No Mercy (6 page)
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Marta brushed a tear from her eyes. “Few people knew he was behind some of the best practical
jokes.”
The corner of Tom’s mouth curved. “Most of the time the only people who knew were the six of
us.”
Leon cupped his palms in front of his chest in a gesture that indicated extra-large breasts. “How
about junior high, when Nate stole Misty Brubaker’s bra out of her gym bag when she was showering
after pom-pom practice?”
Tom held up his hand as if placing something up high. His medical alert bracelet for his blood
disorder glinted as he moved his wrist. “Not only did Nate steal Misty’s bra, but he pinned it above
Mr. Bishop’s chalkboard the next morning.”
Belle shook her head. “She was mortified.”
“Damn, but that girl had big ones for a thirteen-year-old.” Dylan grinned.
Marta rolled her eyes. “Boys.”
“Nate had such a crush on Misty.” Christie sniffled but smiled. “Even though she was one of the
most stuck-up, snotty girls in school.”
“He never could settle for one girl, though,” Marta said.
“Or one woman.” Dylan rocked back on his heels. “Nate didn’t have it in him to settle down.”
Belle’s gaze looked as if she was seeing something no one else could. “Maybe that was for the
best.”
Christie looked thoughtful. “But it’s possible a family would have given him a reason to live.”
Dylan wanted to say that he suspected Nate hadn’t kil ed himself, and instead he’d been
murdered. But now was not the time to bring that up. Later would be soon enough.
They spent a good thirty minutes reminiscing, breaking into laughter and smiles at the memories.
“Nate would have liked this.” The flowers in Belle’s hands trembled even as she smiled. Dylan
wondered if the rain was chilling her even though he could tell she was wearing the raincoat over
another coat and a cowl necked sweater. “As difficult as it is for us,” she continued, “Nate would want
us to smile.”
Everyone nodded.
Belle moved along the line of friends, starting with Christie, handing each one a daisy until there
were only two flowers left. When she got to Dylan and he reached out to take the daisy from her,
their fingers brushed and their eyes met. It was a blow to his chest and his heart slammed against
his ribcage.
She visibly swallowed and retreated back to her spot. A quiet pause filled the stillness for a long
moment. The only thing that could be heard was the patter of rain on the ground.
Belle stepped close to the ridge and raised her flower. “I miss you, Nate, and I always wil . I’m
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She returned to her place and Leon stepped forward. He said a few words before letting go of
the flower.
Marta, Tom, and Christie followed, each of them saying his or her own goodbye.
Dylan was last. “I should have been there for you, buddy.” He felt an ache behind his eyes. “I
should have been there.” Lower, so that the others weren’t likely to hear, he added, “I’l be there for
them. I won’t let the circle break.”
He let the flower go and watched it disappear.
When he turned back to the group, each of them had their gazes on him, as if waiting for him to
tell them what to do next.
“Let’s go to the Den.” He tugged down the brim of his Stetson. “And have garbage pizza in Nate’s
honor.”
Every one of them smiled, as if in memory of the times they’d gone to the Den as a group.
“Let’s get going.” Leon put his hand to his stomach. “I’m starving.”
Marta shook her head as they all turned back toward the vehicles. “You were always starving.”
He grinned. “Playing footbal was hard work.”
She looked amused. “What’s your excuse now?”
His grin broadened. “Dril ing water wells is hard work.”
“Uh-huh.” Their shoulders brushed as they neared the cars. “You just like to eat.”
Dylan listened to the banter between Marta and Leon, as well as talk between Tom and Christie.
Dylan was used to being aware of everything around him, including more than one conversation at
a time.
Belle, however, was quiet and clearly doing her best not to meet his gaze.
Seeing her again, holding her again, had thrown him off balance. She was the only female who’d
ever tied him in knots. She’d been doing that since she was a girl, and had continued to do so as
she matured into a young woman. His throat tightened as he realized it was happening all over again.
He’d thought he’d gotten over her. He’d been so damned wrong.
They each climbed into their separate vehicles, and one-by-one took the winding dirt road down
the side of the mountain. Dylan steered his truck over the rocky road as he followed Belle, who drove
a red Prius. She went behind Tom, who was in a black Honda CR-V SUV. Dylan wondered if Belle
would try to disappear again and never show up at the Den.
An ache gripped his chest as he remembered how they’d waited for her at the pizza place one
night and she’d never shown up.
They’d never seen her again.
God, how he’d searched for her. Everyone in the CoS had been devastated by her
disappearance.
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Belle for weeks. Dylan had been so afraid she’d been kidnapped or murdered.
