No Mercy (10 page)

Gnats filled my mouth and nose as the sun beat down, reminding me of my impulsive action. No water, no hat, no protection from the heat. Not to mention the fact that I hadn’t even bothered to grab a gun. I’d be dead if I headed into the desert so unprepared. Civilian life was making me soft.

I hit the gas, standing so the motor wouldn’t bog down. Once I cleared the rim and spied the copse of trees, I knew Levi wasn’t there. The kid was probably holed up at a friend’s house drinking beer, playing video games, and ripping on parental authority.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to double-check. Levi had mentioned another spot. Had he told me where? Or had he just alluded to it? Man. The sun was frying my egg. I took a break in the shade. What had we talked about? The need for wide-open spaces. A lone gnarled tree.

Whenever I pondered life’s big questions, I liked to be where I could see for miles. Where I didn’t feel cooped up. Only one place like that within walking distance of both his house and ours.

I sped across the field. In greener years this sweeping vista had shown off the simplistic, yet spectacular prairie splendor. In spring, delicate lavender crocuses, purple rockets, scarlet globe-mallow, and wild yellow snapdragons were sprinkled throughout the low-lying meadow. But in the middle of drought, pretty flowers and green grass were scarce. Succulents like yucca and the cactus held their own even as the wind blew red dust, covering them so they were nearly unrecognizable bumps.

Land is one thing that doesn’t change. It’d been nearly ten years since I’d been on this section. The flat top of the bluff was within view. I floored it, aiming the ATV to the right, climbing the gentle slope instead of trying to spin my way to the top between two colossal boulders.

As I closed the distance, I decided if the shape my eyes locked on was indeed my nephew, I would chew him out. If he planned on living with me even temporarily, I’d have to know where he was at all times. Even times he thought he needed to be alone.

I parked the ATV and squinted at the lump in the middle of the bluff. Yep. It was Levi, all right. I shouted, “Hey, lazybones. You better have a good reason for dragging me out of the air-conditioned house.”

No answer.

Maybe he was sulking. “Levi? I was kidding. Come on. Get up and let’s head back to the ranch and we’ll talk.”

Shadows flickered across the ground. I looked up and saw the misshapen circle of birds flying above my head, heard the cawing of gleeful crows.

I ran.

But I was too late.

Levi was already dead.

I sat down hard as the finality hit me.

Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God-oh-God
.

How could this have happened? How could Levi be dead? How could I possibly tell my sister her son was dead?
Dead dead dead
repeated in my head until I screamed to stop it.

I clasped my hands around my knees and rocked, staring in absolute disbelief at puddles of blood beneath his lifeless body. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t do anything but rock, cry, and gape at my nephew’s rapidly cooling remains.

Time had no meaning. I probably would’ve stayed locked in my grief and shock until sunset. Shooing away bugs and predators. Hoping like hell I’d wake up and realize this was just another fucked-up combat nightmare. But the ground rumbled. Some part of my brain recognized hoofbeats. In a normal frame of mind, I would’ve panicked at the sound.

The rider brought the galloping horse under control. I didn’t look up. Instead, I slammed my eyes shut.
Go away. If you’re not here, this isn’t real.

Leather creaked, sounding abnormally loud in the afternoon lull. Spurs jangled. The stirrups smacked against horseflesh after the dismount. Dust and the rank smell of horse sweat eddied around me. A shadow fell across Levi.

I heard Jake’s garbled, “No.”

My tears fell harder.

I didn’t speak. I silently begged Jake to let me fall apart out here alone. To let me temporarily get my grief out of my system so when I had to face my fragile sister, I could be strong for her. I’d always been the rock. I didn’t know any other way to be.

Tears poured down my face, blurring my vision. I wasn’t sure who I felt the sorriest for: Levi, because the last minutes of his life had been hell, or Hope, because her life would become a living hell.

Hot wind whirled over the bluff, rattling the leaves of the bushes clustered at the bottom of the ravine. Delivering the scent of sage. The scent I associated with death. I squinted at the heavens, allowing the breeze to dry my cheeks as I studied the wispy white clouds.

