No Mercy

by Cheyenne McCray

  Did they get Belle, too?

  Or had they killed her?

  A sob rose up in her throat but it had nowhere to go with the tape over her mouth. She thought she’d choke like she had done when the living room of the safe house had filled with smoke.

  She felt the remnants of a sting on her skin where a needle had pierced her flesh when she’d been drugged. She could remember fighting the man who had her, the prick of the needle as another man bent over her, and then everything fading to black.

  Her vision cleared and she blinked. The figure came into focus and she felt as if she might pass out again when she saw the man was Salvatore.

  Although, after what she’d been through, she found she wasn’t surprised. He had orchestrated the attack from his phone.

  Today he had nearly hit Christie again when he’d caught her using his phone to call Belle. If it hadn’t been for Agent Davidson, who had come to the room where they were staying, Salvatore would have hurt her.

  Her husband, the man she’d been married to for twenty years, was a monster like she had never known before.

  He stared at her with cold calculation in his dark eyes. He perched on the edge of a metal table in a chilly concrete-walled room. She was strapped to a chair in front of him.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, as if that might change her situation. Maybe it was a dream. A nightmare.

  Cool air chilled her skin and she smelled something dank and dirty. Her head still swam and she swayed.

  “Look at me.” Salvatore’s icy command jerked her back to reality.

  Her skin prickled as she obeyed. Her throat felt raw from the smoke that she’d sucked in at the safe house, smoke that had filled her lungs when she’d opened her mouth to scream.

  The fact that her husband had her tied to a chair in an unfamiliar room started to sink in. He reached for her and she flinched, expecting him to hit her. Instead, he grabbed the end of the tape over her mouth, and ripped the gray duct tape away. He dropped it onto the metal table. Her skin prickled unpleasantly, but she shook it off.

  “Look at me, mi mariposa.” Salvatore’s voice cut into her fog.

  The words came out thick and heavy as she said, “I’m not your butterfly.” Not anymore.

  He raised his hand.

  “Salvatore.” His name came out in a hoarse whisper. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve never thought of you as a stupid woman, Christie.” He spoke in a slow, measured tone and lowered his hand. “Don’t start now.”

  But she had been stupid. She’d been blind to who he was and what he was for the duration of their marriage. She hadn’t known the true Salvatore until she overheard him ordering the murders of her friends.

  How could she have been so foolish? She’d believed in him.

  She’d loved him.

  Their entire marriage had been a lie.

  Tears burned at the backs of her eyes but she fought to hold them back. He’d already taken so many tears from her by raping her more than once after she’d overheard him.

  Her heart ached while her mind raged. She’d given her love to a terrible man.

  He was a horrible, horrible man who schemed and ordered the murders of people who got in his way. Her friends had become liabilities that he was discarding like pieces of trash. Had they been the first murders he’d contracted? Not that it mattered whether or not he hadn’t done it before, but she knew inside that he had.

  “Did you hurt Belle and Dylan?” Her voice shook.

  “They’re dead.” Salvatore gave a slow smile. “They were slaughtered like pigs.” He gave a dark laugh. “The fucking dog, too.”

  “Oh, my God.” Christie’s mind spun. She felt lightheaded, and she was close to passing out from the news. They couldn’t be dead. Her friends. Two more of the most precious people in her life.

  Dead.

  At her husband’s orders. Maybe even at his hands.

  She looked at Salvatore and all she felt was hatred like she’d never experienced before. “You bastard.”

  “Language, my dear.” He gave a smirk. “But don’t worry. I’ll be finished with you soon enough and you can join them.”

  Christie’s head swayed. If she hadn’t been tied to the chair, she would have slipped off and hit the floor.

  Her friends were dead. The words repeated over and over in her mind.

  Belle and Dylan are dead.

  It didn’t matter that he intended to kill her, too. She’d known that ever since he caught her when she’d overheard him. There was no way he’d let her live. He just wanted her to suffer.

