Merciless

by Lori Armstrong

  I dialed the number on the slip of paper and paced while I waited for her to pick up.

  “Hello?” she answered warily.

  “Is this Naomi?”

  “Yes, who’s this?”

  “Mercy Gunderson. FBI. We spoke today?”

  “Hey, why are you calling me? Am I in trouble?”

  “No. How would you like to earn a hundred bucks for helping me?”

  A pause, then she said, “For real?”

  “For real. This is a top-secret FBI operation, so you have to keep it between us.”

  “Okay. What do I gotta do?”

  “Do you have a vehicle?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What kind?”

  “A Dodge minivan.”

  “Is the gas tank full?”

  “About half. Why?”

  “I need you to drive to Besler’s grocery store in Eagle Ridge. Know where that is?”

  “Uh-huh. Then what?”

  “Park close to the front doors. Leave the keys under the seat. Go in the store, get a cart, and pretend you’re shopping. Take your time but don’t talk to anyone. Don’t look around, just act like you’re buying groceries.”

  “Should I wear a disguise or something?”

  “Just a winter scarf. Don’t look for me. I will find you. Try to stay in the back of the store.”

  “You ain’t pulling my leg? You’re really gonna be there?”

  “Yes. Look, it’s really important you follow these instructions to the letter. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Don’t text or talk on your phone, either in your car or in the store. Don’t deviate at all.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ll explain more when you see me in about forty-five minutes.” I hung up. Then I stripped and wrapped myself in my robe, exiting the bathroom and closing my bedroom door.

  Keeping the lights turned off fucked with my bad eye, but I had no choice except to work in the darkness. I started adding layers of clothes. A sports bra. A long-sleeved under-armor shirt. I yanked on a pair of jeans and slid on the super-thin subzero winter coat I’d saved from my Afghanistan tour. The light weight allowed me to move and kept me warm, but not too warm. For an overcoat, I pawed through the closet until I found my black duster. Two inside pockets, two deep outside pockets, long and sloppy-looking. Perfect.

  Next, I needed hardware. Whatever I took had to fit on my person. The familiar smell of gun oil wafted up as I opened the gun safe. Pity there wasn’t room inside the coat for my H-S Precision takedown rifle. But this op wasn’t about stopping power. Not right away. I required firepower that used standard grade bullets. Nothing too big, nothing subsonic, nothing traceable. I wanted a gun that was light, concealable, and could be assembled in a snap.

  I grabbed my AR-15.

  At a little over eight and a half pounds, it was my lightest-weight semiauto. I’d had it sited with an Elcan day/night digital rifle scope and an IR flashlight, which served as an image intensifier for night shoots. I’d added a Gemtech suppressor—no more need for earplugs—and replaced the standard trigger with a three-pound Timney trigger for a no-jerk pull. The AR came apart with two easy clicks by pushing the pins from the left side of the aluminum receiver and pulling them out on the right side.

  Click-click and the rifle was in two pieces.

  Click-click and it’d be assembled. Snap in the clip, pull the charging handle, and it was ready to fire.

  The nylon sling was still attached to the upper and lower sections. With the sling looped around my neck, even the sixteen-inch barrel and suppressor were hidden, dangling beneath my armpits.

  That done, I slipped on my coat.

  Next, I shoved the two magazines, each preloaded with fifteen .223-caliber bullets, into the pockets.

  I balled up a nylon duffel bag and tucked it inside the largest purse I owned. I’d started keeping cash inside the gun safe, rather than the office safe, because it rankled having to explain to Hope why I always kept a significant stash on hand. I counted out the bills.

  Almost done. I dropped a three-inch knife in a leather sheath, along with my black Merrill soft-soled hiking shoes into the purse. Last thing I grabbed was the monocular thermal-imaging device that had cost me an entire month’s pay. But with the compromised eyesight in my right eye, especially at night, I needed—deserved—the extra advantage. I’d lusted after the thermal-imaging devices I’d used with my sniper rifle, but the army frowned on soldiers taking home a twenty-five thousand dollar piece of equipment.