In that moment I realized I did know who to feel the most sorry for. The person who’d killed Levi.

I’d find them. And when I did? The “one shot; one kill” motto of the U.S. Army Snipers wouldn’t apply.

I stood to block the blazing sun as I scanned the horizon. The only access to this remote area was by horse or four-wheeler. Or by walking in, as I suspected Levi had.

Who had he trusted enough to bring to his brooding place?

Without moving, I glanced at the hard-packed ground surrounding Levi’s body and a few feet beyond. I didn’t see footprints, or horseshoe marks. Animal or ATV tracks. Sheriff Dawson had his investigative work cut out for him.

No way could he chalk this up to another accident like he’d done with Albert Yellow Boy.

I didn’t waste energy worrying about Dawson. Strangely enough, I didn’t plan out the best way to tell Hope about Levi. Of all the millions of words in the world, I doubted I could come up with the right ones even if I had a lifetime to prepare.

Mad Dog and I were going to butt heads on this, guaranteed.

Heavy footsteps stopped behind me. Followed by the thud and scuffle of bags being dropped in the dirt. No conversation, just the
flap flap flap
of the nylon straps on the ATVs, the dry wind constantly beating in my ears, and the sorrow screaming in my soul.

Sheriff Dawson didn’t offer condolences. He sidestepped me, inching closer to look at my nephew’s body.

He didn’t move for the longest time. “How long have you been here?” he asked, without facing me.

“I don’t know. Couple of hours.”

“He was like this when you found him?”

No, you stupid cowboy, I shot him in the chest so he wouldn’t blow away.

A lifetime later, he asked, “You gonna answer that?”

“Yes, he was like this when I found him.”

“Did you walk around? Check things out?”

“Are you asking me if, in my rage and grief of finding my nephew
murdered,
I fucked up your crime scene?”

Dawson wheeled around. “Take a deep breath, Mercy. I know this is hard as hell, but we’re on the same side here.”

Where was the cold, detached part of myself I’d honed to a sharp edge? I inhaled. Exhaled slowly. Started over. “I didn’t mess with anything. I saw him and knew it was too late. I didn’t walk around, didn’t do anything…”
But cry
.

“Did you see anyone? Maybe off in the distance?”

I shook my head. The motion made me dizzy.

“Hear anything?”

“No.”

He moved in front of me, blocking the sun, frowning at the tear tracks I knew lined my dirty, sunburned skin. “You had anything to drink in the last couple hours?”

“No. I didn’t think I’d be gone this long.”

“Kiki, bring Miz Gunderson a bottle of water.”

Kiki trotted over. “I’m real sorry about Levi, Mercy.”

I nodded, unscrewed the cap, and drank. Wasn’t cold but it was wet.

Dawson left me to my thoughts as Kiki and Davey began to take photos, search for evidence, and do all the necessary things that make for great TV drama. Personally, I’ve never understood the public’s fascination with the indignity of death.

I watched in silence. After years of covert-ops training I could stay in one spot for hours. Not fidgeting, not blinking, not moving, barely breathing. Dawson noticed, but didn’t comment.

After the sheriff conferred with his team, he walked back to me. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share the details about how Levi was killed with anyone.”

“No problem.” I paused. “Even Hope?”

“You think she’ll disclose the information to everyone in Viewfield?”

I thought about Hope chatting up Kit McIntyre and telling him our business in the grocery store. “I don’t know.”

“Stress to her that keeping this under wraps is important. We’ll share this with the fewest people possible.”

“Why?”

“Because it got all screwed up with Albert Yellow Boy. Too many people knew….”

At least Dawson recognized he’d made a mistake. “Do you trust the people in my dad’s department?” Shit. “I meant in the sheriff’s department?”

“Implicitly. It won’t be leaked from my end.” His face and his tone softened. “We’re loading him up now. Might be best if you head back to the house.”

“I’m fine.”