  “Next will be your friend, Leon.” Salvatore smirked. “I think I’ll have his whole family taken out for good measure. His wife. His kids. That leaves Marta who is clinging to life in the hospital.” Salvatore shrugged as the horror in her body magnified. “She will be dead soon. I already have someone there who will finish her off. I expect a call any time now.”

  Even though she had no visible wounds, it felt like blood was draining from her body, leaking to the floor, forming a pool around her feet.

  Salvatore gestured to her. “You I will save for last. I want you to suffer through every single death of your precious Circle of Seven friends.” At that he sneered. “You kept me out, ignoring me in favor of them until Belle left.”

  Christie’s mind was on overload. She didn’t know what to say, what to think. He was still upset over that, all of these years later?

  A knock came at the door. Salvatore didn’t take his attention from Christie. “Come in.” He said the order in a commanding tone.

  The door scraped the concrete floor and Christie flinched from the sound.

  A dark-haired man stumbled through the door as if shoved. She had a moment to see his face before he landed on his hands and knees in front of her. He cried out as his knees hit the floor. His body shook and Christie was certain his limbs would give out on him.

  Her heart pounded faster as she looked from the man on the floor to the Hispanic man coming in through the doorway.

  “Please, Mr. Reyes.” The man on the floor’s voice trembled, but he didn’t look at Salvatore. “I’m sorry. I’ll make up for it.”

  “Shut up, Carl,” Salvatore snapped.

  The man who’d shoved Carl through the door carried a handgun but tucked it into the back of his jeans. “What do you want me to do with him?”

  “Thank you, Paco. But I’ll take care of Carl.” Salvatore kicked the man on the floor in the gut, a fierce, powerful kick. The man shouted in pain and rolled onto his side, his cry bouncing off the walls of the small bare room. “Won’t I, Carl?” Salvatore said to the man he’d just kicked.

  Carl was sobbing now. “I’ll make up for it. I will. I promise.”

  “You failed me at the safe house and you ran while others died.” Salvatore reached into his pocket and Christie’s eyes widened. More fear burned her chest as he pulled out a small black handgun. “And you know what happens to men who fail me.”

  Carl’s body shook as Salvatore took his handgun and pressed the barrel to the side of the man’s head.

  He wouldn’t. Christie started trembling so violently her teeth clicked together. Salvatore wouldn’t murder this man right in front of her.

  At the same time the thoughts went through her mind, she knew that he could and he would.

  Christie closed her eyes and turned her head away.

  “You will watch, Christie.” Salvatore’s words came out more than cruel.

  In the next moment she felt hands on the sides of her head, turning her back in the direction of Carl. Then the cold barrel of a gun was pressed to her own head and her eyes flew open involuntarily.

  “I have to set examples.” Salvatore’s expression went hard before he moved the gun from her head and pointed it at Carl. “Goodbye, Carl.”

  Christie screamed, as the sound of the shot in the small room seemed to tear her eardrums. But it was the man’s body that kept her screaming. The bullet had splatt
ered blood and matter all over the floor and it had sprayed across her jeans and shoes.

  She couldn’t stop screaming. Salvatore slapped her so hard her chair tipped back. He caught her by her hair and jerked her forward, stopping the backward momentum and forcing her chair back where it was. She barely noticed the pain at her skull that radiated through her head.

  Tears flowed down her cheeks but she knew there was venom in her eyes and her words as she spat words at him. “You’re a horrible, sick monster, Salvatore.”

  He raised his hand to strike her again.

  She stared at him, refusing to flinch. “A sick monster.”

  Pain burst through her head like stars as his hand connected with her head. This time she felt herself falling backward in the chair, with nothing to stop her.

  Her head struck the concrete floor.

  Everything went black.

  CHAPTER 18

  Dylan put his arm around Belle’s shoulders, keeping her close to him as they left Agent Jennie Ortega’s room at the Copper Queen Hospital, the same hospital where Marta was still in a coma. He wasn’t about to let Belle out of his sight after everything that had happened.

