Lori Armstrong - Mercy Kill

“Because Dawson is looking for her, too. Do you know how sweet it’d be if I one-upped him in Victor’s murder investigation? I’d win the election for sure.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the election. I don’t want Cherelle in jail. I want her dead.”

“But you have to find her first.”

Slice.

Blood flowed down my skin, and I sucked in a breath at the fire exploding across my neck. He knew precisely where to cut to make it hurt.

“Oh, I’ll find her.”

Then Saro was in my face with the chisel-like tip of the tanto blade under my chin. One wrong move, and I’d be tasting that steel on the bottom of my tongue.

“You know something else. Tell me. Now.”

Through clenched teeth, I said, “You want me to talk? Move that fucking blade.”

Saro pressed the tip against my heart, leaving a hole in my new blouse, causing more blood to ooze out of me. “Talk.”

“If I talk, you talk.”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

I didn’t budge. Didn’t speak.

He watched my face as he twisted the blade into my breast. When I finally winced with pain, he said, “Okay. Ask your question.”

“Did you kill Jason Hawley?”

“You ain’t gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

Saro angled forward. “I didn’t kill him.”

“Did you tell someone else to kill Jason? Someone like your brother?”

Anguish filled his eyes and then disappeared. “No matter. Victor is dead.”

“Exactly. If Victor didn’t do it and you didn’t do it, someone else did. Cherelle?”

“Cherelle was with us all night. Victor wouldn’t even let her take a piss by herself. But I will let you in on a secret. We saw Hawley’s body that night after he’d been gunned down.”

“And you did nothing?”

“Why should we? He was already dead. Me, Vic, and Cherelle weren’t the only ones who came across it.” He stared at me. “Fortunately, we used the situation to our advantage as a business maneuver. Besides, no one cared he was dead.”

“I cared.”

“So the fuck what? All I care about is finding the bitch who murdered my brother.”

“I told you. I don’t know where she is.”

Another empty stare. Then he smiled, and it was cold enough to chill me right to my soul. “You know, I believe you. But here’s some advice: if you’re unlucky enough to get elected sheriff tomorrow, be smart. Look the other way when you come across Cherelle’s body.”

“And if I don’t?”

An even crazier smile distorted his face. He reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out a stuffed pink teddy bear. From Joy’s room. From Joy’s crib. The pink bear’s head hung from the plush body by a one white thread. White stuffing burst out from the gaping neck hole.

Panic clawed at my insides. This crazy son of a bitch had been in my house, messing with my family. “If you’ve touched a single hair on her head-”

“You’ll what? For all you know, I might’ve already slit her soft little throat and left her to die in her crib with the bunny rabbit mobile spinning above her head.”

I jerked toward him, and the knife tip gouged my skin.

“Or maybe… your sister with her pretty strawberry-blond hair and that ferocious Sioux warrior are bleeding out on the gray carpet after I gutted them. He should’ve done a better job at protecting them. Or trying to protect them.”

I made a break for it. Saro knocked me to the ground. He yanked my arms behind my back and kicked me in the side hard enough that I couldn’t breathe.

I was suffocating.

He placed the blade at the base of my neck. “One wrong move, and you’re paralyzed from the shoulders down. Understand?”

Sadistic fucking bastard. Maiming me for life would be worse than killing me.

“Don’t cross me. Any restraint I had died with my brother.”

“What do you want from me?”

“If you find Cherelle alive, turn her over to me. If you find Cherelle dead, let it go.”

Spots danced in front of my eyes. I felt a pinch between my shoulder blades, and I lost consciousness.

When I camearound after Saro’s Vulcan death grip, I booked it to the house. I tripped and skidded on my hands and knees on the gravel. Cursing, I scrambled to my feet and scaled the porch steps with one leap. The door wouldn’t budge. I twisted the handle. It was locked?

I fumbled with my keys.

Come on, come on, come on.

The door gave way. I didn’t bull my way in, in case nothing was wrong.

Please, Saro. Be a complete and total fucking liar.

I checked the living room first. Jake was stretched out on the couch, mouth open as he snored, with the TV projecting shadows across the room. I vaulted up the stairs, please, please, please pounding in my skull.

My sister was curled in the middle of the bed she shared with Jake. Her hair spread across the pillow. No blood soaking the sheets. No blood on her anywhere. I watched the rise and fall of her chest.

Thank God.

I tiptoed to the crib against the wall and peered inside.

A small sliver of moonlight shone in. Big hazel eyes blinked at me. Arms and legs flailed with excitement. She smiled, pleased as punch to have someone awake to entertain her.

My breath caught on a sob.

Joy was all right. Hope was all right. Jake was all right.

My relief was short-lived when Joy fussed at me for not picking her up. I shot a look at Hope. She hadn’t moved.

I wasn’t sure I even remembered how to pick up a baby. Had I ever known? I started to slide one hand under her head when I noticed my hands were filthy. And bleeding. Too sullied to touch such innocence. I grabbed a burp cloth and draped it over my hands, then slid one beneath Joy’s head and the other beneath her butt. I slowly lifted her from the crib, holding her in front of me, afraid I’d ruin her fluffy-soft pale yellow sleeper if it brushed against my dirty clothes.

Her warmth flowed through me. Surrounded by sweet baby scents-shampoo, powder, and lotion-I had the overwhelming urge to weep. For once, I gave in to it. I whispered, “Hey, Poopy. Lookit you.”

Baby girl remained somber, her body still, probably deciding whether this crazy lady who was crying and bleeding was going to drop her on her head.

That’s your fear, not hers. She just wants someone to see to her needs.

Don’t we all.

Joy blinked, fighting sleep. Her long, dark lashes swept her plump pink cheeks. I watched her, held her, until her eyes stayed closed and her mouth went slack. I carefully returned her to the crib the way I’d found her, lying on her back, a rainbow butterfly fleece blanket covering her from chest to feet.

Hope was in the same position, sleeping peacefully. I tugged the covers under her chin and smoothed her hair back from her cheek.

I didn’t allow myself to break down until I stood in the shower. The horror of what could’ve happened knocked me to my knees. My blood and tears mixed with the water and swirled down the drain.

Election day.

I didn’t bounce out of bed, bursting with enthusiasm. Rather, I shut off my cell phone and yanked the covers over my head. Maybe nobody would miss me.

At eight, Sophie beat on the door. “Mercy, Geneva’s called for you three times. You need to get up and call her back, hey.”

At nine, Hope knocked. “Are you sick again?”

If heartsick counted, then yes.

I’d bitten off way more than I could chew with this running-for-sheriff business. I didn’t want to win. I didn’t deserve to win.

The knife slices in my neck burned. I’d coated them with arnica gel, trying to speed up the healing process. Bruises dotted my body from Saro tackling me. Bruises lined my shin from smacking into machinery at Mulligan’s before finding Victor’s body. And then there were the bruises to my ego.