by Nancy Mehl
“What about the Bloods?” Mark asked. Most people had no idea that the Crips and the Bloods were made up of many smaller splinter groups. And they didn’t all get along, even though their roots were the same. Mark learned early on that when it came to terrorizing a city, gangs were experts. Although law enforcement considered the gangs to be nothing but low-life criminals, they respected their ability to tear a community to shreds. The police and the Marshals approached them with caution.
“I think they’re headed for war,” Batterson said, “unless we find a way to stop it. The Rollin’ 60s don’t like giving up any part of their territory. They may work together for a while—so long as the cartel’s money is flowing their way. But long-term? I don’t see it. I’m not sure Vargas understands that.”
Mark knew quite a bit about the cartels. Next to overseas terrorist organizations like ISIS, they were the most cold-blooded groups on the planet. Gang leaders like Darius thought hooking up with them was smart, but it wasn’t. One false move—a hint of anything that looked like betrayal—and the cartel would order hits as easily as Mark ordered fries at McDonald’s. Darius had found that out the hard way.
“If Mercy has what they think she has, it could bring everything crashing down.”
Mark breathed in deeply. “And if she found something like that, she’d have turned it in immediately.”
Batterson rose from his desk, walked over to the window, and looked outside where snow was falling steadily. “Unless she’s working both sides.”
“Richard, you’ve known me a long time. When I tell you I’m certain Mercy Brennan isn’t dirty, why can’t you believe me?”
Batterson grew quiet for a minute, and Mark wondered if he was going to ignore the question. Finally, Batterson cleared his throat and stared at Mark with an almost hawklike expression. “Look, you and Brennan were a great team. I paired you because you’re better together. But that was before . . . before you changed. When you got religion . . .” He waved his hand toward Mark. “I don’t fault you that. Some of the best people I know have . . . faith. But after that, when you and Brennan broke up, you couldn’t work together anymore.” He shook his head. “I lost one of the best teams I ever had, and neither one of you is as effective as you used to be.”
“What are you talking about?” Mark pushed down a surge of outrage that rose in his throat like bile. When Mercy ended their relationship, Mark had been devastated. He would never let her know just how much it hurt him. It had taken him months to get over it. Actually that was a lie. He still wasn’t over her. Had it really affected his job performance? He always gave his best effort. Surely Batterson was mistaken.
“I’m still not sure you really loved her,” Batterson said abruptly. “I think she was a challenge. An arctic queen with a frozen heart you were determined to melt. Did you know that when she worked for the PD, they nicknamed her ‘Frosty the Snow Cop’? Here some of the deputies call her ‘No Mercy Brennan.’”
“That’s enough.” Mark fired his words like bullets. He clenched his hands together, trying to choke back the rising anger.
Batterson seemed to realize he’d pushed the wrong button, because his expression softened. “I’m sorry, Mark. It’s just that after Audrey . . . well, I don’t want to see you go through something like that again.”
Mark relaxed his fists but not before he noticed the impression of his nails on his palms. He had to calm down. He prided himself on being able to handle pressure, but this morning he felt like a kid whose favorite toy had been stolen. He had to get a handle on himself. “This is nothing like Audrey, Richard. She loved me, and I loved her. Leaving wasn’t her choice.”
“I know that. But you married her even though you knew she was dying. I’m just afraid you’re looking for another . . . cause.” He sighed, then said, “Look, Mark, I’m probably wrong, and I know I’m interfering. You’re a smart man and you’re still an exceptional deputy. Sorry to sound like a mother hen. Clearly I’ve stepped over the line.”
“Maybe for my boss, but not for my friend.” Mark managed a small smile. “Audrey wasn’t a ‘cause’ for me. I truly loved her. I knew her chances of beating stage-four cancer were slim, but I really wanted to marry her. And she wanted to be married. I’m not sorry she died as my wife. I’m just sorry she died.” He took a deep breath and tried to slow down his racing heart. “Now, let’s get back to this new operation. I still think we’re going about it all wrong.”
