No Mercy

by Cheyenne McCray

  “All right.” Trace hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his Wranglers. “So you took evidence from the scene. What’s on the postcards?”

  “It wasn’t evidence at the time.” Dylan knew he was talking semantics. “I’ve only read two of them—mine and one of the others—and they were both odd.” Dylan looked around the room that looked like it had been worked over well by a forensics team. “According to everyone who received a card, the one they got from Nate had something odd about it.”

  Trace looked thoughtful. “Some kind of code?”

  “I don’t know.” Dylan pushed up the brim of his hat as his mind turned over the problem. “I need to see all of the cards. After I finish up a few things here and at the office, I’m going to gather up the other four and examine them along with the two I have.”

  “If you need any help, let me know.” Trace said in his slow drawl as he eyed Dylan. “And if you feel like you’re too close to the case, I can take over the investigation.”

  “I need to handle this one.” A fire burned behind Dylan’s words. “I am going to find out what happened and why. And who the hell is responsible for Nate’s death.” One thought seared his mind that he kept to himself.

  And then I’m going to make them pay.

  CHAPTER 5

  Salvatore Reyes sat at the desk in his home office, going over paperwork and writing in a ledger that he hadn’t had a chance to get to until now. He had to finish erasing money trails to accounts he’d set up for the Jimenez Cartel in various tax havens. He would reintegrate the money into the market by buying and selling valuable classic cars and real estate to create legal profits. He was good at it and was paid well.

  His cousin, Rodrigo Jimenez, ran the cartel now that Diego was gone. Rodrigo was known as El Verdugo, the Executioner. He was good to his cousins, like Salvatore, but was not someone to fuck with even if you were related to him.

  Salvatore spent some time taking care of business until his stomach growled. He glanced at his watch. Yes, it was nearly dinnertime. Christie was good at having dinner on the table in a timely manner, although since the death of her “friend” she hadn’t been on schedule as she normally would have been.

  The thought sent a twinge of irritation through him, like an annoying itch. He felt it every time the “Circle” was mentioned.

  He opened the very expensive and rare cherry wood humidor that sat on his desk. He liked to collect rare and beautiful things. He pushed aside the Cuban cigars and removed a special key that was beneath the pile.

  When he had the key, he had to kneel, reach beneath his desk, and run the key along the side of a floorboard that was too small to put a finger in. He found a small switch with the key that he used to press the button, and the hinged door clicked and rose. He took the key and unlocked a square door. The door swung up to reveal a floor safe that Christie was unaware of. No one knew about it with the exception of the contractor, one of his many cousins, who had installed it, among other things, for Salvatore. Not even another cousin, the one who helped manage his offshore accounts, had any knowledge of the safe.

  Salvatore’s wife was a part of his collection of beauty. Their wedding day had been one of the most satisfying times in his life because it was then that he had collected her. He punched in the numbers for their wedding date on the safe’s entry pad. The lock clicked. He opened the safe that was filled with over a million in cash along with several passports with fake identities for both himself and his wife.

  Of course Christie knew nothing of the money or the IDs, much less the millions he kept in the offshore accounts. He was primed for any circumstances that might arise. He believed in being fully prepared in all ways.

  Salvatore leaned over the safe and put away his paperwork, including the handwritten ledger he’d been making notes in. He tucked it all next to several other notebooks. Not all of the ledgers were his, but every one of them held damning information. He should destroy the ones he’d recently acquired and soon, he just had to do it himself and he hadn’t had the time. All was secure here with no chance of anyone finding what he kept safe, so he wasn’t too concerned about them.

  After everything was where it belonged, he secured the safe, the door, and the hinged floorboards. He got to his feet and paused a moment, thinking of things that still needed to be done as he pushed his chair back in its place at the desk.

  He left his office, closed and locked the metal door behind him and then strode through his home in the Terraces that was filled with the finer things in life. If he didn’t need to be in Bisbee for his line of work, he would take his wife someplace far more suitable for a man of his means. Eventually he would buy an estate in Mexico, but now he was needed here for business.

  Smells of the dinner his wife was cooking warmed him. Some kind of meat and tortillas, he guessed. Long ago he had taught her how to prepare his favorites as his mom had done when he was growing up.

  He smiled as he stepped into the doorway of his kitchen and slipped his hands in the pockets of his black slacks. He studied his petite and beautiful wife, who was busy at the stove cooking dinner. He loved seeing Christie so domesticated. He would keep her barefoot and pregnant with a dozen kids if she could have children. Instead, he settled for keeping her busy at his office or with women’s work around the home. He rarely let her out of his sight for long.

  She didn’t notice him as he took in the long ringlets of her red hair that fell down her back but swung forward as she leaned over a pot to stir it. With an annoyed swipe of her hand, she pushed 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.

  The feeling of possessiveness within him was so strong his muscles ached with it. Christie was 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 will 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 stilled 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 will 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 skillet filled with al carbón and didn’t look at him.

  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.

  CHAPTER 6

  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’ll be fine. I’ll 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’ll just lock up so no one walks in without me being here. He hates that.”

  Despite Christie’s assurances, she had concern in her eyes and Belle felt uneasy. Belle forced 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’ll 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 “grilled 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’ll 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 chill. 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.

  But murder? She rubbed her arms with her palms and stared out at the street. A white car was 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.

  After she paid, she thanked the employee who had assisted her, left a tip in a small silver bucket by the register, and headed back to Salvatore’s office.

  By the time she’d pushed open the office’s glass doors, she’d shaken off the creepy feeling the man across the street had given her.

  She walked in, returned Christie’s smile, and held up the bag. “Lunch is served.”

  “I am starving.” Christie pushed aside papers on her desktop and pointed to a chair in front of the desk. “If you don’t mind, we can eat here.”

  “Perfect.” Belle peeked into the bag and pulled out one package labeled “grilled chicken”, along with the one printed with “chicken salad” and two small bags of BBQ chips. She left the club sandwich in the bag.