Merciless

by Lori Armstrong

  That thought sucked the air from my lungs. I’d already dealt with so much loss in my life. I couldn’t stand losing Sophie, too. But I couldn’t push her to stay. That would be awfully damn selfish.

  “Mercy?” Mason yelled from the living room.

  “Yeah. Coming.”

  Apparently, this was our family bonding time: watching the boob tube together. I sat on the couch next to Mason, and we chuckled through an episode of The Simpsons. Then the Xbox came out, and father and son became embroiled in World of Warcraft.

  Belly full, warmed by the booze, I allowed my eyes to drift shut. The sounds of Mason and Lex talking smack while doing battle faded into the background.

  I stood on a hillside in the last dark moments of night before dawn teased the horizon. I wore combat fatigues. An M60 strapped over my shoulder. On patrol, on the prowl, but where was my partner? We weren’t allowed to go over the fence alone.

  My feet wanted to pace, but I remained still. Watchful. I inhaled and got a nose full of the putrid, raw-sewage stench of Iraq. I glanced down to see sand blowing across my boots. The wind whipping against me didn’t cool my body. How could it be so hot at night?

  A hum of approaching vehicles reverberated in the distance, and I automatically lifted the rifle toward the sound.

  There, at the top of the hill. Three Humvees. They clicked their headlights on, blinding me. I squinted, my eyes watering at the searing light. I held my hand up and noticed what those lights illuminated.

  Bodies.

  The first set of headlights shone on Arlette Shooting Star. I could hear her screaming for help. Before I could move toward her, a javelin sailed through the air and pinned her to the ground, piercing her heart.

  The headlights above her went out.

  The second set of headlights shone on Verline. She was on her knees begging for help. Before I could move toward her, a red slice appeared across her neck. She reached up to stop the flow of blood and with another slice across her wrist, her hand fell to the ground.

  The headlights above her went out.

  The third set of headlights shone on Levi. I wanted to run up the hill toward him, but I looked down to see my boots mired in sand. My ankles disappeared, then my calves, then my knees. I screamed, helpless, wanting to save Levi from what I knew was coming. I glanced up but it wasn’t Levi on the hillside, dead. It was Dawson.

  Shot through the head. Eyes blank. His light just … gone.

  I put my hands on the ground in front of me, trying to maneuver myself out of the sinkhole before it swallowed me. But my hands kept slipping. Lifting them to the light, I saw they were covered in blood. Rivers of blood from the three bodies poured downhill toward me like a red mudslide. I used my last breath to scream when the bloody sand engulfed me.

  My eyes flew open, and I realized I’d screamed out loud. The front of my shirt was soaked, and I reeked of whiskey. I still clutched the empty crystal glass.

  Deep shame burned, and I didn’t want to see Lex’s expression or hear Mason have to explain what’d happened. Why I was such a freak.

  But as I reached to set the glass on the coffee table, Mason’s strong hand was right there, taking it from me. I looked at him, and the worry etched on his brow seemed to shame me further.

  Without breaking eye contact with me, he said, “Lex, turn that off and give Mercy and me a few minutes, okay?”

  The sounds of gunfights and explosions ceased abruptly.

  I thought I heard Lex mutter about us leaving our clothes on, and I might’ve smiled if I hadn’t been vibrating head to toe from the shocking effects of the nightmare.

  Then Dawson hauled me onto his lap. He draped an afghan over us and tucked my face into his neck, tightening his arms so I couldn’t move.

  He knew what I needed. He’d been through this with me before. When the shakes wouldn’t stop, he whispered against my hair. “It’s just us here. Let it go. It wasn’t real.” He kissed my crown. “Please, sweetheart, let it go.”

  I did, but not with big gasping sobs. Not because I was ashamed to cry in front of him. I’d cried in front of him plenty. I sat and let his warmth, his scent, his strength bolster me.

  After he recognized I’d calmed and returned to myself, he loosened his hold and eased back to peer into my face.