Before Batterson could respond, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he barked.
Batterson’s administrative assistant, Carol Marchand, opened the door and stuck her head in. “Deputy Brennan is here, Chief.”
“Thank you, Carol. Is the file ready for Deputy St. Laurent?”
“Yes, sir. It’s on my desk.” She nodded at Mark. “You can pick it up on your way out.”
Batterson nodded. “You can show Deputy Brennan in now, Carol.”
She nodded and closed the door. Seconds later, Mercy walked into the room. For a moment, Mark felt as if he couldn’t catch his breath. He had the same reaction when he’d gone to her apartment. She still ignited a response in him he couldn’t control. She certainly wasn’t a classic beauty. Her nose was a little long, and her mouth was probably wider than what might be considered perfect, but he could get lost in her gray eyes. Her thick dark hair was pinned up today, but whenever she let it down, he saw a spark of vulnerability that usually stayed hidden. Mark was one of the few people who had ever been allowed to see beyond the professional façade she wore like a coat of armor.
He hoped he could handle what was ahead. This assignment was going to be tough. Almost impossible. But he couldn’t allow anyone else to undertake it. He had to protect Mercy, even knowing that when she learned the truth, she’d be angry with him.
“You wanted to see me, Chief?”
“Yes, Deputy Brennan.” Batterson gestured toward the chair next to Mark. “Sit down please.”
She slid into the chair he’d indicated and nodded briefly at Mark. She looked surprised to see him.
Batterson picked up a file on his desk, opened it, and quietly perused it. Finally he put the file down and looked at Mercy, his forehead furrowed. “Dr. Abbot hasn’t released you to full duty yet.”
“Yes, sir. I’m aware of that.”
No reaction, no irritation, no frustration. Just cold acknowledgment of the fact. As usual, she was unshakable.
“Do you know why?”
“Yes, sir. According to the doctor, I haven’t dealt with my feelings about the shooting. Or about . . . my father’s death.”
This time Mark couldn’t help but sneak a look at her. She’d hesitated before mentioning Nick. He noticed a muscle twitch in her jaw. An odd show of emotion for her. Mercy’s eyes widened before she slipped back into her former emotionless expression.
“How do you feel about that?”
Mercy inhaled slowly. She was definitely bothered about Nick’s shooting, even though she’d told Mark time and time again that her father meant nothing to her. Was there some truth behind Batterson’s suspicions? Could she know more than she was saying? Mark hated himself for even a brief flash of doubt.
“She’s entitled to her opinion, sir, but she’s judging the situation with my father as if we’d had a normal relationship. We didn’t. He left my family when I was ten. I barely remember him. As you know, two years ago he was transferred from the police department in Virginia to St. Louis. He did contact me several times, but our visits were few and far between. I’m sorry he’s dead because he was a law-enforcement officer. We grieve over everyone lost in the line of duty. But his death didn’t affect me any more than anyone else’s.”
Batterson closed the file and frowned at Mercy. “I’m not going to disregard Dr. Abbot’s recommendation, Mercy, but I’m also not going to keep you behind a desk any longer. You’re too valuable to me in the field.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mark saw the relief on her face an
d steeled himself for what was coming.
“We have a witness in a small town about one hundred and thirty miles from here. Four years ago he testified against a crooked alderman who was rigging bids on city contracts for a group of corrupt businessmen. They were cutting deals with organized crime. He ended up in WITSEC.” He reached over and picked up a sheet of paper. “His new name is Daniel Andrews. He’s convinced someone’s watching him. That he’s in danger. I think he’s wrong. Most of the people involved in the case are either out of business or in prison, including the alderman in question. None of them seem like much of a threat anymore.” He peered at her over his thick black glasses, looking for all the world like a college professor rather than a trained law-enforcement professional. “But . . . as you know, our commitment to our witnesses makes them a priority. We can’t take a chance he might be right. I want you and Mark to make a visit. Assess the situation. Let me know if there’s any reason for concern. If there is, we may have to move him.”
