No Mercy (30 page)

Queenie slowed down considerably. I nudged her with my heels again. She grunted annoyance but picked up the pace slightly. Poor girl was struggling. Her sides billowed with each heaving breath. I’d make sure Jake pampered her when this was over, but right now I longed for a riding crop to urge her on.

The crest banked and Queenie lost her footing. She bobbled, righted herself, and slowed to a snail’s pace. We’d made it three-quarters the length of the ridge when three things happened simultaneously: a loud crack reverberated through the canyon, an engine gunned somewhere ahead of me, and my horse came to a dead stop.

When Queenie fell, I fell. The flank strap loosened, and the saddle and I pitched sideways. I smacked the ground on my left side hard enough to make my teeth clack together like castanets. Searing pain shot across my collarbone, up my neck, and down my arm. I didn’t hear that distinctive pop, but I immediately knew I’d dislocated my shoulder.

The reins snapped from my hand. The gun slammed into my lower spine before it jiggled loose from my pants, and hit the mud. My foot popped out of the stirrup, saving my leg from getting pulverized beneath fifteen hundred pounds of dead weight.

My ankle was wedged beneath Queenie’s withers. Grunting against the pain, I wiggled my foot until it was free. The plastic bag caught air and whapped me in the chest. Ignoring the intense agony, I shifted to reach for my gun. I patted the soggy ground.

Nothing.

White-hot spears of fire zipped through my left side as my shaking fingertips connected with the Taurus’s short barrel. Almost… Nope. Still too far.

Gritting my teeth, I slid my hand higher, inching my fingers down the smooth slide, what seemed a millimeter at a time, until I could curl the tips around the barrel. The breath I’d been holding exploded in a rush as I nestled the gun in my palm.

The sound of a revving engine edged closer.

I was out of breath and out of time. Through the adrenaline rush of surviving my worst nightmare, I realized that for me to retain the element of surprise, it had to look like Queenie’s body had incapacitated me. I needed a diversion.

Resting the gun temporarily on the ground, I rustled in the garbage bag, snapped the rubber band on a stack of money, and released a crumpled handful of bills. The wind whipped the loose cash in a swirl of green, a tornado of color against the slate sky.

Despite the pain screaming in my shoulder, I pressed my body to the mud. My heart pumped like an oil derrick. Hot sweat poured from every pore, mixing with the cold rain, making my skin greasy with fear. I thumbed the safety, and cradled the gun to my chest beneath the bag. From beneath lowered lashes I watched and waited.

Theo appeared. Alone. Cautiously alert. A measly .22 clutched in his hand. He spared me a quick glance, then focused on the money blowing across the grazing field toward Nebraska.

My brain was stuck on one thing: Where was Hope? Why wasn’t he holding her hostage to ensure my cooperation?

Because she’s dead.

No. I refused to think along those lines or I’d go crazy and do something stupid.
Be smart. Be patient. Breathe. Listen.

Theo took two steps toward me.

I had one chance to make this work; I hoped like hell Theo’s reflexes were slow. His greedy gaze focused on the bag of money. When he reached for the bait, I lifted the gun and put two bullets in his knee.

Theo’s screams echoed as he fell to the ground, clutching the flapping chunks of bloody skin where his kneecap used to be.

I rolled to the right and sailed to my feet, kicking his .22 aside and out of his reach. My useless left arm hung like a slab of meat. Through the brilliant haze of pain, I aimed the Taurus inches from Theo’s face. “Where is Hope?”

He was blubbering. It didn’t appear he’d heard my question.

To get his attention, I jammed the muzzle between his eyes and yelled, “You’ve got three seconds to tell me where my sister is.”

“Up on the ridge.”

“Alive?”

Blubber. Blubber. Blubber.

I whacked him on the forehead. “Alive?”

“Yes.”

“Then why isn’t she here?”

“She passed out after I… shit, it hurts.”

“After you what, Theo?”

“You’ll hurt me if I tell you.”

“I’ll hurt you worse if you don’t tell me right goddamn now what you did to her.”

Through his mumbles I heard, “I broke her nose.”

