No Mercy (9 page)

the hair from her face so that it was over her shoulder. A couple of times she had told him she wanted

to shorten her hair, but he refused to allow her to do more than have it trimmed. Her hair was far too

beautiful to cut. She was a natural redhead, her hair vivid and unique. The smattering of freckles

over the bridge of her nose added to her beauty.

The redness in her cheeks from working over the heat of the stove gave her a pretty blush. With

her petite stature and delicate bone structure, and the pureness of her fair skin with its few freckles,

she looked like a china doll with red hair that was such a unique shade that it was almost difficult to

describe. Not a flame red, but not dark, somewhere in between.

When they were young he had coveted her, and then he had cherished her when they were

finally together during their senior year in high school. It had taken him some time to win her over,

but when he had, he’d made sure he did everything in the world to keep her. She had all she could

desire, including a doting husband who continued to romance her, even after twenty years of

marriage. He would do something special for her for their next anniversary. Perhaps he would take

her to France or Italy, or maybe someplace more tropical such as Aruba or Costa Rica. Not Hawaii—

it was too full of tourists.

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his and always would be. He would put her six feet into the ground before he would ever let her go.

She nibbled on her lower lip and he didn’t like the sadness in her expression, but that had

certainly been unavoidable. Eventually the emotional pain would pass and she would get over what

he’d had to do. Of course she didn’t know he was the one responsible, and she never would.

As if sensing his presence, she looked up from the pot and gave him a shadow of a smile. He

didn’t like that the smile didn’t reach her eyes that were an unforgettable shade of blue.

“Dinner wil be ready soon.” She put the lid back on the pot. “We’re having
al carbón
, homemade

tortillas, and cilantro-lime rice.”

“By the amazing smells, I know it is perfect,
mi mariposa
.” His butterfly. He went to her and

brought her into the circle of his arms, loving the feel of her warm body.

She rested her head against his shoulder and let out a soft sigh. “I want to have my friends over

for dinner.”

He stil ed then drew away from her. “You know I do not want them here as guests.”

“It would mean a lot to me.” Tears brimmed in her eyes and a flash of anger made him want to

slap her. “They like you.”

He nearly sneered but tried to keep his expression free of anger. “Your friends excluded me from

your little group. Do not think I have forgotten that.” And damned if he’d let a federal agent into his

home.

Christie let out her breath. “It wasn’t that you or anyone else was excluded, it was just that the

seven of us had been together since elementary school. We had a tight bond. Anyone would have

felt like an outsider.”

“No.” Salvatore’s voice was sharper than he’d intended. “It wasn’t until Belle left that you would

even look at me.”

“Please.” She placed her palm on his chest. “They mean so much to me.”

Salvatore caught her hand in his. “When wil dinner be ready?” He was making it clear to her

that the subject was now closed.

Her lips trembled and she looked away. Again the desire to slap her was strong, but he’d never

laid a hand on his wife. Once he started, he was afraid he might not stop, that it would be the first

time of many. It was similar to the ways of a man who drank—just one drink led to another and

another.

The thought of putting her in her place until her friends were out of her mind was far too tempting.

He took in a deep, controlled breath and let it out again.

“I have something to attend to in my office.” He had difficulty in keeping the hardness out of his

tone. “Dinner will be on the table by the time I return.” He glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, Salvatore.” She spoke quietly as she lifted the lid on the skil et fil ed with
al carbón
and

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He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Instead, he turned and walked out of

the kitchen, toward his home office.

When he reached his private space, he unlocked the metal door before relocking it behind him.

He went straight to his desk and opened the cherry wood humidor and retrieved the key from beneath

the cigars.

He knelt and opened the floorboard, the door beneath that, and then the safe. He looked down

into it, directly at what he’d come for.

As tense and angry as Salvatore was, he needed a fix. Just a small one, but enough to curb his

anger. From the corner of his safe, next to his handwritten ledgers, he withdrew the stash of cocaine

he kept for trying moments like these. He snorted a couple of lines on top of his desk, breathing in

the drug.

As he knelt again and started to put away the coke, he bumped his arm on the desk and spilled

a good amount of the drug onto the floor beneath his desk. Irritation made him growl, his muscles

tensing. He swept up the cocaine into a small envelope, closed it, and put it away with his supplies

before locking everything up again. No sense in discarding perfectly good coke. He might be rich,

but he didn’t believe in waste.

He stood then put the key back in its place beneath the cigars in the humidor. He closed his

eyes and breathed in and out a few moments until he relaxed and his mood improved significantly

from the coke. He let the moments of irritation slide from him before unlocking his office door, closing

and locking it behind him, and heading back to the kitchen and his beautiful wife.

***

***

Belle’s purse bumped against her hip as she walked through the glass double doors into

Salvatore’s office on Main Street in the Copper Queen Plaza in Historic Old Bisbee. Both practical

and decorative copper items filled the room, and the furniture and bookcases were all walnut.

