Good luck with that. Thousands of residents are most likely without phone service. How long will it take to get help? Angel will be back shortly with your friend. I doubt he’ll be very happy to see what you’ve done.”

  “We’re not worried about him and his friends,” Mercy said. “Frankly your men aren’t well-trained—we just took out three of them.”

  “You mean five of them,” Mark interjected. “Including this idiot.”

  Vargas gave Mark a defiant stare while Ace, now conscious, just looked worried. Vargas wouldn’t give up easily. Ace was probably weighing his options. Mark didn’t trust him, but Vargas couldn’t either. Ace was probably for sale. Could they turn him? Use him against the cartel? For now, Mark would just have to keep a close watch on him.

  Mark caught Mercy’s eye again. What should he do? Could he contact Batterson safely or would they play right into the mole’s hands? Mercy shrugged. She seemed to be as unsure as he was about how best to proceed.

  “I’m calling Batterson,” he said finally, “but not through the office. I’ll contact him on his cellphone.”

  She hesitated a moment before nodding her agreement.

  Mark carried the phone into the kitchen to check on his prisoners before placing the call. They were all secure. He’d just started to dial the number when Troy spoke up. “I . . . I have to go to the bathroom.”