Traffic was steady on a Friday night on the reservation, which allowed me to tail him discreetly. When the last car between us hung a left, I hung a right.
Parking along the road, I cut all the lights. I even unscrewed the interior light after breaking the plastic housing. Then I slipped on my night-vision goggles.
And no doubt about it, the hunt was on.
I returned to the road. The night-vision goggles would work perfectly if I didn’t meet another car. The images were shadowy, as if everything had been dipped in liquid silver and spots had tarnished to black.
Damn quiet and dark on the road between Eagle River Reservation and Eagle Ridge Township. We hadn’t passed a single set of headlights.
Would Sheldon lead me to where he was hiding Sophie? Or would he follow through with his threat to hurt my family?
Then he abruptly turned onto a gravel road that served as a cut across to the Viewfield Cemetery and also led to an abandoned camping area. The place had been developed over thirty years ago by Kit McIntyre, the snake who’d tried to buy my ranch, ironically enough, but it’d never become a hot spot for campers. In fact, I’d forgotten that it—and the cut across to the road running in front of our ranch—existed.
Which is why it made an ideal spot to keep a kidnapped woman. No one close enough to hear her scream.
The longer I followed him on this road the easier it’d be for him to spot me. When I figured we were far enough off the main drag, I put my plan into play.
I hit the gas and rammed into the back end of his car.
Sheldon’s car fishtailed. He didn’t overcorrect and jerk the steering wheel. But he did slow down.
Mistake.
I gunned it again, swerving so the front end of the van smashed into the left rear of his car with enough force that taillights shattered and the bumper went flying.
That hit sent Sheldon’s vehicle toward the ditch on the right side of the road. He slammed on the brakes.
Mistake.
The car sat sideways.
After I threw the van in reverse and got far enough to build up decent ramming power, I dropped it into Drive and floored it. Spitting gravel, the engine whining, I made the last impact count.
Metal crunched, squeaked, and crumpled as I nailed Sheldon’s trunk dead center, sending the car sailing forward. I saw a flash inside the car when the front end smacked into the upper edge of the ditch and the air bag deployed.
Steam hissed from the front of the van as I parked on the edge of the road and killed the ignition. I shut off my night-vision goggles and set them on the seat. Then I grabbed the AR and the extra clip, and slipped the cord connected to my handheld infrared around my neck.
The van door creaked as I opened it. I kept the rifle aimed at the back of Sheldon’s car; the trunk was popped up, too mangled ever to close again, and I came around the left side.
The moment of truth.
But the driver’s door was open. The airbag deflated from the deep slice across the center.
No sign of Sheldon. Pity, I didn’t see any signs of blood, either.
Looked like we’d be playing a game of cat and mouse after all.
I crouched in the ditch, figuring out my next move as I listened for sounds. Shoes on gravel. Feet pounding through grass.
Nothing.
Not a hint of breeze stirred. The darkness was absolute. No lights from town. No nearby yard lights. No snow. No moon. Even the sky was overcast with thick black clouds, so it’d be very easy to disappear into the inky blackness.
Which way had he gone?
Had Sheldon climbed through the barbed-wire fence? Or had he run forward, through the ditch? Creating enough distance so I’d assume he’d gone through the field, and then backtracking?
I listened. I heard nothing but the clicking sounds of the car engines. Sheldon had no special-forces training. That’s when I knew he wouldn’t run away. He’d stick around and try to best me, like he’d initially planned. Rub it in my face that he was the superior soldier.
So what would I do if I had his advantage but not the special-ops training that taught me not to choose the easiest options?
Run to the closest place that offered a decent hiding spot. Get ahead in the trees and wait.
I knew he’d have a gun in his holster. But what would he be armed with?
Maybe he had a gun with a scope. Possibly even a night-vision scope.
But Sheldon had spent all his time preparing for tomorrow. I doubted he was prepared to fight now. My hunting gadgetry gave me the advantage. He’d consider using those gadgets to be cheating, thinking that a real soldier relied on skill and training.
