Relentless River: Men of Mercy, Book 10

by Lindsay Cross

  Relentless River

  Men of Mercy

  Lindsay Cross

  Cypress Bend Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Relentless River: Men of Mercy

  Your Free Book is Waiting…

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Before you go…

  Also by Lindsay Cross

  Introduction

  Acknowledgments

  Relentless River: Men of Mercy

  He was Ice.

  Sheriff Bo Lawson was everything a retired Marine Special Operations Operator should be. Cold. Calculating. Calm in all situations. He handled terrorists and too drunk locals without blinking, until a couple of dead bodies show up in his small town, throwing his controlled environment into chaos.

  She was fire.

  Cheri Boudreaux, manager of the local bar, lives her life by one rule – work hard and play harder. The last thing she needs is a repeat of her father: a strict stick-in-the-mud unable to veer from the rules. Then she meets Bo, a walking, talking sex god in uniform and her preconceived notions incinerate.

  Ice meets fire.

  Bo craves order. He craves control. He craves a red head with a wild streak wider than the Mississippi. She is everything he despises, but can’t get off his mind. So, when Cheri needs help, he wants to be her knight in shining armor.

  Threatened by a deadly foe neither of them could predict, Bo and Cheri clash in an uncontrollable inferno. When the truth is revealed, their world falls apart – can they find the strength to fight for each other or will their newfound love fall under a relentless tide of evil?

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  They say love conquers all…but marriage, kids and working undercover is proving that statement false.

  Lori watched helplessly as her husband’s undercover work drew him further and further away. When she discovers all those nights David worked away from home may have been spent with another woman, her calm collected world falls apart.

  David dedicated his life to taking down criminals-by any means necessary. After months of long days and nights, he finally closes the case on the most bloodthirsty drug cartel this side of the Mississippi. Now he can turn his steely determination to gaining back his wife’s love and respect.

  Faced with David’s relentless advances, Lori is helpless to resist. But their rekindled love is threatened when the cartel discovers David’s identity. Now David and Lori must fight for their lives with the same passion as they fought for their love.

  Copyright © 2017 by Lindsay Cross

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  Dead bodies. Damn it all to hell. He was sick and tired of dead bodies turning up in his town. After skating by the past few months without incident, Sheriff Bo Lawson had actually started to relax. He’d stopped going to the office on the weekends. Hell, he’d even started planning a vacation. That little cabin on the north side of the White River was perfect for trout fishing and had been calling his name for years.

  So much for a vacation. Dead bodies trumped trout.

  Bo turned off Highway One onto a barely there trail that cut through the woods and led down to the Mississippi River. Tall grass slapped the front of his police cruiser as he eased down the muddy road, bugs splattering his windshield. The balmy seventy-degree weather of late November in South Mississippi had done absolutely nothing to kill off the millions of bugs that inhabited the area.

  Not for the first time since he’d retired from Marine Special Operations, Bo questioned his decision to go into law enforcement. If he’d been sane, he would have settled on working at the hardware store or something. He wouldn’t be out driving through the woods in the middle of the night to check out the report of a floater at Party Cove, the biggest party sandbar in the county.

  After another minute of knocking his cruiser out of alignment in foot deep potholes and overgrown brush, he hung a slight right into a large clearing and parked next to a decade-old single cab truck, its back end filled with old beer cans and fishing tackle. With a sigh, Bo grabbed his tan sheriff’s hat and got out of the car. Immediately his foot sank ankle deep into the mud. Shit. He’d climbed out of bed with his woman for this?

  He pulled hard, his boot making squishing sounds as the thick goo relinquished control. Bo shook his foot, slinging off the excess and tromped through the grass to the edge of the drop-off leading down to the pearly white sandbar along the Mississippi River. Patches of dense, lowlying fog hovered over the water near the opposite bank. The dark, cloudy sky was a gloomy blanket weighing on his shoulders, enhancing the fatigue, which urged him to turn back around, go home and climb right back in bed with the curvy redhead he’d left sleeping on his pillow.

  Instead, Bo stepped over the edge and worked his way down to the sand, pulling out his large flashlight as he went. So help him God, if John Redman’s phone call was a result of another drunken hallucination, Bo was going to lock the old man up for the night. Halfway across the sandbar, he clicked on his flashlight and then heard another click right behind him.

  A click that made Bo stop cold in his tracks.

  “Get your hands up and turn around real slow like.”

  Bo did as he was told, hands in the air, careful not to make any sudden movements and found himself staring down the wrong end of a double-barreled shotgun old enough to make him fear an accidental misfire more than the man holding the gun. John Redman, Mercy’s resident alcoholic, stood on unsteady feet, gun wavering in his bony hands.