Red rage consumed me. I flicked on the safety, gripped the barrel in my hand, and clocked him in the side of the head with the grip.

Theo screamed again.

“You are a sick fuck, beating up a defenseless woman. Did you kill Levi, too?”

“No!”

Again, I hit him with the butt of the gun. Same spot. Only harder. His girlish shrieks didn’t soften my purpose.

“I’ll ask you again. Did you kill Levi?”

“No.” He was sobbing, rocking like a lopsided egg. “I swear. I didn’t kill him. I swear.”

“But you killed Sue Anne.”

He nodded.

“Why?”

No response.

“Don’t think I won’t beat you to get answers. We both know you aren’t man enough to withstand the kind of punishment I can dish out, so start talking.”

“Sue Anne was going to tell the tribal police, the principal, and the community center director I raped Lanae.”

“When did Sue Anne tell you this?” When he seemed reluctant to answer, I smacked him again. He screamed again. “Answer the question.”

“After you talked to her that day on the rez. I followed her home from work that night.” He whimpered and rocked. “It hurts.”

“Tough. Why did you leave Sue Anne to die on my front porch?”

“To make it look like the same person who’d killed Levi killed her.”

Then why hadn’t he used a gun on Sue Anne? Why had he used a knife to slit her throat? “You admit that, yet you expect me to believe you didn’t kill Levi?”

“No. I swear—”

“Did you set fire to the buildings?”

“I tried.”

“Why?”

“If you died, Hope would be in charge.” He rocked back. “Hope wanted to sell from the start. Don’t blame me—”

“Save it. Take me to her. Stand up.”

“I can’t.”

“Do it.”

“But it hurts.”

“Too bad. Get
up.
” Injured or not, I kept my eyes on him every single second. Slowly, Theo rolled to his good knee. His thin shoulders heaved. Looked like he was throwing up. He moaned loudly. He took his own sweet time wobbling upright to stand on one leg like a drunken crane.

The second he was vertical, his stance changed. When he lurched sideways and threw the rock at me, I reacted instinctively. I fired two shots at his heart, one shot in the center of his face.

The blasts knocked him back, knocked him flat, and he was dead before he hit the dirt. I didn’t need to double-check. I hadn’t missed. No one survived three direct hits from a large-caliber gun from ten feet. No one.

Wiping the sticky blood spatters on my face with the inside of my wet forearm, I assessed the situation. One dead guy. One dead horse. One ATV. Me, basically a one-armed bandit. My gaze landed on Theo. Tempting, to put my boot on his hip and send his body careening down the hillside. Let the buzzards and the coyotes take care of his worthless carcass, just like in the old days of the Wild West.

But that’d make it difficult for the rescue workers to bring his body back up. No point hiding the fact I’d killed him. It’d be a true test of my acting skills to work up an ounce of remorse.

Crouching down, I threw my gun in the garbage bag on top of the money and dragged it behind me. I limped between Queenie’s twitching body and Theo’s sprawled form toward the ATV. At least I wouldn’t have to rifle through a corpse’s pockets for the keys; they hung from the ignition like a silver charm.

I tossed the bag in the back of the four-wheeler. Didn’t help. Jesus. My shoulder socket burned as I climbed on and started up the machine.

Rain beat on my face. Thunder crashed and lightning spiked close by; my skin tingled, and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. When the back end of the ATV skidded out, I forced myself to slow down on the rain-slickened embankment. I couldn’t save Hope from the bottom of a ravine.

Just ahead a big cottonwood loomed above a misshapen lump.

Hope. Motionless.

Just like Levi.

No. Hot fear lanced me and I refused to look to the sky for the circle of crows. Once I reached her I cut the engine and bailed off, momentarily forgetting about my shoulder, but the instantaneous pain was a raw reminder.

I slipped in the muck, falling to my knees. Hope was curled up in a ball; her broken wrist flopped between her breasts like a dead trout. I leaned as close as I could without losing my balance. Blood crusted the middle of her face like a strawberry birthmark. I placed my finger on her carotid artery.

