No mercy, p.29
No Mercy, page 29
“I know we’d both rather be doing something else, but for now, I need you to work with me, because it’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”
Her ears swiveled my direction.
Maybe she’d cooperate now that I’d confessed my failings. When I inched forward, she lifted her front left leg, tossed her head and cleared her nostrils, blowing snot everywhere.
Nice. But I’d dealt with much worse bodily emissions from dead soldiers. I shook off Queenie’s gross-out tactic.
Another footstep closer. “Come on and stand still, girl. I won’t hurt you. See?” I reached out and placed my palm on her warm neck. Held up the halter so she could see it. Stroked her velvety brown coat. She flinched and tried to sidestep me again, but I stood my ground and kept touching her. Trying to reassure us both that this was okay.
“Good girl, Queenie.” I patted her and murmured nonsensical words. Hoped like hell she couldn’t hear how fast my heart beat with primal fear. Next I touched her nose, pushed down gently, a signal to get her to lower her head. “Let me slip this on.”
Talking soothed her. I kept up a running dialogue in the same quiet cadence. She stayed still while I lifted the nylon halter and slipped it over her nose, buckling the strap below her left ear.
She blew out a frustrated breath.
“Doing great, girl. Almost done. Let’s get you saddled up. Then you can run off all this aggravation.”
Hurry hurry hurry kept racing through my head.
I grabbed the lead rope and threaded it through the ring on the bottom of the halter, under her jaw. After I opened the stall door with my elbow, I led her into the main aisle of the barn. Having her in a less confining space didn’t alleviate my fears.
Water pooled on the dirt-packed floor. I figured Queenie would bolt if I gave her the chance. Instead of letting the lead rope drop and ground-tying her, I looped it through the D-hooks imbedded in the log support beam outside the stall with a quick release knot.
The roof vibrated from another clap of thunder.
I lifted the saddle blanket from the railing. Humidity made the wool damp. I settled the blanket on her back, a little high on the withers. I hoisted the saddle, careful not to toss it on her too hard.
Luckily Queenie didn’t hump her back. Although when I skirted her to reach her right side to check the cinch and drop the stirrups from the saddle horn, she did a little crow hop. The saddle slid so it ended up cockeyed. I managed to keep my panic at bay, even as I remembered how the cumbersome saddle sliding under the horse’s belly had set off the temperamental Thoroughbred that’d killed my mother. I straightened the saddle, pulled the cinch under her belly, and tightened it through the cinch ring.
I untied the lead rope. Walked her a few steps forward and back, then rechecked the cinch. Sure enough, she’d puffed up her belly with air before I’d fastened the cinch and it was already loose. I tightened it a little more and grabbed the bridle.
The dim gray light affected my vision. I leaned closer and squinted, noticing Queenie’s gums sagged around her mouth, a sign of age. I remembered Jake mentioning we might need to put her down soon. If she was sick, was riding her a danger to me?
Hurry hurry hurry.
I unhooked the halter, letting it dangle below her jaw. My right hand trembled as I held the top of the bridle and pulled it up over her head and ears at the same time as my left hand gently tried to push the bit into her mouth. Stubborn old nag wouldn’t open up. I slid my finger into the toothless place in the back and pushed until she opened. I quickly slipped in the bit. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
I swear Queenie gave me that you-kidding-me? look, and a tiny bit of hysteria crept into my laugh. I removed the halter and draped it over the railing.
Clutching the reins, I directed her to the barn door. I opened it and noticed the rain had let up. The sky was an odd shade of silver, misty clouds hung low, thick like fog, but cast no shadows on the patches of ground the color of wet cement.
I snatched the backpack off the peg and threaded my arm through one strap. Flipped open my cell phone and dialed.
The bastard didn’t answer until the seventh ring. “Yeah?”
“I have the money. The horse is saddled and ready to go. Tell me where you are.”
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t call.”
“Where are you?”
“On the ridge above the ravine on the west end of the creek. Know where that is?”
Wouldn’t be wise to snap at him that I knew this land better than he ever would. I visualized the grazing section. No trees or rocks or any shelter of any kind. So much for a stealth entry. Even a gilly suit wouldn’t offer camouflage in such a wide-open area. “Yeah, I know where it is. You at the top of the creek? Or the bottom?”
“Middle. And you’ve only got five minutes left. Did you do that on purpose? You planning something?”
Fear snaked up my throat, choking me.
Before I could croak no, he said, “Maybe you need another incentive to get moving?”
I heard Hope whimper, “No, don’t!” followed by her high-pitched scream and then nothing.
Rage burned away any remaining fear. I jammed the phone in my left rear pocket and prepared for the last step.
Riding.
The mount up should’ve scared me, but I was unexpectedly calm as I scooted Queenie close enough to get a leg up. On my first attempt she swung her butt sideways and I lost my balance, crashing into the support beam behind me.
“Come on, girl, I don’t have time for this.”
I tightened my grip on the reins and tried again, shoving my left foot in the stirrup. Even as the saddle shifted and Queenie decided to reverse, I threw my right leg over. My butt hit the contoured leather of the saddle.
I was on a horse for the first time in thirty years.
No time to give myself kudos. I slid the backpack around. With the reins in my left hand, I rooted until I found my weapon. I shoved the gun in the small of my back and settled the garbage bag full of cash on my lap.
I pressed my heels into Queenie’s sides. She walked until we cleared the barn and the yard. Trotted as we passed the stock tanks. Once we hit open pasture, I gave her her head and we hit a full gallop.
And it still wasn’t fast enough.
TWENTY
Queenie’s strides ate up the prairie. Rain warred with the swirling fog, though I scarcely noticed the conditions. Remembering how to ride a horse wasn’t like remembering how to ride a bike. I jounced in the saddle, out of kilter with the animal’s natural grace. The anger and fear pounding in my blood was synchronized to Queenie’s erratic hoofbeats. I needed patience. Prudence. A faster horse.
I spurred her harder when she lagged. The ridge Theo had picked stretched above a small spring-fed stream and wasn’t as verdant as in years past. I tugged the rein in my right hand; Queenie didn’t hesitate at the switch in direction. As we galloped along, I peered over the edge. Nothing below us but chunks of shadowed shale and clumps of stony soil, colorless as the sky.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.
• • •
From my vantage point, I saw Jake gallop in on his horse Ace, the ambulance close on his horse’s hooves. The lights flashed red blue red blue in a blur, but the siren was silent. Two patrol cars finished up the motorcade. Jake’s mount shied and jerked hard to the left, instinctively fleeing from the dead horse and the scent of blood. He spurred in my direction.
The ambulance followed Jake. I pointed to my sister, lying on the ground. Rome and a guy I didn’t know jumped out. Hope didn’t stir as they checked her.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?”
