No Mercy

by Cheyenne McCray

  She offered a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  He studied her, feeling both exasperated and proud. She’d always been independent, but she was tougher now. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and refused to be coddled. She’d gone out into the world at a young age and had more than survived. It had taken a lot of guts to do the things she’d done and accomplish all she had.

  While she checked to make sure they hadn’t left anything, Dylan carried her duffel to the living room. He set it next to his own duffel and started to gather the copies of the postcards and the notations he’d made on the chart he’d created on the notepad.

  Dylan turned to see Belle walking out of the bedroom, bringing a cell phone to her ear. Shit, he’d been so damned tired he’d forgotten to tell her to turn it off and keep it off. He started to tell her to give him the phone when clear concern caused Belle’s brow to furrow.

  “Christie?” Belle said. “You’re cutting out.” A pause and then Belle looked at Dylan and then at the phone. “The call disconnected.”

  Dylan took the phone from Belle and looked at the caller list. “Whatever number she called you on was blocked.” He powered down the phone. “Are you sure that was Christie? She shouldn’t have access to a phone.”

  Belle nodded. “It was her voice, but I couldn’t understand anything she said.”

  “Hold on.” Dylan’s chest tightened as he dialed the number on his own phone for one of the agents protecting Christie and Salvatore.

  “Davidson here.” Trace’s firm voice came over the line. “What’s up, Dylan?”

  Relief that nothing sounded amiss in the agent’s voice relaxed Dylan. “Is Christie all right?”

  Trace said. “She seems tired and on edge, but I chalk that up to the situation.”

  The tenseness in Dylan’s muscles relaxed a bit. “Why didn’t you take their phones away?”

  “We did,” Trace said. “Standard procedure.”

  Dylan tensed again. “She just called Belle from a blocked number.”

  Trace sounded puzzled. “That’s not possible.”

  “Anything’s possible.” Dylan’s jaw tensed. “Is she right there with you?”

  “No,” Trace said. “She went with Salvatore to their bedroom for a nap.”

  “Is anything out of the ordinary?” Dylan asked.

  “Not until now.” Trace had a frown in his voice. “We’ll search for another phone in case Salvatore has a second phone.”

  Something didn’t feel right in Dylan’s gut. “I’d like you to check on Christie.”

  “Hang tight. I’ll see if she’s awake.” Trace added, “I’ll see if they have a phone we didn’t know about.”

  Dylan’s gut tightened as he waited for Trace to come back on the line. He heard muffled conversation.

  Trace spoke into the phone again. “Everything seems normal other than Christie looking a little paler.”

  “Have them come into the living room.” Dylan finished scooping up everything he’d brought with him, including the copies of the postcards, and shoved them into his duffel bag. “I need to talk with Christie. I’m on my way and we’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “You’ve got it. We’ll do a search for another phone.” Trace disconnected the call.

  Dylan holstered his phone and saw that Belle looked worried. “Is Christie all right?” she asked.

  “Things are fine according to Trace.” Dylan zipped the duffel. “The call you got was odd. You’re certain it was Christie?”

  Belle cocked her head to the side. “It sure sounded like her.”

  Dylan nodded. “We’ll talk to her ourselves.”

  “We know her well enough to tell if something’s wrong.” Belle picked up her bag.

  “I’ll get that.” He took the bag from her and grabbed his own before they left the room and shut the door behind them.

  Joe accompanied them to the SUV and hopped into the back seat with little urging from Dylan. When Joe was in the vehicle, Dylan helped Belle into her seat. Joe and Belle got settled as Dylan jogged to the driver’s side and got in.

  The place Christie and her husband were staying at was a modest house in Tombstone Canyon, not far from the Divide and the Mule Pass Tunnel, and a short drive from the B & B. The place was a little way from Tom’s former home.

  Normally, Dylan would have taken a while to make sure he wasn’t followed. In order to get to the safe house in a hurry, he had to go directly there and do his best to ensure he didn’t have a tail.

