Merciless

But what if the hospital called about Dawson? No house phone, no cell phone-they’d have no way to get in touch with me.

“These are non-negotiable points. I will know if you disobey either directive.” Mr. Chatty hung up.

He was really into reinforcing my paranoia.

Think, Mercy. I went with the assumption he was using one of those cone-shaped audio devices that required a physical presence within two hundred yards and a pair of binoculars. That’d give him eyes and ears on me.

I quickly and quietly slipped the battery out of my phone. I found a meat tenderizer and beat his disposable phone into pieces. I piled the busted phone on top of mine. Even up close, they both looked broken.

I paced for a good five minutes.

If Sheldon got bored watching me, he’d head home. That would fuck up everything. With his genial tone and excitement about his stupid challenge, he didn’t know I’d broken into his house.

I had a small window of opportunity to turn the tables. Because I wasn’t waiting around for Sheldon’s elaborate plan for me to role-play The Most Dangerous Game. I didn’t figure he’d play fair.

But I wouldn’t play fair, either.

I’d do what I did best.

Go on the offensive.

It’d taken Sheldon days to come up with such an intricate and well-ordered strategy. By purposely choosing Gunderson land on which to carry out his game, he expected me to feel smug in my advantage over him.

But my advantage was op planning on the fly. Change, adapt, execute. Almost as much a part of my military sniper mantra.

I needed to draw Sheldon out and get him off balance.

So I’d blatantly break his specific rule to stay put. If my guess was correct, he’d be too curious to see what would make me break the rules, if only so he could throw it in my face and use it as an excuse to hurt Sophie.

Hopefully, Dawson’s cell phone had enough juice after being shut off for a few days for me to make one call. I grabbed my notebook from my messenger bag and trudged to my bedroom, fished out Dawson’s cell, and headed to the bathroom. I turned on the shower in case Sheldon aimed his listening device in this direction.

I dialed the number on the slip of paper and paced while I waited for her to pick up.

“Hello?” she answered warily.

“Is this Naomi?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Mercy Gunderson. FBI. We spoke today?”

“Hey, why are you calling me? Am I in trouble?”

“No. How would you like to earn a hundred bucks for helping me?”

A pause, then she said, “For real?”

“For real. This is a top-secret FBI operation, so you have to keep it between us.”

“Okay. What do I gotta do?”

“Do you have a vehicle?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind?”

“A Dodge minivan.”

“Is the gas tank full?”

“About half. Why?”

“I need you to drive to Besler’s grocery store in Eagle Ridge. Know where that is?”

“Uh-huh. Then what?”

“Park close to the front doors. Leave the keys under the seat. Go in the store, get a cart, and pretend you’re shopping. Take your time but don’t talk to anyone. Don’t look around, just act like you’re buying groceries.”

“Should I wear a disguise or something?”

“Just a winter scarf. Don’t look for me. I will find you. Try to stay in the back of the store.”

“You ain’t pulling my leg? You’re really gonna be there?”

“Yes. Look, it’s really important you follow these instructions to the letter. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Don’t text or talk on your phone, either in your car or in the store. Don’t deviate at all.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll explain more when you see me in about forty-five minutes.” I hung up. Then I stripped and wrapped myself in my robe, exiting the bathroom and closing my bedroom door.

Keeping the lights turned off fucked with my bad eye, but I had no choice except to work in the darkness. I started adding layers of clothes. A sports bra. A long-sleeved under-armor shirt. I yanked on a pair of jeans and slid on the super-thin subzero winter coat I’d saved from my Afghanistan tour. The light weight allowed me to move and kept me warm, but not too warm. For an overcoat, I pawed through the closet until I found my black duster. Two inside pockets, two deep outside pockets, long and sloppy-looking. Perfect.

Next, I needed hardware. Whatever I took had to fit on my person. The familiar smell of gun oil wafted up as I opened the gun safe. Pity there wasn’t room inside the coat for my H-S Precision takedown rifle. But this op wasn’t about stopping power. Not right away. I required firepower that used standard grade bullets. Nothing too big, nothing subsonic, nothing traceable. I wanted a gun that was light, concealable, and could be assembled in a snap.

I grabbed my AR-15.