A faint pulse, but a pulse nonetheless. Thank God. I smoothed my shaking hand over her face, her arm, her throat; everything was icy cold.

Since I couldn’t pick her up I gently rolled her flat.

Burgundy spots of blood polka-dotted her white shirt. I didn’t see additional injuries. Hope might be in shock, but I wouldn’t have to field dress wounds before calling for medical attention.

It took four frustrating attempts to remove the cell phone from my left rear pocket with my right hand. Between the moisture and my trembling limb, the silver box squirted from my grasp like a slippery bar of soap. I plucked it up, crud and all, and hoped it hadn’t broken in my fall. I dialed 911.

Explaining the severity of the situation to dispatch didn’t go smoothly. Then again, babbling in a thunderstorm about an injured pregnant woman, a man I’d shot to death, and a dead horse could’ve sounded like a crank call.

After hanging up, I immediately called Jake. He knew exactly where I was on the ranch, but I had to talk fast to convince him to go to the house and stay there so he could lead the ambulance to us.

Now all I had to do was wait. As good as I was at the waiting game, it’d be a miracle if I didn’t go insane. I didn’t dare sit down or I’d pass out from pain. So I paced.

How many times had I been in situations like this? All over the world? Injured, waiting for help to arrive? Praying that everything would turn out all right once it did?

Dozens. Upon dozens. And as I paced in that sodden field, I realized I wouldn’t miss that part of my life a bit.

Jake dismounted and tied Ace to the cottonwood tree. He loped over and his gaze flicked me top to bottom. “You ain’t looking good. What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Dislocated my shoulder when I fell off the horse.”

His eyes went wide. “You
rode
out here?”

“Yeah. Long story.” I paused, returning my focus to the medical crew. “Sorry about Queenie. It happened so quick.”

“Might’ve been a heart attack. Not your fault.”

Our eyes met again. No recrimination in his, just concern.

“I’m not hurt as bad as Hope.”

“But bad enough.” Jake yelled, “Got another injury here that needs attention, Rome.”

“No. I’ll be fine. Just get Hope stabilized.”

“She is,” Rome said as he pushed to his feet. “Let me see you.”

“How is she?”

“Unconscious. The sooner we get her to Regional Hospital, the better. She isn’t in immediate danger so they aren’t sending the helicopter, especially in this weather.”

“What’ll happen once she gets there?”

“They’ll probably determine whether the break on her wrist requires surgery and reset her nose. We’ll have to wait and see on the prognosis for the baby.”

I’d forgotten about that. “So can we go right now?”

“Whoa.
You
aren’t going anywhere.” When he placed his hand on my biceps, my arm stung like he’d smacked me with a crowbar and it was difficult not to shriek with pain. “I’ll have to call for another ambulance for you.”

“What? Why can’t I ride with her?”

“Can’t have two injuries in the same cab. Against county policy.”

Another reminder of why I hated bureaucracy. “I am not going to sit here and wait for a fucking joyride while Hope is in surgery, Rome.”

“Calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“If there was any way around this—”

“There is. Fix me first.”

His startled gaze met mine. “Are you serious?”

A large figure was slogging across the field. Dawson. Through gritted teeth I said, “Yes. You’ve done this before, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it.”

“Dammit, Mercy, it doesn’t work like that. We need an ortho to reset it—”

“No. You do it. Now.” I shuffled closer. “I
am
going to the hospital with Hope in that ambulance. I don’t care if I have to ride into Rapid City on the damn roof one-handed.”

“You’re in shock.”

“Quit being a chickenshit. You aren’t going to make it worse.”

“Mercy, I don’t think—”

“Don’t fucking think,” I hissed. “Just do it.”

Resigned, Rome sighed and pointed to Jake’s hand. “Give her your glove so she’s got something to bite down on.”

Jake whisked off a thick glove and rolled it up lengthwise. “Open,” he said, and I unclenched my jaw. He worked it in my mouth across my tongue, stretching it until my teeth were covered in leather. “You sure about this, Mercy?”

I nodded.

“What do you need me to do?” Jake asked Rome.