  This wasn’t the first time Redman had threatened someone with his gun, and Bo would make sure tonight would be the last. Bo tamped down the surge of anger at John’s recklessness and forced himself to remain calm.

  “John, you’re the one who called the sheriff’s office in the first place. Remember?”

  John narrowed his watery eyes in Bo’s direction. The man had to be pushing ninety and refused to wear his glasses or his dentures. “That you, Sheriff?”

  “Yeah. Put your glasses on before you go shooting the wrong person.” Bo kept his hands raised until John lowered his weapon, digging the end of his rifle into the sand and leaning on its stock like a walking cane.

  “Can’t be too careful these days, all these hoodlums running around stealing stuff. I tell you, Sheriff, the world ain’t what it used to be.”

  “I guess not,” Bo said, lowering his hands. “Now, want to tell me why you called so upset earlier?”

  “Think I’d better show you.” John yanked
his rifle to his shoulder, slinging sand into Bo’s face as he did it. He stumbled across the sandbar and Bo made sure to stay back and slightly to the right, away from the aim of John’s gun.

  The landscape sloped gently down, running the length of the river for a good half-mile or so. The remnants of a bonfire, put out hours ago, still smoked off to the west, and folding chairs which were a permanent party fixture stood sentry around it. Beer bottles and cans lay in a pile, forgotten by the people who’d consumed them. “You didn’t come down here and scare everyone off, did you?” Party Cove was the local hangout for the college kids, and if John came down here waving his gun, drunker than Cooter Brown, they would have scattered, fearing for their lives. Rightly so, too.

  John waved a hand in the air dismissing Bo’s words. “No, got hungry and came down here to snag me a catfish, but I ended up snaggin’ something else.”

  As they neared the water’s edge, the reason John called came into view. “Hell.”

  A body still half in the water, lay face down in the sand.

  “Did you pull him out of the water?”

  John scratched his patchy beard. “Might have just a bit when I reeled him in. Didn’t know rightly what to do when I saw him.”

  Bo squatted next to the body, transferred his flashlight to his left hand, and felt for a pulse. Cold, wet flesh squished beneath his fingers. “Dead.”

  Bo pulled out his radio and called his deputy. “Bart, I’m at the crime scene. Need you to call forensics and the coroner down to Party Cove.”

  His radio crackled and then Bart’s excited voice filled the air. “Damn. Didn’t think Redman was serious when he called it in.”

  Bo pressed the return call button on the handheld. “Yep.”

  “Want me to call the Feds?”

  “No. Just do what I said and hurry.”

  Another radio crackle. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  Bo shoved the handheld back into its holder on his utility belt and shined his flashlight on the body.

  John propped one elbow on his rifle and pulled a flask out of his back pocket. “Want a sip?”

  Bo’s stare turned incredulous. “I don’t drink on the job, and you should probably take a break, too.”

  “Ain’t going to be able to sleep tonight.” John completely ignored Bo’s words and took another drink. “Probably won’t be able to sleep all week.”

  “Why don’t you go on over there, build a fire up and have a seat?” It would be better if John got out of his way. The risk he might accidentally stumble into the water and drown himself wasn’t unrealistic.

  John didn’t move except to continue swaying left to right as he attempted to stay standing. “You go on now, I’ll be fine.”

  Bo took John’s arm and maneuvered him over to the fire, physically placing the old man into a camp chair. “Stay put.”

  Bo went back to the water’s edge and hunkered down, studying the surrounding area for any personal articles or clues. The disturbed sand, which was likely from John’s boots, and a face down corpse were the only things in his vicinity.

  Another set of headlights arced over the ridge and then cut off. A car door opened and Bart called out, “I got the kit, Sheriff.”

  Frustration piled up on his shoulders. This addition to his caseload would mean even more hours at the office, especially with the ongoing investigation from the last body they’d discovered. “You got the floodlight still in your trunk?” Bo called out.

  “Yep, I’ll bring it down.”

  Bo heard Bart’s trunk open and close and watched as he ran down the slope with a large black forensics kit in one hand and an expandable yellow light in the other. “Here you go.” He handed Bo the kit, then quickly set up the pole and flicked on the large battery-powered floodlight. “The coroner’s on his way. Forensics is coming from Greenville. They’ll be an hour or more getting here.”

  Bart squatted on the other side of the body and tipped his hat back. “Can you tell anything about the cause of death?”

  The guy’s blue jean jacket and pants were soaked through. “Not yet.”

  The other body discovered earlier this week in the bayou, not the river, had a single gunshot wound to the head, which wasn’t enough of a difference to rule out a possible relationship between the deaths.

  “He’s got the same look as the other body. His hands haven’t even started to prune. Same type of clothing, I’d be willing to bet they are directly related. Maybe even kin.”