  It was late the same afternoon after the attack and Christie’s kidnapping. The FBI would be getting a warrant to search Salvatore’s home. Because it was a kidnapping, the FBI would be involved.

  G.I. Joe was outside the hospital with Brooks, and Trace had already headed with a team to Tom’s office with the warrant to search for a copy of the postcard, or even the actual postcard itself if by some chance Tom had inadvertently left it at the office when he went home.

  That was doubtful, but they had to cover the bases in the warrant and nothing could be taken for granted.

  “Thank God Agent Ortega will be okay.” While speaking, Belle leaned her head on Dylan’s shoulder. “She lost so much blood.”

  “She was fortunate.” Dylan was thanking God, too. “If the paramedics had arrived any later, she wouldn’t be here.”

  He felt Belle’s shudder and wished he hadn’t put it that way. He squeezed her to him and looked at her beautiful face. “Jennie is in stable condition, and that’s what matters.”

  “What if they’ve killed Christie?” Belle’s features were twisted with worry as she looked at Dylan while they walked down the hospital corridor. Her eyes were red from crying, her cheeks tearstained and smudged with something dark, her hair falling from her ponytail and hanging loose around her face.

  “If they wanted her dead, they would have killed her at the safe house.” Dylan realized his words sounded too harsh as he saw tears start to fill Belle’s eyes again. He was blowing it big time in the consoling department. He squeezed her shoulders and pulled her more tightly to him. “In my gut I believe she’s all right and we’ll find her. We’re pretty sure her husband is the key in all of this, and it’s possible he won’t hurt her simply because she’s his wife.”

  “He always seemed to genuinely care for her.” Belle shuddered in Dylan’s one-armed embrace. “I am still having a hard time reconciling the man I thought he was with the man we believe he is now.”

  “That kind of betrayal is nearly impossible to comprehend for most people.” Dylan shook his head. “When you trust someone and they aren’t who you think they are…” He blew out his breath. “It’s like a death.”

  He looked at her and her throat worked as she swallowed. “That’s a good way to put it.” A tremor was in her voice. “It’s like the person we thought he was is dead and some other horrible monster has taken his place.”

  Dylan had been through plenty and had seen a lot in his life and in his career, but this one hit close to home. Christie was family, and the fact that her husband was probably at the heart of all of their losses would be almost too much to comprehend for many. Hell, he was having a hard time dealing with it.

  But the pieces fit. When he thought about everything, they fit.

  Belle moved out of his embrace and drew him aside in the hallway. “Have you heard anything about Tom? Are they sure that he was the one who died in the explosion?”

  Dylan sighed. “Yes. Trace gave me the report before we saw Jennie.”

  The pain in Belle’s eyes seemed to magnify. “I can’t believe he and Nate are gone now. And Marta…” Belle’s lips set in a firm line. “I want to visit Marta while you search Tom’s office. I can spend some time with her wife, too. I would imagine she needs a friendly face and someone there who cares about Marta as much as we do.”

  Dylan’s gut tightened. “I don’t like the idea of you being out of my sight.”

  “An agent is posted outside of Marta’s room.” Belle put her palm on Dylan’s chest. “I’ll be safe there. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “Me?” A smile touched his lips. “I’m supposed to be the big bad agent. I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, big bad agents are human, too.” Her smile was forced. “Promise me that you will be careful, whatever you do.”

  “Of course.” Dylan touched her beautiful but sad face, running his thumb along her jaw. “Promise me you’ll stay in Marta’s room.”

  Belle nodded, her soft skin sliding across his fingers as she did. “I won’t go anywhere.”

  He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers before taking her hand and walking with her toward Marta’s room.

  Rick DeLong was outside the room, an agent who was had just transferred to the DHS office in Douglas.

  “Belle, this is Agent DeLong.” Dylan in turn introduced Rick to Belle before adding, “He will take good care of you.”

  “Everything has been quiet,” Rick said as he gave Dylan and Belle a nod.