That got her attention. Mercy looked at Mark before she addressed Batterson. “I’m sorry, sir. You want both of us to check this out? That doesn’t seem . . . necessary.”
Batterson stood to his feet. “I don’t remember asking you what you thought about this assignment, Deputy Brennan. Believe it or not, this isn’t a democracy. When I say go, you go. Do you have a problem with that?”
Mark was amazed to see Mercy’s cheeks flush pink. In all the time they’d been together, he’d never seen her blush.
“No, sir. I’m sorry. When do you want us to leave?”
“Right away. Go home and pack. Deputy St. Laurent will pick you up in”—he glanced at his watch—“three hours. You should reach your assignment by six this evening.” He turned toward the window to check the snowstorm. It was coming down heavier than before. “Let’s change that to two hours. We need to get you out of here before the city gets snowed in.” He peered at her through narrowed eyes. “The St. Louis PD is graciously allowing us to send a friend of yours along as well. Lieutenant Tally Williams was involved in the initial case. I want his expertise available to the both of you.”
Mercy rose from her chair, her expression taut. Mark knew she hated being blindsided, and that had just happened in spades. “Yes, sir. I assume you’ve given all the pertinent information to Deputy St. Laurent?”
“You assume correctly. He’ll brief you on the way.”
She nodded and left the room.
“That was a little rough,” Mark said when the door closed behind her.
Batterson shrugged. “Necessary. If we hesitate too long . . .”
“She could die,” Mark finished for him, his voice soft.
“Yes,” Batterson said, “she could most definitely die.”
Chapter
Eight
“Did you have time to pack everything you wanted?”
Mercy glanced over at Mark. He was trying to make small talk, but she really wasn’t in the mood. She realized, however, that the drive to Piedmont, Missouri, would be torturous unless they found a way to ease the tension between them.
“I have a packing list already made up. Keeps me from forgetting anything.”
Mark sighed. “I should have known. You’re so organized. Perfect. No room for messiness or spontaneity.”
“You’ve got that right,” Tally said from the backseat. “She was that way in school too. She used to chew me out because my desk was always disorganized.”
“An attempt to control her environment,” Mark said. “Makes her feel safer.”
“Well, thank you, Dr. Freud,” Mercy said, irritation evident in her voice. “You both need to concentrate on the job at hand. My personal life isn’t applicable here.”
“Sorry,” Mark said. “It’s going to be a long drive in this weather. Just trying to make the time go by a little faster.”
Mercy bit her lip to hold back a snide retort. Mark was right. With the weather slowing them down, they would be in the car for a while. Even though she wasn’t happy about being sent on this assignment with him, she needed to do her best to cope. After all, it wasn’t his fault. “I still don’t see why it takes all three of us to make sure this guy is okay,” she said, changing the subject. “Seems like a waste of resources.”
“The chief assigned it to me, and I asked for you,” Mark said. “I knew you were probably miserable behind a desk, poring over those old warrants.” He shrugged. “Sending Tally along was Batterson’s idea, but I think he was right. Tally knows this case.”
“But who cares about this witness now?” Mercy asked, trying to keep her frustration in check. “And how could anyone have found him out in the boonies? We do a good job of hiding our witnesses. The whole thing smells wrong.”
“I have no idea, but Batterson isn’t stupid. He wouldn’t send us out here if he didn’t think it was important.”
“I guess you’re right,” she admitted grudgingly. Momentarily she turned her attention back to the world outside their car. It was really coming down now. The local news stations in St. Louis had certainly blown it this time. Their prediction was for nothing more than light snow. Hopefully it wouldn’t last much longer. “I don’t really mind going through old warrants, you know,” she said. “In the past I’ve found several leads that way. I started my time with the Marshals reviewing warrants.”