  “Let’s see what forensics comes up with before you go all CSI on me, okay?” Problem was it did look related. The last body had been a twentyish male who’d been found floating in a body of water.

  Bart peered down at the body, propping his elbows on his knees as if taking a closer look could answer his question. “How’s Cheri holding up? She have any nightmares?”

  Bo glanced up at his deputy. “No. She’s made of a lot sterner stuff than I gave her credit for.”

  His girlfriend, Cheri Boudreaux, had been shot by a known felon less than twelve hours ago. Thank God, she’d come out with just a nick. If the bullet had been another couple of inches over, Bo would be standing in the hospital instead of out here, wishing he was back at home in bed with her.

  He’d seen enough violence to know most people couldn’t handle it, not without some kind of internal scarring. However, Cheri had come out unscathed, and Bo would be thankful for the rest of his life.

  “The girl has iron flowing through her veins.”

  Bo gave a snort of laughter. “Since when did you turn into a poet?”

  “Well, I did like to read Whitman as a teenager.” Bart returned his grin.

  “Catfish are gonna eat really good tonight.” John stumbled over from the fire.

  “Really, John? Have a little respect for the dead,” Bart said.

  “What? It’s true ain’t it?” John Redman backpedaled, as if Bart was the one who’d said something offensive. He quickly recovered, though, and peered down at the body. “Y’all figure out who ithe is? He related to the other body y’all found?”

  Bo let out a sigh, wondering the same thing. If this was related, Bo couldn’t afford to wait all night for forensics to show. Careful to disturb as little as possible, he slowly turned over the body.

  Bart expelled a loud breath. “Shit.”

  “That who I think it is?”

  “John, get your ass back in the chair before I cuff you to it,” Bo said.

  He’d failed.

  All the air in Bo’s lungs disappeared. He’d known better than to go back.

  And he’d done it anyway.

  Bo sank to his knees in the sand, no longer able to hold himself up on the balls of his feet.

  He’d bent the rules.

  He’d let the perp go.

  For her.

  Bo looked into a pair of green eyes the same shade as Cheri’s. Only they were dull. Sightless. Dead.

  A giant fist punched into Bo’s chest and held there, squeezing the life from him.

  He’d failed.

  2

  One week earlier…

  Cheri Boudreaux lowered the neon green knockoff Ray-Bans down the bridge of her nose and stared into her rearview mirror at the flashing blue and white lights. Perfect. Another ticket to add to her growing collection.

  “The Sheriff must have it in for you.” Her cousin, Lamont Boudreaux, sprawled back in the passenger seat sans seatbelt, casting a lazy sideways glance out of the corner of his green eyes. Eyes most of the women in this town fawned over, but they didn’t know Lamont like Cheri did. And honestly, if most of the women in their small town were even the least bit friendly, Cheri might warn them of her cousin’s penchant for bad behavior.

  Might.

  “I think he just looks for excuses to talk to me.” Cheri shoved her sunglasses back in place.

  Sheriff Bo Lawson exited his car and strode toward her window with his usual calm, measured stride. He’d probably walk just as steady during an earthq
uake.

  “Says the person who can’t take her eyes off him.” Lamont hooked a finger over his clean-shaven chin and gave her a wink.

  Cheri snorted, even though she kept her eyes fixed on Bo. He’d abandoned his sheriff’s hat, and the sun practically glinted off his close-cropped blond hair. As he neared, the muscles rippling beneath his fitted police uniform seemed to pop and ripple with each minuscule movement, as purposeful as the man himself. “You’re one to talk about admiring a good-looking piece of ass.”

  “True, except all the asses I admire come crawling to me,” Lamont’s Cajun drawl softened as he spoke. Her cousin had lived with her since they’d fled their hometown in southern Louisiana. And since he split the bills and worked for her, she couldn’t deny he was an asset she was glad to have around. Except sometimes she suspected he did a little bit more on the side than the local girls.

  “I could have him if I wanted him,” Cheri snapped.

  “Prove it.”

  Bo’s lean hips filled up her driver’s side window and her head craned on its own to the side, eye level with his belt buckle. Her mouth went dry. Bo propped his forearm on the roof of her car and leaned down. As per her usual loss of control around him, Cheri got sucked into his crystalline blue eyes, chiseled jaw, and sculpted lips. Thank God she had on the dark sunglasses. She felt no shame in admitting she wanted the man, but she didn’t want to see his flash of amusement when he noticed.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, Sheriff?” Cheri made sure to draw out her syllables so she practically purred the last word. Satisfaction rewarded her efforts when Bo’s mouth tightened.

  “You’d think after the number of tickets I’ve given you, you’d pay attention to the speed limit signs.” Bo’s deep voice practically vibrated through her.