“Brace yourself and hold on to her. No matter how tough she thinks she is, this is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.”

No lie. I bore down, focusing on the rough texture of the glove against my tongue. The tangy taste of the sweat-stained leather and dirt burst in my mouth.

“Easy.” Rome placed his hand on my collarbone and I almost launched into orbit from the agony of that simple contact.

Jake became an immovable wall on my right side; my shoulder was jammed into the center of his chest. His left hand gripped my left hip. He wrapped my fingers around his right wrist and whispered, “Squeeze.”

I should’ve fallen back on my yoga training and deep
uji
breathing. Instead, I held my breath and my body rigid. Despite my claims, Rome couldn’t just pop it into place; he’d have to maneuver the bones back into proper position.

When Rome jiggled my arm back and forth, I squinched my eyes shut and swallowed the nausea. My breath stuttered in a muffled scream. Shit. That hurt.

“Easy. Almost got it.”

Liquid streamed down my face, couldn’t tell if it was tears or rain. I increased my grip on Jake’s wrist.

After a harsh jerk, something popped. It grated, bone grinding on bone, making my knees buckle from sheer blinding pain. The glove in my mouth couldn’t stifle my agonized howl. Saliva dribbled out the corners of my lips. Jake hauled me upright and held me steady while Rome finished the torture.

Rome twisted until everything snapped into place. I grunted, and the soggy glove dropped from my mouth. The burning sensation morphed into a constant throb. Rome gently lowered my arm as I buried my face into Jake’s neck, sagging against him.

I couldn’t catch my breath. I shook like a wet dog. I should’ve been mortified that I looked weak, but I hurt too bad to care.

Dawson said, “She okay? What happened?”

Rome said, “Dislocated her shoulder.”

“Shit.” Then, “Why isn’t she getting treatment down by the ambulance?”

“Because I just reset it for her.”

“Christ! Are you kidding me?”

Jake was stroking my hair and murmuring softly in Lakota.

“You aren’t supposed to—”

“I know,” Rome snapped. “She insisted.”

“What in the hell were you thinking, Mercy?” Dawson said.

I stepped back and gazed at Jake, mouthing
thank you.
“I’m thinking it’s time to get Hope to the hospital.” I didn’t look at Dawson until he blocked me in.

“Not so fast. You have to answer some questions first.”

“Later.”

“Now.”

I blinked the moisture from my eyes. “Then you’ll have to cuff me, Sheriff, nothing besides metal bracelets will keep me here. Nothing.” I lowered my voice. “But we both know I can take you in a ground fight, so don’t even try to stop me.”

“Don’t push me, Gunderson.”

“Don’t think I won’t shoot through you, just like I shot through Theo, to get to my sister, Dawson.”

Hard cop stare. “You admitting you shot him?”

My hard stare right back didn’t waver. “Yep.”

Rome and Jake crowded in around me. “Mercy isn’t going anywhere besides the hospital,” Rome said.

“Back off,” Dawson warned. “That’s a county ambulance you’re driving. Last I knew, you worked for me.”

“Last I knew, it was an elected position,” Rome retorted. “And if you want to keep the job as sheriff come election time, you’ll let her go right now.”

“You threatening me?”

“Just stating the facts. After what she’s been through in the last month, not to mention what she went through today, she doesn’t need this right now.”

Dawson’s gaze moved between the three of us. I gave him credit; his eyes didn’t linger on me. No one would suspect he’d rolled out of my bed yesterday morning.

“Fine. Answer this, Miz Gunderson: am I gonna run across any other bodies up here?”

“No.”

He pressed his nose to mine. “The second you’re cleared from the hospital, the
second,
I expect you in my office.”

“Rome,” the short guy shouted from beside Hope’s stretcher. “She’s ready. Let’s go.”

Jake wrapped his jacket around me and said, “I’ll stick around, see if Dawson needs anything else. Once this is done, I’ll call Sophie and we’ll head to the hospital.”

I nodded.

Jake and Rome kept me sequestered from Dawson as I climbed into the back of the ambulance and endured the hellish back-roads ride into Rapid City.