  Belle thought she was going to go crazy with worry. She knew her friends were all supposed to have been safely guarded, but something was wrong. For Christie to call like she had and how she’d talked with Dylan… Was one of the agents there dirty? That was how it usually went on TV and in the movies—dirty cops, dirty agents.

  She mentally shook her head. That was TV and movies. This was real life.

  Dylan and Belle arrived at the safe house. Her stomach ached while her skin felt tight over her bones.

  Clearly wary of his surroundings, Dylan strode to the front door with Belle at his side and Joe on the leash. Dylan had his pistol in his shoulder holster and had added another weapon in a holster on his hip. He went up to the front door but didn’t knock. He un-holstered his phone and dialed a number.

  “I’m at the front door, Trace,” Dylan said when the man answered. “Everything okay?”

  A moment and then Dylan said, “Good. Let us in.”

  The heavy-duty bolt locks made loud thunks as they were opened. Dylan re-holstered his phone as he glanced at Belle.

  Trace Davidson was one of the agents and he bolted the heavy door behind them once they were all inside. The other was Agent Jennie Ortega, who Belle had met briefly at the DHS office.

  Joe growled, drawing her attention. Joe’s lips curled, his teeth bared. Belle followed his gaze and saw he was growling at Salvatore, who sat next to Christie on a loveseat.

  With a snarl Joe lunged, throwing his body against the leash. Dylan was almost yanked forward from the unexpected charge, and barely kept hold of the German shepherd.

  The dog fought against the leash, snarling and barking, his attention solely on Salvatore.

  Looking terrified, Salvatore shouted at Dylan. “Control that beast.”

  Dylan crouched beside Joe and spoke to him in a low voice. Joe stopped barking and snarling but his body remained rigid, hair raised. His gaze remained focused on Salvatore.

  A low growl rumbled in Joe’s throat. The big dog was obeying, but he clearly didn’t like it.

  What was that all about? Joe had never exhibited that kind of behavior since she’d been around him.

  Belle looked at Christie. Something was clearly wrong that had nothing to do with Joe. Hair at Belle’s nape prickled. Christie looked pale and drawn, her gaze focused on something that Belle couldn’t see. She refused to make eye contact with Belle, and she didn’t seem to notice what was happening with the dog nearly attacking her husband.

  A chill went through Belle as her thoughts turned back to how she’d been unable to make eye contact after Harvey had abused her. It had been so difficult to pretend everything was all right when she was with Dylan or anyone else in the CoS.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Belle went to Christie and knelt at her side. “You don’t look well.” When Christie didn’t respond, Belle put her hand on her friend’s arm.

  Christie jerked her arm away from Belle, as if she’d been burned.

  Belle drew her hand away. Her chest tightened. “Christie?”

  Christie’s eyes were filled with fear as she met Belle’s gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” The concern in Belle’s gut rose like an angry wave.

  Comprehension and recognition dawned in Christie’s eyes. “Belle.” Her throat worked. She seemed about to say something else but looked down at her lap.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.” Belle put her hand on Christie’s arm again.

  Christie flinched but didn’t jerk
her hand away. She glanced at her husband, then back at her lap. “Everything is fine. I’m—I’m just a little worried is all.” She mumbled the words.

  “You don’t look okay.” Belle turned her attention from Christie to meet Salvatore’s gaze. He appeared concerned, but at the same time she felt something was off. Like his eyes were saying something different than the expression he wore. Maybe it was the fact that a German shepherd had almost attacked him.

  Salvatore smiled but his smile made her uneasy. “She has simply had a scare with all that has happened.”

  “Of course.” Belle would have liked to sit next to Christie, but the loveseat was clearly made for two. Belle chose a seat that was closest to Christie’s side of the couch.

  “Why don’t we have a cup of coffee?” Belle looked over her shoulder at Agent Davidson. “You do have coffee?”

  Trace nodded. He was looking at Christie, his expression concerned. “I’ll make a pot.”

  “I can do it.” Belle got to her feet. “Christie, why don’t you help me?”

  Salvatore put his arm around Christie’s shoulders. She seemed to stiffen, but didn’t pull away. “My wife will feel safer with me.”