  During this rapid-fire preparation, I’d calmed. I’d reached the place I hadn’t accessed since my nephew had been murdered. The black cesspool that held the memory of all bad things I’d done—without remorse. The dark spot inside me that would never evaporate completely. The hidden parts that were the truest part of me.

  Methodical.

  Ruthless.

  Unstoppable.

  Showtime.

  I left the bedroom carrying my purse, letting dread slow my movements. I tugged on my gray wool cap with the ear flaps. Jammed my feet in snow boots.

  At the kitchen sink I felt Sheldon watching me—no idea where he’d hidden himself outside—but I knew he was close by. I shuffled through the paperwork, several times. Turned the map sideways. Studied it this way and that. Made a disgusted noise and set the papers on the counter. I poured a glass of water, allowing myself to gaze into space. Allowing fear to show. I even gasped and clapped my hand over my mouth, as if trying to hold back tears.

  Do you see me as a broken woman, you sadistic motherfucker? Is your sick head swimming with ways to torture me and break me completely?

  Bring it.

  Because it was on.

  22

  Sure enough, after I’d traveled about a mile down the gravel road, headlights appeared in my rearview. Most likely, that bastard had been spying from the barn, with the direct view of the back porch and into the kitchen windows. He could’ve parked on the other side of the house, and I wouldn’t have seen his vehicle because I never drove past the ranch anymore. Not like when I’d lived in the foreman’s cabin.

  I hadn’t been there since my return from Quantico. Maybe that’s where he’d holed up and was keeping Sophie. It was close enough that he could keep an eye on both of us.

  It took every bit of control not to spin a U-turn and play a game of chicken with him.

  As I made the drive into Eagle Ridge, I went over the plan in my head several times, not knowing if it’d even work. But if this plan didn’t work, the next one would. And if not this one, the one after that. The thought of Sophie tied up somewhere, grieving, scared, mad, hungry, crying, hurting, and cold—that’s what would keep me going.

  At Besler’s, I parked in the space closest to the front entrance, but not under the streetlight. I tucked the keys under the mat, shouldered my purse, and strolled inside. Just another grocery shopper.

  I grabbed a cart and headed past the produce section. I spied Naomi at the back of the pet-food aisle. She didn’t acknowledge me when I moved past her and hefted three fifty-pound bags of dog food into my cart. Then I stood beside her, pretending to comparison shop between brands of kitty litter.

  We were nearly shoulder to shoulder when I said, “Meet me in the women’s bathroom in three minutes. Knock four times.”

  Luck was on my side because no one was using the restroom. Once inside the single stall, I ditched the trench coat and dug out the folded duffel bag. I snapped the AR-15 together, shoved it and the rest of my equipment into the bag, and zipped it shut. I’d just finished changing my shoes when I heard four knocks. I unlocked the door, and Naomi stepped inside.

  “Thanks for doing this, Naomi.”

  “What am I doing?”

  “First off, you should know this is a covert government operation. You’ve heard the phrase ‘plausible deniability’? That’s what’ll happen if you ever tell anyone about this, understand?”

  “Yes, you can trust me.”

  “
Good. Here’s the plan. We’re swapping identities.” I pulled off my hat and tugged it onto her head. “Next, coat and shoes.”

  As we faced each other, I had the first hope this switcheroo would work. We were close to the same height, and the buttoned-up trench coat would mask our physical differences. I wrapped the scarf around her neck.

  “Here’s the tricky part. Listen very carefully. Stay in the store for ten full minutes after I leave. Buy something simple. Once you get outside, keep your head down so your scarf covers most of your face; that way if my suspect has his binoculars on you, he won’t know you’re not me. Walk quickly, but do not run. Do not look around. Act like you’ve got something weighing on your mind and you cannot be bothered to pay attention to your surroundings. My truck is the black Ford F-150 parked in the center row, the second spot facing the exit. The keys are on the floor.” I paused and studied her. “You all right so far?”

  “Yeah, go on.”

