Merciless

“You really were doing your research in my archives, weren’t you? I’m impressed. But you didn’t know I was the one you were looking for, did you?”

“No. You had everyone fooled.” I paced. “So why change now and kill Arlette in such a public way? No one knew what you were doing. You could’ve gotten away with it for many more years.”

“I got bored. There’s very little premeditated murder on the rez. Usually, it’s one Indian killing another in a drunken fit at three o’clock in the morning. So I wanted to up the stakes. The death of the new tribal president’s niece carried an air of political intrigue.”

Political intrigue. In South Dakota? “So Arlette wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Give me a little credit,” he said tersely. “One time I asked her about a book she carried around, so she assumed I was interested in her reading habits. She went on and on about the stupid world of vampires. Staking her was my own little slice of irony.”

I ground my teeth at the pride in his voice. “How did you abduct her?”

“I didn’t have to. That was the beauty of it. She’d skipped school to do a research paper. I knocked her out, put her in a big garbage bag, then drove up to the back door and loaded the garbage into my car. Even if anyone had been watching me, they’d never have suspected because I dump the garbage once a week.”

“Handy. I wondered how often you used the doors. So with the political-intrigue angle, you intended for Rollie to take the blame for Arlette’s and Verline’s murders.”

“Yes. Arlette went on about Junior. But I suspected something was going on between Verline and Junior when they came in to register the baby. What a sick love triangle, with father and son. Anyway, Verline was easy to get to.”

“Why cut off her hand?”

“I figured that would send the FBI profilers into a tailspin.” He sighed. “I overheard a phone conversation when you were in the archives, and I was very disappointed that you considered Saro a suspect. That man is a common thug. He has no imagination whatsoever.”

“That’s what you call what you did to Penny? Using your imagination?”

“Of course. I hadn’t intended on Penny Pretty Horses to be part of this, but her valiant struggle with cancer and her going against her family’s wishes to live on her own terms touched me. I had to do something to end her suffering. I picked her up on my lunch break when she was out walking. Instead of fading from people’s memory as just another cancer victim, Penny Pretty Horses will be remembered a lot differently.”

Let him feel superior. Let him ramble.

“Did you see me there? At the scene?” he asked.

“No, I was a little busy dealing with grieving family members and crime-scene containment.”

“You really should be more observant. Then you would’ve figured out that you were supposed to be the third victim, not Penny.”

“Me,” I said dully. “Why me?”

“I saved the best for last. You’re a worthy adversary. I’m done talking. It’s time to discuss the rules of the game.”

“You actually believe I’ll play some game with you?”

His genial, albeit psychotic, demeanor vanished. “You will play. Look under the place mat.”

I didn’t want to. So help me God, I didn’t want to. A ball of fear inched up my throat. I eased aside the quilted place mat and saw a stack of photos. Copies of the ones I’d taken from Sheldon’s garage, different from the ones he’d left in my truck.

“I especially love the one of you in your bathrobe as you’re feeding the dogs.”

I’d especially love to feed you to the fucking dogs.

The last photo was of Dawson and me together, standing by his pickup in a private moment. It appeared as if the photographer had been within a few feet of us. Dawson’s head was annihilated by an X, and red covered my face.

“The last one is my favorite,” Sheldon said cheerfully. “Can you imagine how horrible it would be to feel your lover’s warm blood coating your skin? Having bits of his brain matter and chunks of bone in your hair? Watching his life end as he falls to the ground like another bag of meat?”

My vision swam, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the gruesome images clogging my rational thought. Imagining Dawson dead.

Stay focused. He’s distracting you from talking about what he did with Sophie.

“I know why the FBI was so hot to snap you up-other than the fact you’re a woman, a vet, and a minority.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re a killer. See, that’s where we’re alike, Sergeant Major.”

He had no fucking right to use my rank with such familiarity. No right.

“But you think you’re better than me. I saw it in your eyes that night at Stillwell’s. You think that because you went to war and I didn’t, you know how to win a battle. I’ve studied thousands of offensives. I know ops inside and out. I’m your equal in tactical maneuvers. I’m your equal in everything. And I’ll prove it.”

“How?”