Wrong. A real soldier took every advantage to annihilate the enemy. Building a better predator by whatever means necessary.
I crawled between the barbed-wire strands and stood, pausing to scan the immediate area with the infrared.
No red heat signatures.
Sheldon had already covered serious ground if the sensor hadn’t picked him up yet.
I kept the infrared in my left hand and the rifle in my right as I continued to scan the terrain. This sweep of prairie began a gradual rise until it met the tree line. I assumed that was the direction he went. Easier to miss shots when distracted by the trees and shadows.
That’s when I heard a twig snap.
Pinpointing the sound, I crouched almost parallel to the ground. My adrenaline kicked in, but due to my sniper training, I didn’t get skittish. I became even calmer, breathing slowly, hyper-focused on waiting for my prey to give himself away.
The grass was timber dry and made a crunching sound with every hard footfall, encouraging light steps.
I heard nothing for several long moments.
Just when I believed I’d followed a deer, I heard the soft scrape of fabric on bark. I spun, pointing the infrared. A big red mass a hundred feet to my left at eleven o’clock.
Releasing the infrared, I raised the rifle, my eye on the scope, and in the split second it took to pinpoint his location I fired.
A loud hiss of air echoed back to me, followed by the rustling of grass. Bastard was on the move. Had I hit him? Nicked him? Or missed entirely?
I raised the infrared again and watched the red blob scurrying away. Slowly. Then it stopped. I took a perpendicular path to where Sheldon rested. I’d keep parallel to him as I moved, so when he bolted toward the tree line, I’d be in front of him instead of behind.
I heard a gun discharge, and then pain ripped through the outside of my left thigh.
Son of a bitch. That fucker had shot me.
Now I was really pissed. I knelt down and lightly touched the rip in my pants. My fingers came away wet. Gritting my teeth, I drew my finger across the spot more firmly, discovering it was only a flesh wound. Bled like a bitch, but I didn’t have a bullet lodged in my leg. If I left it alone, it’d clot so I could finish what I’d started.
I heard pounding footfalls and looked up just as Sheldon rushed me. I rolled into him, instead of away from him, and he skidded face-first across the ground.
I bounced up and stomped my boot heel on his wrist, forcing him to release his gun while I placed the rifle muzzle on the back of his head. “Don’t fucking move.” I reached down and picked up his gun. A Glock. I ejected the clip, letting it hit the ground. “Tell me where she is.”
“You cheated,” he snapped, turning his head sideways to glare at me.
“Tough shit. What have you done with Sophie?”
“Tough shit,” he mimicked. “I’m not telling you anything.”
With the AR-15, I aimed for the dirt and fired at the ground next to his thigh. “The next bullet goes in that thigh. Where is Sophie?”
He laughed. “You’re bluffing.”
I shot him in the leg. Using his gun and the last bullet that’d been left in the chamber.
He screamed.
When he quit whimpering, I shoved his empty gun in my pocket and repeated, “Where is Sophie?”
&nb
sp; “I’ll die before I tell you.”
“I doubt it, but I’m willing to test that theory. I’ve got two full clips, Sheldon. I can give you a whole bunch of two-twenty-three-cal piercings until you start talking.”
“You’re a cold bitch.”
I shot him in the arm.
He screamed again.
When he quit whimpering, I placed the gun muzzle on the back of his neck. “Next bullet will be the start of your necklace.”
A beat passed, and then he said, “I didn’t take her, okay? I only told you I took her because you wouldn’t know any different.”
“Liar.”
“I swear. The day before yesterday, Sophie and John-John came into the archives with Penny’s death certificate to update the tribal rolls. I overheard them talking. John-John was taking Sophie to a weeklong sweat ceremony in Eagle Butte. They weren’t telling anyone where they were going.”
“Not even Devlin?”
“They said he was going to a poker tournament in Deadwood.”
“Bullshit. You’re lying.”
“I’m not. I swear.”
“Then how did you use Sophie’s voice when I demanded proof of life?”
