No Mercy (10 page)
After she paid, she thanked the employee who had assisted her, left a tip in a small silver bucket
by the register, and headed back to Salvatore’s office.
By the time she’d pushed open the office’s glass doors, she’d shaken off the creepy feeling the
man across the street had given her.
She walked in, returned Christie’s smile, and held up the bag. “Lunch is served.”
“I am starving.” Christie pushed aside papers on her desktop and pointed to a chair in front of
the desk. “If you don’t mind, we can eat here.”
“Perfect.” Belle peeked into the bag and pul ed out one package labeled “gril ed chicken”, along
with the one printed with “chicken salad” and two small bags of BBQ chips. She left the club sandwich
in the bag.
After they spread out their meals, and Christie had grabbed a couple of Cokes from a small
fridge cleverly disguised as a cabinet, they started to eat.
Christie brought up the topic of the small memorial they’d had for Nate in the mountains and the
subject weighed heavily on Belle’s heart.
“It was beautiful.” Christie sighed. “It almost felt like Nate was there, you know?”
“Yes.” Belle pictured the white daisy she had dropped over the ridge and how it had floated
down. “I wish I had stayed in touch with him more than the couple of times we spoke.” She thought
about the conversation at the Den and learning what everyone was up to. “I wish I would have kept
up with everyone.” Yet that would have meant Dylan, too, and she wouldn’t have been able to handle
that.
“Heck, Belle.” Christie brushed strands of long red hair from her face. “I
live
in Bisbee, and I
didn’t keep up with everyone. If anyone feels guilty for not keeping in touch, it’s me.”
Belle shook her head. “Don’t think that way.”
Christie tilted her head to the side. “Only if you don’t.”
“I guess regrets don’t real y serve a purpose.” Belle let out her breath. “Al we can do is change
what we do from this point on.”
“Agreed.” Christie washed down a bite of her food with Coke.
They ate their sandwiches in silence for a few moments as Belle turned everything over in her
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committed suicide. Belle figured that Christie was also thinking about Nate and the CoS.
Christie took another sip of her Coke then placed the can back on her desk. “You started a new
job, didn’t you?”
Belle set her sandwich on its wrapper. “I had to quit.” She explained her boss’s refusal to let her
take time off for Nate.
Christie scowled. “What an ass.”
“Christie…” A warning tone came from behind her and she and Belle looked up to see that
Salvatore had walked out of his office. “Language like that is unbecoming of you.”
Belle’s first instinct was to narrow her eyes, but she worked to keep her expression placid.
Christie winced and looked at Salvatore. “Sorry, baby. I was just a little upset for Belle.”
“Regardless, you should keep yourself above foul language,
mi mariposa
.” Salvatore placed his
hands on Christie’s shoulders from behind and leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head.
Stil gripping Christie’s shoulders Salvatore raised his head and looked at Belle. “What
happened?”
Belle shrugged. She didn’t want to explain again, but it would have seemed rude not to. “I don’t
have a job now. My boss wouldn’t let me take off time for Nate’s funeral, so I quit.”
“That’s a shame.” Something flickered in Salvatore’s eyes, but he moved to the desk and
reached into the café bag. “Mine?”
“Just the way Christie ordered it for you.” Belle picked up the remaining half of her own sandwich.
For the first time, Belle wished the man would leave, but he seemed intent on hanging around.
Maybe it was because she wanted Christie to herself for a while.
Christie looked at her husband. “Dylan doesn’t think Nate’s death was a suicide.”
Salvatore stil ed. In a casual movement, he looked at his wife. “Oh?”
She nodded. “Nate sent all of us postcards and Dylan doesn’t think Nate would have sent them
if he had intended to kil himself.”
A sinking feeling weighted Belle’s stomach. She didn’t like that Christie had brought up anything
about the CoS to her husband. It was personal, especially the postcards.
“Nate sent cards to all of you?” Salvatore leaned his hip against Christie’s desk. “Including you,
Christie?”
“I’m sorry.” Christie looked apologetic. “I was so upset about Nate’s death that I forgot to tell
you.” She leaned down and opened a large drawer in the lower left side of her desk. She brought
out a purse and pulled out a postcard of Bisbee’s Mule Pass Tunnel.
She turned over the card when the glass doors to the office opened.
They all looked in that direction and Bel e’s heart made a strange swooping sensation.
Dylan.
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Wranglers fit him well and hugged his hips and athletic thighs perfectly.
The crazy urge to go to him, press her body against his, and wrap her arms around his neck to
kiss him, almost made her dizzy with need. She wanted to slide her hands down his chest, feeling
the hard muscles beneath her palms. And my God, she’d never seen biceps as powerful as his. Her
body reacted just to the sight of him, her nipples hardening beneath her sweater and an ache
developing between her thighs.
If he was surprised to see Belle, he didn’t show it. He took off his Stetson and nodded in
Salvatore’s direction. “Salvatore.” In turn he said, “Hi, Christie. Belle.”
“Hi, Dylan,” Christie said. “I have the postcard right here.” She flipped it over. Something’s off
about it, like the others’ postcards.” She read it aloud,
Christie,
I hope life and all that goes into it is treating you well. Time has flown by and it’s been much
too long.
One of these days we’l have to go out for ice cream. I’ll always remember how much you
love strawberry dipped cones. You know how chocolate is my favorite flavor and I’m ready
to hit the Dairy Queen again.
Watch your step.
Love,
Nate
“Nate
hated
chocolate.” Christie shook her head. “He was a vanil a man all the way. What do
you think he was trying to say to us?”