Mark grunted. “That’s right, I forgot. Your first two months with the service you found information the police and the Marshals missed. Reopened cases long forgotten, much to the chagrin of your colleagues.”
“I didn’t join the Marshals to be popular.”
“Well, you’ve accomplished that,” Mark said. He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you’d go out with us once in a while it would help. Accept an invitation to get a drink after work. Let people get to know you. They’d like you.”
“I don’t drink,” she said evenly.
“I know that. I don’t either, but I still go. I have a glass of ice tea and talk to colleagues. You’d be surprised at how nice they are. Besides, we all have a lot in common.”
“Yeah, LEOs forever. I know the drill.”
Mark was silent, and Mercy felt a twinge of regret. He was just trying to help. “I know you’re right,” she said. “I’m just not comfortable in groups. I guess I should try harder.”
“Well, if I can help, let me know,” Mark said.
“Maybe the three of us could get together once in a while,” said Tally from the backseat. “We used to go out when you two were . . . you know, a couple.”
“Maybe,” Mercy said, wishing the men would change the subject. She had no desire to see Mark outside of work. Things could get messy again, and she didn’t want to take that chance. Although she hated to admit it, she didn’t trust herself around him. He made her feel vulnerable, and vulnerability was nothing more than weakness. Something she couldn’t afford. “Batterson said you’d brief me on the way.” She needed to redirect the conversation back to their assignment. “What can you tell me?”
“Not much,” Mark said. “You know why our witness went into protective custody. His real name is Samuel Murphy. Twenty-six years old. Your age. Been in the program almost four years.”
Mercy was surprised that Mark knew the witness’s real name. Usually that information was never shared, even with the Marshals. “Wow, that’s young to have already been in for four years. Most twenty-two-year-olds have connections they don’t want to lose.”
“Sam’s parents are dead. No siblings. Bad breakup right around the time this happened. I guess he was ready for something new. We set him up in a house with some horses a few miles outside of Piedmont. He’s done well. Originally he went to school to become a chiropractor. Now he’s a rancher who breeds, sells, and boards horses.”
“Impressive.”
“Yeah, I guess he is.”
Mercy watched as the snow began to blow sideways. It was obvious this storm was going to be much worse than predict
ed. She glanced at Tally in the rearview mirror. He hated cold weather. When he was a kid, his mother had a hard time paying the bills, and winters were tough. Tally had told her how he shivered beneath the covers most nights, making it hard to sleep. He’d always sworn that when he was an adult, his house would be warm in the winter. Even when they’d patrolled together, he hated calls that meant he’d have to spend long periods of time in the cold. She noticed a look on his face that concerned her. He’d been unusually quiet for the last few days, and she wondered why.
“You okay back there?” she asked him.
Tally, who rarely complained about anything, shook his head. “I . . . I’m concerned about Josh.”
Mercy twisted in her seat so she could see Tally’s face. “Josh? Is he okay?”
“Not really.” He sighed deeply. “David Resnick’s son is in Josh’s class.”
“Oh.” About a month earlier, Officer Resnick had been shot and killed after stopping a car for a defective taillight. Unfortunately the guy driving the car had a trunkful of stolen items. He shot David as he approached the car. Thankfully, David’s partner was able to phone it in quickly. The shooter was caught and arrested.
“He’s terrified something’s going to happen to me. I’ve done everything I can think of to reassure him, but it’s not working.”
Mercy frowned at him. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
Tally shrugged. “You were dealing with your own stuff. Besides, I kept thinking he was okay. And he’d seem like it for a few days. But the nightmares keep coming back. He has them at least two or three times a week. He had a doozy last night.”
“That’s rough, Tally. I’m sorry to hear that,” Mark said softly.
Tally was quiet for a moment. Finally he said, “I’m thinking seriously of leaving the force. Annie’s dad owns a chain of car-repair shops in Georgia. He’s offered me a job. Someday, when he retires, I’d run the business.”