“Remember I told you I was at the crime scene? I had a mini tape recorder with me, and I recorded Sophie wailing. And John-John, too.”
That’s why Sophie’s response had sounded familiar—I’d heard it live. “Why, you sick fuck?”
“Because I got off on hearing their reactions. Over and over.” His voice dropped to that grotesque purr again. “I used the recording on you, and you fell for it. You really believed I’d kidnapped Sophie and hidden her away.” Sheldon sneered, “It was almost too easy. You ain’t as smart as you think you are.”
This lowlife piece of shit had tricked me? Sophie wasn’t in danger? I was stunned by that piece of information and so relieved that I relaxed my guard.
Probably Sheldon’s intent. He rolled and knocked my feet out from under me.
I hit the ground hard but managed to keep hold of my rifle.
Then something connected with the side of my face, something that felt suspiciously like a boot.
I grunted from the pain, and my vision went wonky. The immediate ringing in my ears added another level of confusion, but I managed to duck, expecting another blow. But I heard footsteps fading as he raced away.
Now that I knew the truth, there wasn’t any reason to continue this game of hide-and-seek.
My brain went to war with itself.
Catch him and take him to the Eagle River Sheriff’s Department. Call Agent Turnbull. Turn all my information over to the FBI. Including Sheldon’s confession to me over the phone about the killings. Point them toward the evidence at his house, supporting my claim about his murder spree. Plus, he’d committed fraud on a federal level for cashing his uncle’s checks, not to mention that he’d murdered and mummified his uncle.
Letting justice take the proper course is what I’d sworn to do as an FBI agent.
But that wasn’t what I wanted to do.
Sheldon’s threats toward my family had sealed his fate.
I brought up the infrared again and scanned the vicinity.
Bingo.
He’d tried to hide behind a pine tree.
Rather than wasting ammo, I knelt down and felt the ground for a rock. I threw it toward the trees so it’d sound like I’d followed him and was flanking his left.
And Sheldon did exactly what I expected. He moved from behind the tree, out in the open.
I had my scope lined up on my target, and I pulled the trigger four times.
He crumpled like a bag of meat.
Keeping his body in the crosshairs of my scope, I stood and edged toward him. He wasn’t moving much, so I thought I’d killed him.
When I was within five feet, he wheezed, “You shot me in the back.”
“Yep.”
“Lazy. Cheating. Not sportsmanlike.”
“This isn’t a sport.”
“I can’t move my legs,” he said, panicked. “Or my arms.”
“That’s because I aimed for your spine. I severed it.”
“I’m paralyzed?” Sheldon shrieked.
I rested the muzzle above his heart. “It’s no worse than what you did to your victims.”
“But they all died. I can’t live like this.”
I leaned closer. “Oh, you’re not gonna live through this.”
He closed his eyes and nodded. “Good. Thank you. Kill me. Now.”
“No.”
Sheldon’s eyes reopened.
“I won’t put you out of your misery because you deserve this pain.” I slung my rifle over my back and grabbed onto the hood of his sweatshirt. Then I dragged him fifty yards into the brush.
“They’ll know you did this,” he said with another wheeze.
“How?” I removed his knife from the sheath on his utility belt. “Because of all the pictures you had of me in your garage? Pictures like the ones you left in my truck? Pictures you used to threaten me to play your stupid military game? Don’t worry, I took them.”
Understanding flashed on his face.
“Yes, while you were busy breaking into my house today? I was busy breaking into yours.” I tsk-tsked, sounding patronizing—exactly like he had during his phone call. “You are one demented motherfucker, mummifying your uncle. You killed him and kept cashing his checks. So you’ve shown yourself to be a thief, a liar, and a murderer. While I just proved that I am the superior soldier.”
Hatred brimmed in his eyes.
Using his knife, I slit the fabric of his cargo pants from ankle to crotch on both legs. The bullet hadn’t left much of an exit wound on the front side of his leg. Careful not to leave fingerprints, I removed both his boots and his socks, then tossed them aside.
