Lori Armstrong - No Mercy

Theo appeared. Alone. Cautiously alert. A measly.22 clutched in his hand. He spared me a quick glance, then focused on the money blowing across the grazing field toward Nebraska.

My brain was stuck on one thing: Where was Hope? Why wasn’t he holding her hostage to ensure my cooperation?

Because she’s dead.

No. I refused to think along those lines or I’d go crazy and do something stupid. Be smart. Be patient. Breathe. Listen.

Theo took two steps toward me.

I had one chance to make this work; I hoped like hell Theo’s reflexes were slow. His greedy gaze focused on the bag of money. When he reached for the bait, I lifted the gun and put two bullets in his knee.

Theo’s screams echoed as he fell to the ground, clutching the flapping chunks of bloody skin where his kneecap used to be.

I rolled to the right and sailed to my feet, kicking his.22 aside and out of his reach. My useless left arm hung like a slab of meat. Through the brilliant haze of pain, I aimed the Taurus inches from Theo’s face. “Where is Hope?”

He was blubbering. It didn’t appear he’d heard my question.

To get his attention, I jammed the muzzle between his eyes and yelled, “You’ve got three seconds to tell me where my sister is.”

“Up on the ridge.”

“Alive?”

Blubber. Blubber. Blubber.

I whacked him on the forehead. “Alive?”

“Yes.”

“Then why isn’t she here?”

“She passed out after I… shit, it hurts.”

“After you what, Theo?”

“You’ll hurt me if I tell you.”

“I’ll hurt you worse if you don’t tell me right goddamn now what you did to her.”

Through his mumbles I heard, “I broke her nose.”

Red rage consumed me. I flicked on the safety, gripped the barrel in my hand, and clocked him in the side of the head with the grip.

Theo screamed again.

“You are a sick fuck, beating up a defenseless woman. Did you kill Levi, too?”

“No!”

Again, I hit him with the butt of the gun. Same spot. Only harder. His girlish shrieks didn’t soften my purpose.

“I’ll ask you again. Did you kill Levi?”

“No.” He was sobbing, rocking like a lopsided egg. “I swear. I didn’t kill him. I swear.”

“But you killed Sue Anne.”

He nodded.

“Why?”

No response.

“Don’t think I won’t beat you to get answers. We both know you aren’t man enough to withstand the kind of punishment I can dish out, so start talking.”

“Sue Anne was going to tell the tribal police, the principal, and the community center director I raped Lanae.”

“When did Sue Anne tell you this?” When he seemed reluctant to answer, I smacked him again. He screamed again. “Answer the question.”

“After you talked to her that day on the rez. I followed her home from work that night.” He whimpered and rocked. “It hurts.”

“Tough. Why did you leave Sue Anne to die on my front porch?”

“To make it look like the same person who’d killed Levi killed her.”

Then why hadn’t he used a gun on Sue Anne? Why had he used a knife to slit her throat? “You admit that, yet you expect me to believe you didn’t kill Levi?”

“No. I swear-”

“Did you set fire to the buildings?”

“I tried.”

“Why?”

“If you died, Hope would be in charge.” He rocked back. “Hope wanted to sell from the start. Don’t blame me-”

“Save it. Take me to her. Stand up.”

“I can’t.”

“Do it.”

“But it hurts.”

“Too bad. Get up. ” Injured or not, I kept my eyes on him every single second. Slowly, Theo rolled to his good knee. His thin shoulders heaved. Looked like he was throwing up. He moaned loudly. He took his own sweet time wobbling upright to stand on one leg like a drunken crane.

The second he was vertical, his stance changed. When he lurched sideways and threw the rock at me, I reacted instinctively. I fired two shots at his heart, one shot in the center of his face.

The blasts knocked him back, knocked him flat, and he was dead before he hit the dirt. I didn’t need to double-check. I hadn’t missed. No one survived three direct hits from a large-caliber gun from ten feet. No one.

Wiping the sticky blood spatters on my face with the inside of my wet forearm, I assessed the situation. One dead guy. One dead horse. One ATV. Me, basically a one-armed bandit. My gaze landed on Theo. Tempting, to put my boot on his hip and send his body careening down the hillside. Let the buzzards and the coyotes take care of his worthless carcass, just like in the old days of the Wild West.

But that’d make it difficult for the rescue workers to bring his body back up. No point hiding the fact I’d killed him. It’d be a true test of my acting skills to work up an ounce of remorse.

Crouching down, I threw my gun in the garbage bag on top of the money and dragged it behind me. I limped between Queenie’s twitching body and Theo’s sprawled form toward the ATV. At least I wouldn’t have to rifle through a corpse’s pockets for the keys; they hung from the ignition like a silver charm.

I tossed the bag in the back of the four-wheeler. Didn’t help. Jesus. My shoulder socket burned as I climbed on and started up the machine.

Rain beat on my face. Thunder crashed and lightning spiked close by; my skin tingled, and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. When the back end of the ATV skidded out, I forced myself to slow down on the rain-slickened embankment. I couldn’t save Hope from the bottom of a ravine.

Just ahead a big cottonwood loomed above a misshapen lump.

Hope. Motionless.

Just like Levi.

No. Hot fear lanced me and I refused to look to the sky for the circle of crows. Once I reached her I cut the engine and bailed off, momentarily forgetting about my shoulder, but the instantaneous pain was a raw reminder.

I slipped in the muck, falling to my knees. Hope was curled up in a ball; her broken wrist flopped between her breasts like a dead trout. I leaned as close as I could without losing my balance. Blood crusted the middle of her face like a strawberry birthmark. I placed my finger on her carotid artery.

A faint pulse, but a pulse nonetheless. Thank God. I smoothed my shaking hand over her face, her arm, her throat; everything was icy cold.

Since I couldn’t pick her up I gently rolled her flat.

Burgundy spots of blood polka-dotted her white shirt. I didn’t see additional injuries. Hope might be in shock, but I wouldn’t have to field dress wounds before calling for medical attention.

It took four frustrating attempts to remove the cell phone from my left rear pocket with my right hand. Between the moisture and my trembling limb, the silver box squirted from my grasp like a slippery bar of soap. I plucked it up, crud and all, and hoped it hadn’t broken in my fall. I dialed 911.

Explaining the severity of the situation to dispatch didn’t go smoothly. Then again, babbling in a thunderstorm about an injured pregnant woman, a man I’d shot to death, and a dead horse could’ve sounded like a crank call.

After hanging up, I immediately called Jake. He knew exactly where I was on the ranch, but I had to talk fast to convince him to go to the house and stay there so he could lead the ambulance to us.

Now all I had to do was wait. As good as I was at the waiting game, it’d be a miracle if I didn’t go insane. I didn’t dare sit down or I’d pass out from pain. So I paced.

How many times had I been in situations like this? All over the world? Injured, waiting for help to arrive? Praying that everything would turn out all right once it did?

Dozens. Upon dozens. And as I paced in that sodden field, I realized I wouldn’t miss that part of my life a bit.