Dawson sighed. He rubbed the scruff of his neck. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Make me regret letting you stick around.”

“
Letting
me stick around?” I lowered my voice. I knew better than to chew his ass in front of his subordinates. “Need I remind you exactly whose land you’re on, Dawson? And if it wasn’t for me bucking your advice that Levi would eventually show up, it would’ve taken you three goddamn weeks to find him just like Albert Yellow Boy.”

Dawson’s expression didn’t change. “I’ll ignore that smart-ass comment, on account you’re not thinking clearly. Get on your machine and go home, Mercy. There’s nothing else you can do here. Hope needs you a lot more than Levi does at this point.”

My stomach pitched. Ticked me off he was right and I hadn’t even thought to ask whether anyone had told her. “Does she know?”

“No. Jake called Dr. Canaday. He and Sophie promised to stay with her until the doc arrived.”

Damn. Hope would assume Dr. Canaday was there to take care of Levi.

“Just so you know, we’ll be bringing him back through your place. That’s the easiest access for… emergency services. Kiki and Davey will handle the transport personally.”

It made sense, but it sickened me. I’d need to give Hope the awful truth before she saw her son’s body in a black bag.

I turned away, my mind already on the horror I had yet to face and not the horror behind me.

You reacted the same way when your father was dying.

No. Not the same. Not at all.

Wasn’t it?

Sophie sent me outside to dump the garbage. I thought I’d been holding it together fairly well… until Jake pulled up with Shoonga. The dog bounded from the pickup bed, sniffed me, smelling Levi on my hands. He barked and whined, rubbing his body on my lower legs, trying to herd me to where I’d hidden his master. When he looked up at me with those expectant brown eyes, tongue lolling out of his mouth, I fell to the dirt and sobbed quietly in his fur until he’d had enough and darted away.

Beyond heartsick, I pushed to my feet and returned inside to pace and hover over my sister.

During a rare quiet spell, I left Hope lying on the couch. In Dad’s office I made a list of people to call, but ultimately, I couldn’t even pick up the phone. As I rooted around for a pen, I found Dad’s last prescription for Valium. I’d never consider offering it to a pregnant woman, but I looked at it longingly, wishing I could down a pill or ten. After accomplishing nothing, I tiptoed into the living room in case Hope had fallen asleep.

Not only wasn’t Hope asleep, she wasn’t alone. Jake sat beside her on the sofa. They didn’t notice me. I lurked in the shadows. Hiding. Listening. Waiting. Doing what I do best.

Hope clutched Jake’s hand. “I’m sorry—”

“Ssh. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! I’ve been stupid and selfish.”

“I never blamed you.”

She cried harder. “See? You should blame me. I’m so sorry. I planned to tell him.” Her breath hitched and she was having difficulty speaking. “Now it’s too late and he never knew.” Sobs burst forth and her whole body shook.

The knots in my stomach tightened. I shifted slightly, intending to show myself, and berate Jake for whatever stupid thing he’d said to upset her, but Jake’s words froze me to the spot.

“Even when
he
didn’t know, I knew. I always treated him like my son.” He gently smoothed the damp curls from her brow, as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

My mother always cautioned me nothing good ever came from eavesdropping. For most of my life I thought it was bad advice. Now I wished I’d taken that advice and slunk away when I’d had the chance. Maybe I should’ve swallowed that whole bottle of Valium.

Levi was Jake’s son. Jake was Levi’s father. Not Hope’s late husband, Mario Arpel. The phrase repeated in my head like a bad song lyric:
Jake was Levi’s father. Jake was Levi’s father.

My spirit shriveled; I felt my muscles and bones threaten to liquefy. A burst of white light rushed past me as the years disappeared to a spring morning my senior year in high school. I sang along with Tanya Tucker on the radio. When I climbed out of the shower, I noticed blood between my thighs. A trickle rapidly became a torrent. Blood discolored the sunny yellow bath mat. Cramps seized me, and I had to bend over the bathtub from the intense pain.