  “Safer from what?” Belle cocked her head. “We’re in a safe house no one knows about with three agents. What’s to be afraid of?”

  Dylan watched the exchange between Belle and Salvatore who held Christie, his arm around her shoulders in a protective, loving way. But Christie, pale and drawn, had her head down again and was looking at her hands in her lap.

  “Hi, Christie.” Dylan tried to speak in a normal, casual tone.

  She raised her head and he saw hurt and pain in her eyes. “Hi, Dylan.” Her voice quavered.

  Dylan couldn’t help but frown. He’d known Christie most of her life and he’d never seen her like this. It was beyond fear…someone had caused her pain. His gaze moved to Salvatore and Dylan knew in his gut that her husband was the cause of that pain.

  An urge to beat the shit out of Salvatore rushed over Dylan. He held back his anger and stared at the man. “How are you doing?”

  Salvatore scowled. “Why are we being kept here like prisoners?”

  “Prisoners?” Dylan stepped closer to the pair on the couch. “Your protective custody is voluntary. You can leave at any time.”

  A look of surprise flashed across Salvatore’s face. “Then we will go now. Take us back to our home.”

  Dylan shook his head. “You can go. If Christie wants to stay, then she will remain in protective custody. Of course we’ll have to move her.”

  Relief was obvious in Christie’s expression, but Salvatore’s scowl deepened. “My wife goes with me.”

  “Doesn’t work that way.” Dylan focused squarely on Salvatore. “If Christie wants to, she stays.”

  Salvatore snapped his gaze to Christie’s, his arm still around her shoulders. “You do want to come with me.”

  Her expression turned from withdrawn to angry. “I’m staying.” Her tone was defiant as she tried to pull out of her husband’s grasp.

  The living room window shattered.

  Glass showered the room.

  One of the women screamed.

  An object was tossed in through the broken window.

  With a clatter, a small metal canister landed on the floor, spewing smoke. The heavy white fog began to fill the room from the smoke grenade, obscuring everything almost instantly. Dylan couldn’t tell where anyone was but Belle and Christie who were close.

  “Shit,” Trace shouted.

  G.I. Joe started snarled and barked with an intense viciousness as he yanked his leash from Dylan’s grip and leapt toward the window.

  Dylan’s heart thudded as he coughed. His throat burned and his eyes watered.

  “Get down on the floor.” Dylan got the words out between coughs as he went to Belle and Christie.

  Salvatore was no longer sitting on the couch as far as Dylan could tell. Had Joe gotten to him? But Joe had headed to the broken window.

  The women’s terrified faces quickly vanished behind a screen of smoke as they coughed and choked.

  He grabbed them by their arms and dragged them to the floor. “Crawl behind the couch.”

  With his weapon drawn, he kept low and stayed near the women as they used their hands to feel along the couch to find their way to the back.

  Dylan’s eyes continued to water from the smoke and he couldn’t hold back the coughs.

  “I’ve got Belle and Christie.” Dylan’s words seemed to bounce around the room. He had to protect the women at all costs and he intended to stay close to them.

  “I got rid of the canister through the window,” Trace shouted. “I’ll get the back door through the kitchen.”

  Jennie Ortega yelled, “I’ve got the front—”

  The door exploded inward.

  Jennie’s scream of pain immediately followed.

  Debris rained down where Dylan, Belle, and Christie knelt behind the couch. Rage tore through Dylan. He rose and peered over the cushions. Smoke hung in the air, but the fog in the room was starting to thin.

  Through wisps of smoke, Dylan saw Jennie on her back. She rose and pressed her left hand down on her right side, near a jagged piece of wood lodged in her body, where blood spread too quickly. With her teeth clenched, she raised her right arm, aiming her service weapon at the obliterated doorway. Even through the remaining fog, Dylan saw her arm shaking.

  Dylan moved to the end of the couch, leaving Christie and Belle behind it.

  A man rushed through the doorway and pointed a rifle at Jennie. Before Dylan got a shot off, Jennie hit the bastard in the neck. Blood sprayed from the wound. Jennie had clearly hit something vital and the man fell to his knees, his gun clattering to the floor as he brought his hands to his neck, his eyes wide.