A walnut and glass display showcased several gorgeous pieces of famous Bisbee Blue

turquoise along with valuable natural stones and crystals. The office exuded the kind of elegance

that didn’t exactly match the small town charm of the community.

“Hi, Belle.” Christie smiled as she looked away from the large computer monitor on her desk.

A lone closed door was a few feet away from her. Behind that heavy walnut door must be

Salvatore, where he conducted most of his business. According to Christie, he didn’t like doing

anything in the office in front of the glass double doors. “He’s a very private man,” Christie had said

many times.

Belle usually liked being around her friend’s husband, but it was true that he certainly was a

private man.

“Ready for lunch?” Belle asked.

“Absolutely.” Christie clicked a couple of keys on her computer before pushing back her chair

and glancing at the closed door. “I forgot to tell Salvatore that I’m going out with you for a couple of

hours.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “He told me he absolutely could not be disturbed,

so I don’t dare knock on his door.”

Belle didn’t like the concerned look on Christie’s features and for a moment she wondered if the

man abused her friend. Belle mentally shook her head—as an abuse survivor, she was fairly

confident she knew what to look for. Salvatore had always treated Christie like a princess whenever

Belle was around.

But what if there was more to it than that? What if he liked to intimidate Christie? Belle tried not

to frown as she considered the fact that Salvatore could be an emotional and verbal abuser. She

wasn’t so positive she’d be able to read those signs.

“Maybe we should wait or reschedule.” The last thing Belle wanted was for her friend to have to

face any kind of domestic squabble.

“He’l be fine. I’l leave him a note that we’re just going to the café downstairs.” Christie leaned

over and looked at the computer screen. “There are no appointments for the next two hours on our

shared calendar, so he’s not expecting anyone. He’s a perfectionist when it comes to updating it.”

She scribbled on a square notepad, retreated from her desk, and pressed the hot pink sticky note

against Salvatore’s door, where it stayed. “I’l just lock up so no one walks in without me being here.

He hates that.”

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a smile. “Why don’t I go to the café and pick something up for all three of us?”

Christie hesitated. She looked at the pink note and back to Belle. “Would you mind?”

Belle kept the smile on her face. “Jot down what you’d like me to get and I’l be right back.”

Christie’s shoulders relaxed. She retrieved the note from the door, crumpled it and tossed it in a

copper wastebasket. She grabbed another hot pink note and this time wrote down what she wanted

Belle to get.

When she took the note from Christie, she saw “gril ed chicken sandwich” and then “turkey club”.

The club sandwich had a detailed list of what to put on it and what to leave off. Christie pointed to it.

“He’s very particular about what goes on his sandwich.”

Belle couldn’t say she was surprised. Salvatore had been very “selective” the two times the three

of them had gone out to dinner together in Houston.
Make that picky,
Belle thought. Having been in

the restaurant business all of her adult life, picky customers weren’t her favorite thing. But Salvatore

did tip well.

The thoughts reminded her of her last night at the restaurant before she quit, and table three’s

complaints. Every trying thing that had happened that day already seemed so long ago. She had a

hard time believing that she’d be returning to Houston with no job and only a savings account to live

on. At least what money she had should tide her over, hopefully long enough to get a job.

“Don’t worry about getting drinks.” Christie returned to her seat “We have sodas and water here.”

Belle nodded. “I’l be right back.”

Christie gave her a little wave and Belle headed out the glass doors and downstairs to the Bisbee

Coffee Company. The café was also in the Copper Queen Plaza but on the opposite side of the large

building from Salvatore’s office. She didn’t rush, not in a big hurry to get back.

She passed other glass-walled businesses with a variety of arts and crafts displayed for

purchase and promised herself she would spend some time going through the shops just to enjoy

looking at all of the things she could look at but didn’t dare buy on her budget.

The café was at the corner of the plaza. It smelled of coffee and warm quiche. She placed

Christie’s and Salvatore’s orders, along with a chicken salad sandwich for herself. While she waited

for their lunches to be prepared, she walked out on the patio.

Her cream crew neck sweater, black blazer, and jeans were just enough to keep out the early

November chil . She breathed in the cool air as she looked up at the overcast sky. It hadn’t rained

since yesterday, but it still smelled of rain.

She let the clean air and the relaxed environment calm her nerves that had been on edge for

the past several days. She wondered where Dylan was and what he was doing with the investigation.

Could Nate have been murdered? It was hard to believe, yet not. It was harder to believe that he

would take his own life.

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illegally parked in front of the Bisbee Mining and Historical Museum across the street from the Copper

Queen Plaza. What caught her attention was not the car, but the man leaning with his backside up

against the vehicle. He had his hands in his pockets and he was staring right at her.

What had been a chill on her skin now felt like ice. She turned and dodged back into the café.

Her order was ready and as she grabbed her wallet out of her purse, her hands shook a little. She

didn’t know why the man had unnerved her, but he had. The car had seemed familiar, too, and she

wondered if she’d seen it someplace before.