  “Drive back to the rez. Go directly to Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic Church. Park as close to the front entrance as possible and leave the truck keys in the ashtray. There’s mass tonight. First thing you do after you’re inside? Find the coatrack. Hang up this coat and shove the scarf and hat in the sleeves. Then go into the bathroom and switch my boots for your shoes, and put on your coat, both of which will be stashed in this purse.”

  “Okay. What do I do with your boots and purse?”

  “Leave them hanging on the back of the door hook in the bathroom stall.”

  Naomi nodded. “Then what?”

  “Then you return to the sanctuary, sit in the back pew, and catch the last of the sermon.”

  She wrinkled her nose.

  “After the service ends, you’ll pin this folded note”—it read: Find me before I find you—“on the front of the coat and exit the church. Walk over to the Pizza Barn, order your favorite food, and take your time enjoying it.” The note was the biggest gamble. Would he find it before someone else got snoopy and read it?

  “That’s it?” Naomi asked.

  “Two other important things. You’ll have to walk home after eating.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Here was the trickiest part. “And in the morning? You’ll have to report your car as stolen.”

  Naomi’s mouth dropped open. “What? You didn’t say anything about taking my car! I need it! It might be a piece of shit, but—”

  I put my finger over my lips to signal for quiet. Then I reached into my purse and pulled out a stack of bills. “There’s twenty-one hundred bucks here. After the tribal cops find your car, there’s enough to get it repaired, or enough for you to buy a different one. You just need to report it missing. But not until morning.”

  She looked torn.

  “If the maroon Chrysler out there is your van? Then I’m being more than generous in replacement cost.”

  “I know, but …” Naomi looked at me thoughtfully. “Is there a chance the cops will contact me tonight about my car?”

  “Slim. But if that happens, tell them the last time you saw it, it was parked in the driveway or on the street or wherever you normally park it.” My eyes searched hers. “And if you really want to be a dick, you can bring Mackenzie Red Shirt into the conversation as a possible suspect. She’s been harassing you after you brought her name up with the Shooting Star case. Harassing you to the point you had to change your cell phone number. Officer Ferguson can back you up on that.”

  Naomi’s eyes gleamed. “That would be sweet payback.”

  “Can you do that? But only if it comes to that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Remember. This is a covert op. The tribal police have no idea what the FBI is doing, and we need to keep it that way.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Now run through this for me one more time so we’ve nailed down every detail.”

  She ran it down in perfect order, with the same type of clinical detachment I used. I knew there was a reason I liked this girl.

  “All right. Let’s do this.”

  Luck was still on my side that no one had moved my cart with the 150 pounds of dog food. I set the duffel bag in the cart and rolled the bags on top of it, hiding it completely.

  I picked the young cashier I didn’t know. When my turn came, I struggled to heft the first bag onto the conveyor belt. Since it was unwieldy, she didn’t take the next two bags out of the cart, she just rang up the first bag three times. I paid cash, secured the scarf around the lower half of my face, and left the grocery store.

  This was the test. I couldn’t look around to see if Sheldon was waiting for the other me to exit the grocery store. Although I’d seen his headlights, I had no idea what kind of vehicle he drove. I unloaded everything in the back of the van. I didn’t adjust the seat, didn’t wait around. I took off and found a parking spot at Smith’s Car Repair two blocks from Besler’s.

  I pretended to talk on the phone, in case somebody was watching me.

  Ten minutes later, Naomi sped past on her way to the reservation. Less than two minutes after that, Sheldon followed in a dark green Dodge Neon.

  Got you now, motherfucker.

  No need to follow close and risk blowing my advantage, since I knew Naomi’s end destination. I kept a Chevy pickup between our vehicles as we rolled down the blacktop to Eagle River.

  The church was located in the center of town on the main drag. As I passed it, I saw Naomi walking up the stone steps, neither too fast nor too slow. Again, I couldn’t take a chance and case the lot for Sheldon’s car, so I kept driving.