  Joe came out of nowhere and grabbed the man by his neck. Joe shook the man like a wild animal set to kill its prey. The man’s body went slack, his eyes wide. The German shepherd dropped him and leapt toward the door.

  Through the smoke, Dylan saw men entering, guns drawn. In the chaos that ensued, Dylan took down three more men while Jennie managed to get a second before she passed out.

  Joe snarled, barked, growled, and took down more than one man. He attacked the men with a feral ferocity.

  Just as Dylan shot a third man in the chest, dropping him, Belle screamed. He whirled to see Belle being carried over a fourth man’s shoulder. Dylan hadn’t seen the man go behind the couch through the remnants of the still hazy smoke.

  Dylan set his jaw and aimed for the man’s knee. The man screamed as his knee exploded and he went down with Belle. Dylan leapt over the arm of the couch as Belle scrambled away and the man started to roll over. Dylan shot the man in the chest.

  When Dylan turned, he saw the room was quiet, bodies on the floor and no one moving. Jennie was in the same place, completely still. He hoped to God she was only passed out and that she was still alive.

  “I stopped three men coming in through the kitchen.” Trace spoke from behind Dylan. A sharp note of concern entered his voice as he added, “Where’s Christie?”

  Dylan spun to look at Trace as threads of smoke floated by him. Dylan’s gaze swept the room. “She was here—”

  A cry was in Belle’s voice. “She’s gone. Christie’s gone!”

  Trace gritted his teeth. “And so is Salvatore.”

  “Sonofabitch.” Dylan pointed toward the bedrooms. “Check to see if she made it to another room,” he said to Trace, who nodded and strode to the hallway, his weapon ready in case any of the attackers had gotten past them.

  Joe stood beside Belle as if protecting her, his fur on end.

  Dylan turned back to Belle. “Are you all right?”

  “Christie? Where’s Christie?” She flung herself into his arms.

  “You’re okay?” He wrapped her in his embrace.

  “I’m not hurt.” She leaned back, her face streaked with tears. “They got Christie.”
>
  He held her tightly to him one more time for a just a moment before releasing her. Belle was all right from what he could tell and from what she’d said.

  “I’ll check on Jennie.” Trace walked past them and strode to where Jennie lay. He checked her pulse. “She’s alive but she’s losing blood. She needs an ambulance. Now.”

  One of the bodies twitched. Dylan wanted to shoot the man out of pure rage, but went to his side to question him. By the time Dylan reached the bastard, his eyes were wide in death. Dylan knelt and checked the man’s pulse. Nothing.

  With a growl, Dylan stood and looked at the devastation around him. He thanked God that Belle was all right and that Jennie was alive. But they had to find Christie. And fast.

  CHAPTER 17

  Christie’s head pounded and ached. She tried opening her eyes, but her eyelids were so heavy she couldn’t raise them. Drugged. She felt drugged.

  A hard slap across her face caused her head to snap to the side. Pain shot through her cheek and head. Her eyes opened with shock and through blurry vision she saw a form in front of her.

  She tried to raise her hand to her stinging cheek but found she couldn’t move her arm. Dazed, she attempted to move her other arm, but it was tightly bound. She tried to move her legs and they were tied, too. Through the fog in her head, she realized she was tied to a chair. Her mouth felt dry and she felt tape over her mouth. She couldn’t move her lips or her jaw. Lank strands of hair fell across her cheeks as she hung her head.

  Memories rushed back and the terror that rose through her was swift and powerful. Her body trembled and her breathing started to come faster. She could only breathe through her nose and she thought she was going to hyperventilate.

  The safe house. Belle. Dylan. Agents Trace Davidson and Jennie Ortega. The attack. Was everyone dead? Did they have Belle and Dylan?

  Did they kill Belle and Dylan?

  God, no.

  Her thoughts spun as she tried to put puzzle pieces together. Where was she? She’d been grabbed, a hand clamped over her mouth as she was dragged out of the house. She didn’t know how they’d found her in the smoke-filled room, but they had.