  “Bad?”

  I nodded.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  I shook my head.

  “You sure?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It might help.”

  We’d had this exact same dialogue a dozen times since we’d been together. Mason never pushed me. He’d hold me and distract me with sex to bring me back to a happy place.

  “I don’t suppose you can drag me off to bed and make me forget about it?”

  Mason smiled. “We’ve already been busted once today. Let’s not push it right now, okay?”

  “Okay.” I rubbed my cheek along his jawline. “I love you.”

  “I know you do.”

  Him tossing my usual response back at me made me smile. “I need to change out of the whiskey-soaked clothes. Then I might crawl in bed and put this day behind me.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll hang with Lex and be there in a bit.”

  I smooched his mouth. “Don’t forget to lock the bedroom door tonight.”

  • • •

  The next morning I let Dawson sleep in and took over kitchen duties.

  Not even the scent of cooking bacon roused Lex, so I knocked on his door. “Lex? Time to get up and start the day.”

  No answer.

  I knocked louder. “Come on, kiddo. Rise and shine.”

  The door opened a crack. He rubbed his eyes. “Man, you’re even more annoying than my dad in the morning.”

  “There’s a compliment.”

  He mumbled something and shut the door in my face.

  But he was dressed and downstairs in five minutes. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “Waffles and bacon. Help yourself.”

  “Cool.” Lex loaded his plate.

  I poured him a glass of milk.

  “Thanks, Mercy.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He ate. I drank coffee. I finally noticed his plate was empty, yet he still dragged his fork through the puddle of syrup.

  “If you’re still hungry, I can make another waffle.”

  “I’m full.” Lex looked up at me and wore the same contrite expression I’d seen on his father’s face.

  “Something wrong?”

  He blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For playing World of Warcraft in front of you. It’s just a game to me, and I didn’t know it’d bring back bad memories of being in war and stuff. I won’t play it anymore.”

  Such a sweet boy. Like his dad in so many ways. I wanted to hug him, but that’d probably freak him out. So I reached over and messed up his hair. “Thanks. The bad dreams usually stem from something that happened at work. But not always. It’s kind of a crapshoot. I never know when they’ll pop up and knock me flat.”

  “There was a guy in my apartment building who’d been in Vietnam. Some days he’d be great.”

  “It’s those not-so-great days that are scary.”

  Lex nodded. “One time he was sleeping in the hallway, and I accidentally woke him up. He tackled me. I had to hit him in the face to get him to leave me alone. Then he got really embarrassed, and I didn’t see him for a while.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  Mason ambled in. “Mornin’.” He helped himself to coffee and looked around. “Where’s Sophie?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “You made waffles?”

  “I am not entirely helpless in the kitchen, Sheriff. Besides, you’d better not insult my cooking since I’ll be doing a lot more of it.” I sipped my coffee. “Sophie quit.”

  “She did? When did this happen?”

  “Hope told me last night. I guess it’s effective immediat
ely. She wants to spend more time with Penny before she …”

  Dawson frowned. “Is Penny worse?”

  “No.” I explained what I’d been told the night before.

  “That’s good news anyway. And I have some more good news.” He focused on Lex. “I talked to Phil Beecham, the bus driver for this area. He said if you’re down by the main highway by twenty-five before the hour, he’ll pick you up and take you to school. Won’t that be great? Getting to know the kids from around here?”

  “I guess.” Lex left the table without picking up his plate.

  “Huh-uh. Get back here. You know the drill.”

  “Sorry, Dad.” He looked at me. Firmed his chin. “Is Sophie quitting because of me?”

  “No. Why would you—” Had the kid taken the blame for everything at his mom’s house? “To be honest, Sophie is getting on in years, and it’s gotten harder for her to do all the things she used to do. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. In fact, she was pretty excited when she heard you were coming. More cookie recipes for her to test out.”

  “I never knew anyone who had a housekeeper and a cook,” Lex said.