  Dylan opened the door to the room. Belle slipped inside after Dylan gave her a soft kiss. When he closed the door behind her, he braced one hand on the doorframe as if to steady himself. He had to stop feeling like he couldn’t let her out of his sight. She was safe here.

  He let his hand slide down the wood before turning to face Rick. “They’re family to me.” Dylan was surprised to hear the roughness of his own voice. “Take care of them.”

  Rick gave a sharp nod. “I won’t let anything happen to them.”

  “Thanks.” Dylan clapped Rick on the shoulder before heading to another wing, across the hospital, where Tom’s office was.

  When Dylan reached his destination, Trace was already conducting the search with two other agents. The murders, attempted murders, kidnapping, and an injured federal agent, made this case top priority.

  Dylan stood beside Trace. “Find anything?” Dylan asked.

  “Nothing even close.” Trace shook his head. “We’re going through everything with a fine-toothed comb and so far not a thing stands out.”

  After checking in with Trace, Dylan grabbed a pair of latex gloves out of a box on Tom’s large desk and joined in on the search. He flipped through files, dug in desk drawers, and went over Tom’s personal belongings. Dylan’s frustration mounted the longer they searched. Tom would have kept a copy, wouldn’t he? But he may have had it on him, planning on keeping the copy at home.

  Feeling like he could punch his fist through a wall, Dylan sat in the leather office chair in front of Tom’s desk. Once again he went through every drawer. He even went as far as to look beneath the desk, hoping for some kind of key to a secret drawer. When he found nothing, he riffled through papers in the wastebasket next to the desk. Nothing. Goddamned nothing.

  He leaned back in Tom’s chair and scanned the surface of the desk for yet another time, as if some new item or clue might appear out of nowhere.

  A docking station for a laptop was at the center of the desk, but no sign of the laptop was in the office. Likely, Tom had had it with him when he’d gone home. Also on the desktop was a jade elephant paperweight that felt like it weighed five pounds. Next to the paperweight was a photo of Tom’s son in a little league uniform, and beside it was another photo of the boy holding a soccer ball in one arm and a gold medal in the opposite hand.

>   A notepad with notes in what looked like a typical doctor’s handwriting was to the right. Also to the right, near the notepad, was a white coffee mug with “World’s #1 Dad” in crayon-like lettering in bright primary colors.

  As he looked at the mug, Dylan felt like someone had punched him in the gut. The CoS hadn’t just lost a friend, a part of their family…this young boy was now without a father.

  Dylan’s gaze drifted to the notepad. He stared at it for a moment without seeing it. When his eyes came back into focus, something about the pad caught his attention. He frowned and pulled it toward him with his gloved hand. The writing was virtually illegible, but when he took his time to study it, he was fairly certain that the note started with “Tom” at the top and then “Nate” was written at the bottom.

  Heart beating a little faster, Dylan went over and over the note, finding he could pick out words here and there: “town”, “good man”, “fun”, “ditch”, “runoff”, “mom”, “help.” One line was underlined, and in that line one word was circled—“mom”.

  “Did you find something?” Trace’s low drawl caught Dylan’s attention.

  “I think so.” Dylan tapped the notepad with his index finger. “I think Tom was trying to figure out his postcard message for himself by writing it out.”

  Trace braced his palm on the desk as he looked over Dylan’s shoulder. “His handwriting damn near looks like a foreign language.”

  “I think doctor scrawl is a required class in medical school.” Dylan looked at Trace. “We might have to get a code breaker to decipher it.”

  “We may have one or two here.” Trace looked toward the doorway. “At least one of his nurses could give us a hand.”

  “Great idea.” Dylan pushed the chair away from the desk and picked up the notepad between gloved fingers. “I’ll make a copy of it and see if one of the nurses can lend a hand.”

  Dylan got up from the chair and strode out of Tom’s office. He headed to the closest nurse’s station. Carrie Prince, the same curly-haired brunette nurse he’d met yesterday, was at a desk behind the divider.