“Pity you won’t feel the field mice eating off your toes. Or the birds pecking out your eyeballs. Or the coyotes snacking on your intestines.” I sliced open his shirt and saw my first shot had clipped his right hip. I ripped off a clean strip of his T-shirt and wrapped it tightly around my thigh to staunch the bleeding.
I tossed his gun on the ground, just out of his reach.
I gave his face one last contemptuous look.
And I walked away.
• • •
Actually, I ran.
After I found the tape recorder and cell phone in Sheldon’s car, after I determined nothing remained in his vehicle that pertained to me or my family, I left the door open and the keys in the ignition.
I broke down the AR and put it in the duffel bag. Next went in the night-vision goggles, the infrared, the tape recorder, and the cell phones. The van started. But it sputtered and died five minutes later on the road back to Eagle River.
I was still eleven miles from my truck and the reservation. The duffel bag had straps on the back side, allowing me to wear it as a backpack. After double-checking that I hadn’t left a trace of myself in Naomi’s van, I started out at a slow jog. Staying on the soft shoulder until I saw an approaching vehicle’s headlights. Then I ducked into the ditch, catching my breath. When the coast was clear again, I returned to pounding the pavement.
Soldiers get injured during ops. I handled it the same way I always had. Shut down any emotion and focused on my training. Mind over matter. Keeping pain in a separate compartment to deal with later. Counting each footstep. Focusing on each breath.
I reached a sentient state of shock. Like everything I’d seen and done had happened to someone else. I slowed to a walk as the lights of the Eagle River Reservation came into view. I cut away from the main road and into the residential area. Two punks approached me then backed away when they caught a glimpse of my face. Or maybe it was my bloodied leg that sent them scurrying.
My truck was still in the church parking lot. On a whim I tried the church doors, expecting them to be locked up tight at midnight, like everything else. But the big doors swung open, welcoming me inside.
Trusting lot, t
hese Catholics.
My boots and purse weren’t in the bathroom, but my coat still hung on the rack. I slipped it on and felt a wave of comfort wash over me. I’d never been fond of this coat, but it might just become my new favorite.
After I changed the tire, I drove home. Still on automatic.
Once inside the house I cleaned my gun. I put everything away, almost methodically. I grabbed the envelope of pictures that had been left in my truck and that I’d hidden in the lazy Susan. I replaced the battery in my phone to check for missed calls. None from the hospital, thank God. I texted Jake that I was okay and told him to bring Lex home first thing in the morning.
I took the fake dossier file, the disposable cell phones, the tape recorder, and the pictures outside. Stacking everything into the burning barrel, I used a propane torch to light the papers on fire.
While watching the plastic melt, the photos bubble then curl into ash, I made one phone call. When Rollie Rondeaux’s answering machine asked me to leave a message, I said, “Now we’re square.”
After the fire died, I returned inside. I stripped and cleaned myself. Red then pink water swirled around my feet as I poked the spot where the bullet had grazed my thigh.
I felt no pain, no shame, no remorse, no vindication.
I just felt tired.
I stretched out on the couch, turning the TV on for company.
If I thought I’d stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep as I relived the day’s events, I thought wrong.
My body and my mind shut down, and I was grateful for the darkness.
23
I shouldn’t have been surprised when Turnbull showed up the next morning.
So when I answered his knock—yes, the girl can be taught about the importance of locking doors—I’d already drunk half a pot of coffee. “Agent Turnbull.”
“Agent Gunderson, you look like …”
“Hell. Yeah, I know. Help yourself to coffee.”
He doctored a cup with cream and sugar before he faced me. “Rough night at the hospital?”
I shrugged.
“I tried to get ahold of you last night.”
“My cell wasn’t working.”
“Neither was your house phone.”
I shrugged again. “That happens sometimes, out in the middle of nowhere. Vermin biting through wires. I’ll call the phone company on Monday to get it fixed.”
Merciless Page 32