  At the three-block mark, I pulled onto a side street, ditched the dog food, and grabbed my duffel, placing it in the front seat. I drove four blocks and backed into a spot at an abandoned bank that had been turned into a private-sale car lot and was a block up from the church.

  With binoculars I scoured the church lot for Sheldon’s car, finding it in the middle, but I couldn’t see any activity inside. Hopefully, Sheldon wouldn’t enter the house of worship until after the service ended. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized I’d given him the slip.

  Nothing happened in the next half hour. Once people started spilling out the main doors, I kept my binoculars focused on picking Naomi out of the crowd.

  She hadn’t left too soon or too late. She wore her coat. Her shoes. Carried her purse. No trace of my things on her person at all.

  Whew.

  Naomi walked with a young boy toward the Pizza Barn. Just another couple of teenagers, hanging out. Sheldon knew Naomi, but he wouldn’t connect her with me.

  Cars began to clear out. Even with a straight-shot view of Sheldon’s vehicle, I couldn’t tell what he was doing inside. Fuming, most likely.

  I waited for him to get out of the car.

  When only three cars remained, Sheldon left his car. He slowly spun a circle, casing the parking lot as he approached the steps.

  I checked out his attire. Black combat clothing. Black hikers. Black wool skullcap.

  What I didn’t see? A bulletproof vest. Or a weapon holstered in his utility belt. Or his glasses.

  A surge of rage stirred up my tranquil pool. Purposely misleading people into thinking he was physically disabled, both his body and his vision, was a coward’s way of fighting.

  I hated cowards.

  Sheldon briskly scaled the steps, still looking around before he disappeared inside the church.

  I smiled.

  Three minutes later he left the building and paused outside the heavy, hand-carved wooden doors, his gaze on my pickup. Pretty quick sweep of the church. I refocused my binoculars. He had something crumpled up in his right hand.

  Aw. He’d found my hate note.

  I smiled again.

  I wondered if Sheldon still felt on top of his military op.

  Would he go home?

  Would he return to my place?

  Or would he go to Hope’s and follow through on his threat?


  Sheldon didn’t make a move for several minutes.

  Then he casually walked around my pickup. He pulled a knife out of the side pocket in his cargo pants. He stabbed the sidewall of my left rear tire. Satisfied the tire was flat, he strolled to his car, climbed in, and started it.

  This was it.

  My pulse didn’t waver.

  Not when he slowly pulled onto the road, heading toward Eagle Ridge.

  Not when he passed by me sitting in this crappy decoy.

  But my heart almost stopped when I saw Sheldon’s taillights flash and his reverse lights come on.

  Oh shit. As the rear end of his car came into view, I ducked and placed my shoulders on the passenger’s seat, staring up at the dingy ceiling.

  Gravel crunched as his car backed into the empty spot one vehicle away from mine. He’d settled in, waiting to see if I’d return for my pickup.

  That surprised me, because it was a smart move. Strategic. Calculating. Not angry, hotheaded, and panicked.

  I wanted him off balance.

  See? We’re alike, Mercy.

  No, we aren’t.

  I closed my eyes and slowly breathed in and out. Sheldon wouldn’t stay here long if I didn’t show up. He’d be on the lookout for me.

  Ironic I was sitting right next to him.

  Breathe. Think. Plan.

  I could get to the heart of this right now. I still had the advantage.

  I could burst out of the car, gun blazing. Randomly shoot at him until he told me where he’d hidden Sophie … or until the tribal cops showed up at the sound of gunfire. Even they wouldn’t ignore that.

  Or I could come up on his six, knock him out, and tie him up. Drag him back to the foreman’s cabin at the ranch and torture him until he told me where he’d stashed Sophie.

  Then you are just like him, aren’t you?

  So?

  Even as I created and discarded strategies, part of my brain refused to cooperate. The dark part that didn’t want this man arrested. The dark part that wanted this man dead.

  Evidently, Sheldon got tired of waiting. He started his car and pulled away.

  I didn’t have time to waste debating the morality of murdering a murderer.