  “Sophie’s more than just a housekeeper to me. She’s sort of filled in since my mom died when I was a kid.”

  “Oh.” Lex hustled off after a warning from his father about being late for school.

  Dawson wrapped himself around me while I rinsed the dishes. “I know you’ll miss her. I’ll miss her, too. But this is probably the best for everyone.”

  I disagreed.

  And in my mind, this was a temporary situation, anyway. Sophie would be back.

  13

  We probably should’ve been at the tribal police department getting the tribal officers’ input on the case. But instead, I found myself at home base—the Rapid City FBI office—in the conference room, alone with Agent Turnbull.

  And it seemed a bit … official. Instead of the brainstorming session Shay had hinted at.

  “We’re in agreement that the Shooting Star and Dupris cases are connected?”

  I nodded. “Any reports back from the crime lab?”

  “Yep. Verline also had high levels of digitalis in her system.” He rapped his pen on the blank sheet of paper in front of him. “So now, how about if we start with a list of possible suspects.” Then he looked at me pointedly.

  “What? You want me to go first?”

  “Yep.”

  Damn. “Junior Rondeaux.”

  “Why?”

  “He’d been sneaking around with Arlette, effectively pissing off both his father and Verline.”

  The tap-tap-tap of Turnbull’s pen sounded on the table as he studied me. “Why would Verline be mad if her live-in’s son was making time with the tribal president’s niece?”

  I’d get a browbeating for not immediately telling Turnbull about Junior Rondeaux cornering me last night. It’d be entertaining to watch steam blow out of his ears—if not for the fact all that steam would be directed at me. “Before you have an aneurysm, I was in shock after yesterday’s events when Junior waylaid me in the parking lot at the tribal PD.”

  “Why didn’t you bring him into the police station? He was right fucking there. I was right fucking there.”

  Yep, Turnbull was really pissed if he used fuck in the office. “He took off, and I didn’t think ‘by any means necessary’ was appropriate use of force in this case. Yes, I could’ve shot him in the leg. But I figured it’d be counterproductive, since he’d end up in the hospital, unable to answer our questions anyway.”

  Angrier, faster tapping with his pen. “What exactly did Junior Rondeaux tell you?”

  I relayed the conversation to the best of my recollection. When I reached the part where Junior told me of his fear of Rollie’s threats to Verline if he found out she’d been cheating on him, I hesitated. And Mr. Intuitive G-man caught it.

  “No editorializing, Agent Gunderson.”

  “Fine. Junior said Rollie would kill her.”

  Silence.

  His handsome face was a total blank.

  I tossed out one of the two other theories I’d been kicking around. “What if Junior killed Verline to protect her? If Verline had a hormonal moment, especially if Junior had been telling Verline about spending time with Arlette to make Verline jealous and force her into a decision about leaving Rollie. Verline could’ve offered Arlette a ride, claiming to know Junior, drugged her, and staked her.”

  “So you think Verline picked Arlette up from school that day?”

  “It’s a possibility. Arlette was keeping Junior a secret so she wouldn’t tell Naomi about her lunch plans.”

  “Where would Verline have obtained digitalis?”

  I said, “From Rollie,” without thinking. “He and his family are into all that native natural herbal stuff.”

  More pen tapping. “Go on.”

  “Let’s say … Junior knew Verline killed Arlette, and he also was starting to suspect that Verline wouldn’t leave Rollie, no matter how much she claimed she wanted to. Junior knows Rollie is an unfit parent. He also knows that if Verline turns up dead, the cops will be looking hard at Rollie for the murder. So he’d frame his father, make sure Verline’s kids are taken care of, and protect her crime.”

  After I finished, I had the strangest feeling Turnbull was holding back laughter.

  “You done?”

  “No.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I haven’t even mentioned Saro.”

  That brought him up short. “What would Saro’s part be in this?”