Dylan extended his hand and Christie gave him the postcard. He tucked the card into the pocket
of his overshirt.
Salvatore looked mildly curious. “Each of your friends in the CoS received notes like this?”
Christie nodded. “And everyone says there is something off about their note.”
Salvatore folded his arms across his chest and leaned his hip against Christie’s desk as he
looked at Dylan. “My wife said you believe Nate’s death wasn’t suicide.”
“It’s possible.” Dylan gave a casual shrug. “Our investigation is standard procedure.” He turned
to Belle. “Mind if I walk with you to your hotel?”
Considering her hotel was across the street, she didn’t real y need to be escorted. But then she
thought about the man standing in front of the museum, which was right before her hotel, and a
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“I don’t mind at all.” She wrapped up the rest of the sandwich and stuffed it into the now empty
bag. “My postcard is in my room at the hotel, so it’l be a good opportunity to give it to you.”
Christie wore a disappointed expression. “You’re leaving already?”
Belle smiled at Christie. “I’l call you and we’l get together.”
Dylan put on his western hat and touched the brim as he nodded to Christie before looking at
Salvatore. “Have a good one.”
Belle gave Christie a hug, smiled and said goodbye to Salvatore, and went with Dylan out the
glass doors of the office.
Dylan and Belle walked in silence through the plaza. Voices of shoppers echoed through the
large building that decades ago had housed Phelps Dodge Mercantile.
When they walked outside, Belle looked across the street and was relieved that the man who’d
been there earlier was nowhere in sight.
Belle’s arms prickled with goose bumps and she rubbed them with both hands.
Dylan studied her. “Is something wrong?”
“Not real y, I guess.” Belle met his gaze. “It’s just that earlier, when I was getting lunch from the
café, I saw a man standing in front of a white car right over there.” She gestured to the museum
across the street. “I could swear he was staring at me. It gave me the creeps.”
Dylan narrowed his brows. “What was the make and model of the car? Do you remember
anything about it, like markings or damage?”
“The front fender was a little banged up.” Belle shrugged. “I don’t know about the make and
model. Why?”
He didn’t answer her question, just asked one of his own. “What did the man look like?”
“Hispanic.” Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “Five-nine or five-ten, round face, black hair and
clean-shaven. He was thickset with big arms.” She shook her head. “That’s all I can remember.”
“You must have gotten a pretty good look at him.” Dylan had his phone out again and was typing
notes onto the device. “What was he wearing?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Beige slacks and a white button-up shirt. I didn’t notice his shoes, but I think
he was wearing a gold watch.”
“Anything else?” He looked up from the screen.
She shook her head. “That’s all I can remember.”
“Let me know if you see him hanging around again.” Dylan holstered his phone, frowning. “Stay
away from him if he does come near you.”
“Okay.” Her skin tingled as Dylan put his hand at the small of her back and looked both ways
before guiding her to the crosswalk.
They reached the black iron fence in front of the red brick museum. On the other side of the
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mines.
She put her hand on one of the fence’s black railings and turned to Dylan. “Why would anyone
be watching me?”
Dylan shook his head. “I don’t know that anyone is watching you.” She released the rail and he
guided her down the sidewalk that went around the museum. “But I may have seen a vehicle
matching that description hanging around. I’d prefer to err on the side of caution.”
Belle and Dylan walked to the back of the museum to a steep street. A little jog to the right was
the infamous Brewery Gulch and straight ahead was a Mexican restaurant. They crossed the street
and walked uphill to the entrance of the Copper Queen Hotel, which was built in 1902.
They walked up the stairs and he pushed open a pair of wood and glass doors that led into the
lobby. Once the largest city between St. Louis and San Francisco, Bisbee had seen its fair share of
well-known individuals. Some of the many famous guests who had stayed in the Copper Queen over
its historic past included John Wayne and President Teddy Roosevelt, Stephen King, and J.A. Jance.
The hotel was also considered by many to be haunted, but Belle hadn’t experienced any
activities related to local spirits.
She and Dylan walked up the stairs and she dug the big brass key out of her purse. The hotel
still used real keys for its rooms. He took the key from her and opened the door that swung open to
reveal the room she was staying in.
Belle had one of the hotel’s smaller rooms fil ed with antique furniture, including a full-sized bed
and a writing desk. Simple nightstands with small, pretty tiffany lamps were on either side of the bed.
The walls were papered with roses, and drapes covered the windows. The TV seemed out of place
in the old-fashioned room that also had Internet, which seemed odd in a room that took one back
over a hundred years.
She set her purse on a quaint wooden armchair. She slipped out of the blazer she wore and
hung it on the back of the chair in front of the writing desk. When she turned to face Dylan, he had
closed the door behind him and locked it.
The air in the room suddenly seemed too thin to breathe as they stared at each other. He was
so tall and virile, a dominant man in every way. He looked rough and untamed.
She knew how gentle he could be. She’d never forget the way he’d touched her and loved her
in the sweetest ways.
Time flew backward and she remembered when she’d looked at him for what she knew would
be the last time, and how hard it had been to keep him from seeing it in her gaze.
An ache started at the backs of her eyes, and pain welled up inside her. Old memories, old
wounds that had never healed. And secrets. Secrets too great to bear.
A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away with her fingertips, wishing she could take
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He looked at her almost helplessly, but caring so deep in his gaze that it made her want to
crumble.
More tears flooded her cheeks.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He crossed the few paces between them and took her in his arms. He held
her to him, his big body seeming to swallow her with comfort. “Shhh.” He gripped her so tightly that