Mariah Stewart - Cry Mercy

A book in the Mercy Street series, 2009

Thanks as always to the ever-fabulous team at Ballantine Books-Linda Marrow, Kate Collins, Kelli Fillingim, Sarina Evan, Scott Shannon, Libby McGuire, and Kim Hovey (hopefully, I didn't leave anyone out), and to my agent, Lorretta Barrett, and her staff-Nick Mullendore and Jennifer Didik.

Huge appreciation to FBI Special Agent Pam Stratton, and to Special Agent Jack Martinelli, who met with us on the firing range and taught me how to always get my man (and I have the target to prove it!).

The Nora Roberts Foundation received a donation from Debra Newhouse via her purchase of a raffle ticket that turned out to be a winner, and bought her the right to have a character named after her in this book. Thanks to the ladies at ADWOFF-especially Phyllis Lannik-for running this fund-raiser that supports literacy and so many other good causes.

His chest heaving from exertion, he dumped his burden unceremoniously on the ground, leaned against the nearest tree, and gulped in air, trying to catch his breath. Who would have believed a 110-pound girl could be so unwieldy, so hard to control? Well, if he was ever going to do something like this again-and he knew he would-he was going to have to get in shape. No question about it-first thing Monday morning, he was going to join a gym.

He looked at the heap that lay at his feet. Damn, but she'd been a pretty thing. He knelt down and touched her hair, running his fingers through the long brown strands and holding them up in the sunlight where shades of red and gold glinted and gleamed in his hand. Beautiful, really.

He sat next to her and studied her face. Her eyes had been warm and brown and her smile eager when they'd first met. They'd talked and laughed, compared notes, noticed how much they had in common. The brown eyes, the love of sushi, the ocean. They'd both collected shells as children, both had played tennis, and neither ever missed an episode of South Park . Uncanny, she'd declared, that we're so much alike.

He'd offered to meet her at the train station and she accepted without a second thought. They'd chatted and gone to lunch and she got into his car without hesitation. When he stopped along the lonely back road and told her he wanted to show her something, she never questioned his motives. Even when he struck her that first time, she seemed not to comprehend what was happening. It wasn't until he had her on the ground, and the beast had taken over, that he'd seen the terror in her eyes. The beast had been like a living thing, and for a moment, it was him against it. The beast, of course, won.

Her fear had bled from every pore in her body and the smell of it had ignited him like nothing he'd ever experienced. She cried and pleaded and begged. No words had ever sounded sweeter to his ears.

God, he'd had no idea that it would be like this.

He'd never imagined that anything could feel so good. That sex could be so exhilarating, that such power could flow through his hands to ignite his entire body.

He'd never known how completely he could connect with another human being.

Before lifting her and continuing on his way, he gently smoothed her hair from her face. There was still a long way to go. He wanted to find the perfect place for her. She deserved a special place to rest in the peace she now enjoyed, the peace he'd brought to her. She should have sunlight and wildflowers in return for the wonders he'd discovered through her. After all, she had been his first.

He smiled, remembering every delicious moment, and reveled in the knowledge that she would not be his last.

Robert Magellan stood on the front steps of his Tudor-style mansion and looked over the crowd gathered on the paved circular drive that was wide enough to accommodate three vehicles.

“I want to be able to park three cars across,” he'd told the contractor, and that's exactly what he got.

Today there were people, not cars, lining the driveway.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Robert's personal assistant and right hand, Susanna Jones, asked from just inside the front door.

“It's a great idea,” he assured her.

“You've always avoided the press,” she reminded him.

“Yes, but this time I have something important to say.”

“There were those who thought you might have had something important to say when you sold your stock in Magellan Express a few years back,” she said dryly.

“My ex-partner talked enough for both of us,” he recalled. “There wasn't much for me to add.”

And of course, he'd had little enough to say to the media when his wife and son went missing more than two years earlier. At the request of the police, he'd made the televised pleas for anyone with any knowledge of their whereabouts to call the numbers that flashed on the screen, but beyond that, he'd been silent. His reluctance to speak on camera about his family had led some to speculate that perhaps he'd had a hand in their disappearance, but no one who knew him took that seriously. Robert had always worn his heart on his sleeve, and even now, speaking publicly about Beth and Ian was acutely painful, something he'd rather not do.

“Mr. Magellan, if you're ready…” The young assistant to the head of the public relations firm Robert had hired to organize his press conference placed the microphone on the podium that had been brought in that morning.

“Let's do it.” Robert smiled and stepped up to the mike.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for coming today on such short notice.”

As if anyone from the local newspapers or television stations would have missed the first press conference Robert Magellan had ever called. His gated property had hummed with a buzzing undercurrent for the past hour.

“What do you suppose he's up to? Think he's going to announce that he's starting up another business?” The whispers floated on a light late spring breeze.

“What do you think it is this time? Energy? Or do you think he's sticking with technology?”

“Whatever it is, I'm calling my broker and telling him to buy me some of whatever it is he's selling. Everything he's ever touched turned to gold.”

“Well, except for that business with his wife and kid…”

“Yeah, that was tough. Still haven't found either of them.”

“You think maybe that's what he's-”

“Shhhh. I want to hear what he's saying.”

“Recently, my cousin, Father Kevin Burch of Our Lady of Angels parish here in Conroy, reminded me of an oath we made to each other when we were kids.” Robert made eye contact with Trula Comfort, who, as his late grandmother's best friend, had been invited to come along for the ride when he made his fortune. Trula winked, knowing, he suspected, how he planned to introduce his latest venture.

“‘When I grow up, I'm going to make a lot of money,’ we promised ourselves and each other, ‘and I'm going to use it to help people who can't help themselves.’ Well, I grew up and did, in fact, make a lot of money, and Kevin has devoted his life to helping others. But until now, I haven't done a whole lot of good for too many people outside of my immediate circle.”

Robert paused momentarily. “Father Kevin recently reminded me of that, too.”

When the light laughter died down, Robert said, “As I'm sure you all know, more than two years ago, my wife, Beth, and our son, Ian, disappeared without a trace. Because I have unlimited resources, I was able to hire private investigators to search for them when the police came up dry. The fact that our local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies were unsuccessful doesn't negate the diligence of their work, but the reality is that, eventually, as every lead turned into a dead end, they had to turn their attention to other cases.