  “Junior works for Saro in some capacity. If Rollie is in jail for Verline’s murder, his business is kaput. Getting rid of a business rival plays into Saro’s hands. Not to mention, Saro is obsessed with finding Verline’s cousin, Cherelle, for her part in his brother Victor’s murder. Maybe Verline took something from Saro, and Saro made an example out of Verline by whacking off her hand as a warning to others on the rez who might think about crossing him.”

  “After you left to talk to the Dupris family, we also discovered at the scene that Verline’s tongue had been cut out.”

  “Jesus. But that makes sense if Saro is involved. If Verline had talked out of turn, or wouldn’t talk, Saro would remove her tongue as another example.”

  “And Saro’s reason for killing Arlette?”

  “He’s sadistic. He may’ve done it for kicks. But I heard grumbling in the tribal PD that the new tribal president has demanded tribal cops put the smackdown on drug dealing. They’re not even supposed to let a single prescription pill pass hands. There’s no way the cops can police it. Maybe Saro voiced his displeasure with Latimer Elk Thunder’s edict by killing his niece. There was no way of knowing how little Arlette meant to her uncle.”

  No response but a cool stare.

  “What?”

  “I find it interesting, and maybe a little disturbing, that you didn’t mention Rollie Rondeaux as a possible suspect. Even his own son thinks he’s guilty.”

  I said nothing.

  “So along those lines … do your job. Don’t discount anything. Don’t discount anyone. Get me some proof to back up either of your theories. Within the confines of the law.”

  I stood. “Don’t insult me, Special Agent Turnbull. I’m a team player. I know what team I’m on. Rah-rah! Go FBI! and all that shit.”

  “You’re a drumroll short of nailing that punch line, Agent Gunderson.”

  Everyone was a comedian. I slipped on my coat, shouldered my purse, and walked out.

  • • •

  Junior Rondeaux’s twenty-four hours were almost up.

  Verline’s sister had told us where Junior lived—a shack on someone’s property. Looking at it now, I doubted the place had running water. Maybe it had electricity. The windows were boarded over.

  I parked on the street and backtracked to the door, which wasn’t completely closed. Loud noises—moans and groans—came from inside. Was Junior hurt? I pulled my sidearm, kicked the bottom of the door with m
y boot, and said, “FBI. I’m coming in.”

  First thing I saw? A naked ass. Then a naked back. The girl on the bouncing mattress screamed when she saw me. She shoved Junior so hard he flew out of bed and landed on that naked ass. She yanked the covers up but not before I got a glimpse of her pendulous breasts.

  Fucking awesome.

  She yelled, “Don’t shoot! It’s not his fault! I told him I was eighteen!”

  Jesus. Seriously? She thought the FBI was on underage nookie patrol?

  Junior scrambled to his feet and threw his arms in the air. He knew the drill. “Christ, don’t shoot! I’m not armed.”

  “I can see that.”

  “What are you doin’ here?”

  I kept my gun trained on him and did not allow my gaze to drop below his chin. “I heard noises. And since you’re involved in a federal investigation, I suspected you might be in distress. I announced myself before I came in.”

  “Yeah? Well, I didn’t hear you because we were a little busy!”

  “A federal investigation?” the girl repeated. “You didn’t tell me you were part of that.”

  “But baby, I’m not. Listen to me.”

  From the corner of my eye I could see the girl scrambling to get her clothes on.

  “So much for mourning your true love, Verline, huh, Junior? She’s been dead, what, a day? And you’re already bumping uglies with someone else?”

  Junior shook his hair out of his eyes. “I ain’t got a gun in here, so do you mind putting that thing away?”

  “I’ll put mine away if you put yours away.” I lowered my gun but didn’t holster it.

  He whispered to the girl, and she pushed back, slipping on a hoodie—but not before I noticed she had hickeys all over her neck. She was on the plump side, as well as the illegal side. I practiced my hard-cop stare as she shuffled past me.

  Then I glanced at Junior. He’d pulled on a pair of boxing shorts and a long-sleeved shirt.

  “Didja hafta bust in right then? You couldn’t have waited another five minutes?”