No Mercy

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No Mercy

Lawmen Series

Cheyenne McCray

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Copyright © 2015

No Mercy by Cheyenne McCray

All rights reserved. No part of this e-Book may be reproduced in whole or in part, scanned,

photocopied, recorded, distributed in any printed or electronic form, or reproduced in any manner

whatsoever, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented,

without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied

in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or

dead is entirely coincidental.

e-book ISBN: 978-1-939778-71-0

Published by Pink Zebra Publishing.

Formatting by Bella Media Management.

Cover by Scott Carpenter at www.pandngraphics.com

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November rain fell from the Arizona sky and thrummed on the tin shed’s roof in a steady rhythm,

but Dylan Curtis’s throat was as dry as the usually parched desert.

A special agent with the Department of Homeland Security’s Immigration and Customs

Enforcement, Dylan had witnessed a lot of bad shit. But seeing one of his closest friends hanging

from a noose was one of the worst things he could remember experiencing.

The pain eating at Dylan was like a chainsaw cutting through his gut. He adjusted his Stetson

while he surveyed the gut-wrenching scene as the rope around Nate O’Malley’s neck was cut down

from the rafters by police officers.

After the body was lowered, the remains were put into a body bag on the floor of the storage

shed. It was all Dylan could do to watch as the officers zipped the body bag until he could no longer

see Nate’s corpse.

Corpse. Fuck.
Dylan dragged his hand over his stubbled jaw as he tried to digest the fact that

Nate was gone.
Suicide.
No matter how he tried, Dylan couldn’t comprehend that Nate had taken

his own life.

Through the shed’s open door came the scent of rain and the sound of water dripping from the

eaves. The smell wasn’t nearly enough to ease the sickly odor of death.

“I know O’Malley was a good friend of yours.” Lieutenant Liam Marks of the Bisbee Police

Department approached and rested his hand on Dylan’s shoulder a moment. “Thanks for coming

down to identify the body.”

Dylan said nothing. His heart and gut ached too much to speak.

Marks gave Dylan a sympathetic look before releasing his shoulder and going back to doing his

job.

Nate’s face had been swollen and purple, his light blue eyes bloodshot and bulging. There had

been enough of a resemblance for Dylan to confirm Nate’s identity.

If it hadn’t been for G.I. Joe, Nate’s German shepherd, barking for hours in his dog run, the

neighbors wouldn’t have called the police department to complain. The body likely wouldn’t have

been found for days.

Before going into the shed, Dylan had stopped by the dog run to check on Joe. Even though the

dog run had a shelter on one end, the German shepherd stood out in the pouring rain. Because Joe

knew Dylan well, the dog had calmed, but Dylan could tell he was still agitated. As Dylan had headed

to the shed, Joe stood behind the fence, his keen eyes taking in everything that was happening. He

was a highly intelligent dog that Nate had rescued some time ago. Joe had been incredibly loyal to

Nate ever since.

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undercover and hadn’t been able to communicate with anyone outside of his job. He’d gotten home

a few days ago, but hadn’t had a chance to get together with his friend.

And now Nate was dead.

Dylan attempted to distance himself emotional y from Nate’s death, as if this wasn’t so damned

hard to take. Dylan knew he had to compartmentalize the fact that Nate had been one of his closest

friends from the time they were in elementary school. Dylan knew he had to focus on what had

happened and why, and make some kind of sense of it, if only for his own sake.

Conversation around him faded to background noise as he moved past the overturned bucket

Nate had been standing on before he’d knocked it out from beneath himself. Dylan wanted to aim

one of his boots at the bucket and kick the shit out of it, but he controlled the urge and continued

toward his destination.

A suicide note had been scrawled on ledger paper and lay on a workbench. Dylan pulled on a

surgical glove before taking the note off the bench to study the writing. Even before becoming a

federal agent, he’d always had an attention for detail. He hadn’t seen Nate’s handwriting for a while,

but he recognized it. Nate had written the note.

The shakiness of the writing was likely from nerves over what he’d been about to do. The ledger

paper made sense since he’d been an accountant. Even in this day and age of computer technology,

Nate hadn’t completely been able to give up scrawling figures by hand on paper. He’d said it helped

him think.

What didn’t make sense to Dylan was the fact that Nate had committed suicide. He’d been so

damned stable. A rock. It was true that lately he’d seemed a little off, but Dylan had attributed it to

the fact that Nate had been facing a federal tax audit on his own business. Was that why Nate had

killed himself?

Dylan barely kept from crumpling the note in his hand, and the paper shook with the effort it took

to restrain himself. He hooked one thumb in the pocket of his Wrangler jeans as he stared at the

paper without seeing it.

Out of the Circle of Seven, Nate had been the one Dylan had remained close friends with, even

after all these years. Dylan had bumped into Marta De La Paz and Tom Zumsteg in Bisbee at

separate times, and they’d fil ed him in on how Leon Petroski and Christie Simpson-Reyes were

doing. Leon owned a water well drilling business, and Christie did clerical work in her husband’s

office. Marta worked hard as a stay-at-home mom of two children. Tom had taken a position as a

physician at Copper Queen Community Hospital in Bisbee after working at Tucson Medical Center

for a number of years.

It was a wonder how most of them lived in close proximity, yet they never got together.

As far as Belle…no one talked to Dylan about her. They knew she was too painful a subject to

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Now Dylan would have to call Belle to tell her about Nate. He’d have to call every one of the

Circle, but it was Belle who caused his stomach to churn even more than it already was. Through

his work connections, years after she’d left, he’d kept track of but never contacted her. Stil , he hadn’t

been able to help himself from making sure she was all right. He knew she was in the restaurant

business, but hadn’t delved any deeper.

Here it was, twenty-three years after she’d run away from home…and from him. He stil couldn’t

forgive himself, and he stil couldn’t forget or put aside what they’d once had, no matter how young

they’d been.

The suicide note came into focus as Dylan clenched his jaw and read it once again.

My friends,

Today I take my own life due to my guilt over the many wrongs I have committed against

myself and against all of you. I am sorry for any pain I may cause you by my actions.

CoS always,

Nate

“Agent Curtis, does CoS mean anything to you?” A female BPD detective spoke, drawing Dylan’s

attention from the note.

He looked at Detective Teri Jensen, who was all of five foot one and thirty-five years old, if that.

“Circle of Seven,” Dylan said. “A group of seven who have known each other since elementary

school.” Dylan let out a slow breath. “They bonded when they were young and referred to themselves

as CoS.”

“You were one of the seven.” Jensen spoke quietly, with certainty and understanding in her

voice.

He gave a slow nod. “Yeah, I was.”

“It’s a terrible way to lose someone you care about.” Her smile was sad. “I lost a family member

to suicide a few years ago. You never get over it. All losses of family and friends are difficult, but

there’s something terribly personal and painful about suicide in a way that’s different from any other

kind of loss.”

“Yes.” Dylan had never experienced it for himself before, but from the pain now in his gut, he

knew her words were true.

“I know it’s tough, but do you mind if I ask you some questions?” Jensen pul ed out a smart

phone with a large screen from a holster on her hip and detached the stylus from where it was

secured.

Dylan had expected this, just hadn’t known who would be the detective doing the questioning.

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“He states guilt over wrongs he has committed.” She studied Dylan. “Do you know what wrongs

he’s talking about?”

Dylan shook his head. “Nate’s always been a stand-up guy. I can’t imagine him doing anything

serious enough to take his own life, much less committing wrongs against his friends.”

Jensen made a note on her device. “From what I understand, Nate had no immediate family

members.”

Dylan thought about Nate’s rough past. “He was sent to live with his grandmother at an early