Merciless (41 page)

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?”

“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.