I could barely crawl across the hallway to use the phone. Sophie had gone into Rapid City and I hadn’t wanted my father to worry, so I called my best friend Geneva. By the time she arrived, I was floating in and out of consciousness and lying in a pool of blood.

Geneva called 911. All dispatch calls went through the sheriff’s office first, so my father pulled up the same time as the ambulance.

The rest of the images from that day were blurry. One memory is crystal clear; the ghostly paleness of my father’s face as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance.

Spontaneous abortion at age eighteen isn’t uncommon. But nearly hemorrhaging to death and having a hysterectomy at age eighteen is.

I hadn’t even known I was pregnant. Once the pregnancy ended it was pointless to talk about it. To Dad. To Sophie. To Geneva. Especially to Jake.

Within a month, my body hadn’t shown signs of menopause. Within two months, I left the ranch, my childhood, and the memories of Jake and me far behind.

Or so I’d thought.

A floorboard creaked in the kitchen. Jake lifted his head and saw me by the china cabinet. Our eyes met. No reason for me to hide the murderous rage in mine. I felt triumphant at the fear in his.

He leaned down to whisper in Hope’s ear, then slipped out the front door.

Coward.

I dug deep until I found the tranquil mind-set that helped me to survive combat situations. I inserted myself into the warm spot Jake had vacated and fussed over my sister, tucking the afghan under her elfin chin.

Her face resembled one of those wax carvings at the tourist traps in Keystone outside of Mount Rushmore. When her bloodless lips moved, I nearly leaped to the ceiling.

“You heard, didn’t you?” she whispered.

“Yeah.”

More tears fell. “Do you hate me now?”

“I couldn’t ever hate you, Hope.”

“Really?”

“Really. I know we haven’t always been close… I don’t know if it was because I was gone, or because of stuff from when we were kids, but I am here for you now. I’ll always be here for you.”

“Thanks.” Her throat muscles worked, but her voice was still scarcely a whisper. “For the first time I really feel like you mean that, Mercy.”

“I do.” I changed the subject lest I start crying again. “Sure you don’t want me to have Doc Canady give you something to help you sleep?”

“I won’t take anything, so stop badgering me about it.” She wiped beneath her eyes. “And stop asking me if I can keep quiet about how he”—her breath hitched in an effort to finish—“how Levi died. I’m good at holding a secret.”

Boy, was she ever. “All right.” Needing something to do with my hands, I fiddled with the fat gold yarn tassels on the afghan.

“Where’s Shoonga?”

“On the porch. You want me to get him?”

She nodded.

I cut through the kitchen and opened the screen door. The dog looked up from his usual spot by the stairs. “Shoonga. Come.”

Shoonga cocked his head like it was a trick. We never let animals in the house. He’d been on the receiving end of Sophie’s broom a time or two, so I didn’t blame him.

I patted my thigh. “It’s okay, Shoonga, you can come in.”

The dog stood and slunk past me, tail tucked between his short legs. He waited in the kitchen, whining, until I led him to Hope’s side. Shoonga licked her hand and dropped on the carpet next to the couch.

“You need anything else?”

“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“You don’t even have to ask.” I sat beside her and rubbed my knuckles over the baby-fine hair on her forearm, like my mother used to do when I was sick as a child. Hope had known so little of our mother; I wanted to give her something that’d always calmed me. The repetitive motion helped her relax until her breathing slowed. When I was certain she was out, I briefly snuck upstairs, then came back down and grabbed a bottle of Wild Turkey and a glass on my way outside.

The night air retained the day’s dry heat. I poured three fingers of whiskey and knocked it back. Don’t know why I bothered with a glass. According to my best guess, I’d drained half a bottle throughout this nightmare day. I wasn’t drunk; I was absolutely numb.

As much as I didn’t want answers about Hope and Jake, I knew I’d have to ask questions. Since waking Hope wasn’t an option, that left me one other choice.

I drained the bottle, loaded my Sig .357, and melted into the shadows.