That was until he’d gone to their place on the Divide. He’d avoided it because he’d felt it would
be too painful to go there. When he final y did, he found the letter along with the silver bracelet he’d
given her for her sixteenth birthday. They were hidden in a pile of boulders where they used to sit
and watch the stars. He’d seen a glint of metal from the bracelet in the moonlight and that was how
he had found it and the note.
“I’m so sorry, Dylan,”
the note had read.
“Please understand I had to leave and don’t look for
me. Let the CoS know I’m okay, but don’t tell anyone else. I wil always love you, Belle.”
Al hope had left him that night as he’d gripped the note and the bracelet. He’d been grateful
that she hadn’t been kidnapped, but he’d known his shattered heart could never be put back together
again.
Today he didn’t intend to let that little red car out of his sight.
The five vehicles were a small funeral procession as they made their way around what had been
known to locals as the traffic circle, but signs now referred to it as a roundabout. They continued on
until they reached the Puma Den in the San Jose subdivision.
When they’d parked and exited their vehicles, Dylan realized it had stopped raining. He
shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it up in the back of his king cab. His T-shirt, as well as
the overshirt he wore to cover his Browning 9mm, were dry, but his jeans were damp from the rain.
Prickles traveled the length of Dylan’s spine. He cut his gaze in the direction of the highway. An
older white Buick crept along the highway, in front of the pizza place. The car was headed west and
Dylan stood on the north side of the road. Past the empty passenger side, he saw the driver, a dark
figure hunched in the driver’s seat.
The Buick suddenly sped up and shot down the highway. Dylan managed to catch the first three
letters of the license plate number from where he was standing.
It might have been nothing, but his spine continued to tingle. He had automatically memorized
everything, and he pulled out his phone. He entered the information into the database application
and in moments a name and address popped up for a white Buick, along with the rest of the license
plate number. Jorge Perez. Dylan didn’t recognize the individual’s name, but he saved the
information for later.
When he finished, he looked to see that the others had shed their coats, too, and waited for
Dylan to reach them before they walked into the pizza joint.
The place was formerly a rundown building that had gone through several changes of
ownership. It had only recently been remodeled and rechristened the Puma Den, the same name it
had been called when they’d been in high school, when it had been the local teenage hangout.
The interior wasn’t a lot different. It was still casual with plain white walls, and the menu consisted
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found an empty table with bench seats, Dylan and Tom went to the front to order two pizzas with
everything on them. They included anchovies on one-half of one in honor of Nate, who’d loved the
small fish on his slices.
Dylan and Tom joined the table where the other four in their group sat. Dylan placed his Stetson
beside him on the bench seat. He sat directly across from Belle who was avoiding his gaze.
He looked at her, drinking in the sight of the woman who had grown from the girl he had loved
so much that it had been a physical pain in his chest when she’d left. Gut wrenching pain that hadn’t
gone away for years. Maybe it had never gone away.
While they waited for the pizzas to be made and delivered to their table, they took turns talking
about what they’d done since they’d last seen each other. The sadness and pain of Nate’s death
hung over them, regardless of the fact that they’d discussed how Nate would dislike them dwelling
on his death.
The pizzas were delivered in good time, and their conversation continued.
Dylan couldn’t stop watching Belle. It was like a magnet kept drawing his gaze to her. He wanted
to reach out and touch her. He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her tightly to him.
God, but she was beautiful. She had on little makeup and had pulled her damp hair away from
her face into a ponytail. Her cheekbones seemed more pronounced and her eyes somehow bigger.
He’d always loved the color of her eyes, a blue that was almost a shade of violet, like Elizabeth
Taylor’s had been.
When it came down to Dylan’s and Belle’s turns to talk, they looked at each other at the same
time. A world of unspoken communication traveled between them. He could see how much she didn’t
want to talk about her past, but he wanted to know all of what had happened with her since she’d
left.
Her fair cheeks reddened slightly, but she spoke clearly and calmly. “Why don’t you go next,
Dylan?”
He wanted to tell her no, that he had to hear her story first. Instead, he set his third slice of pizza
on the plate in front of him. “After finishing high school I went to Arizona State and got my BS from
the School of Criminology and Criminal Justice.”
Belle didn’t take her gaze from his as he spoke. Despite his training and natural instincts,
everything around him seemed to slip away, and it was like he and Belle were the only two sitting at
the table.
He pushed his plate away and rested his forearms on the table. “I was recruited by the federal
government right out of college, and the next thing I knew I was training at FLETC and have been
working in one branch or another ever since.”
“Isn’t that the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center?” she asked. He nodded, surprised she
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Security now.”
“I’ve worked for DHS ever since it was created in response to 9/11.” For a long time his own
personal vendetta of avenging his father’s death had been pushed aside in his fury over the murders
of over three thousand innocent Americans by the Islamic terrorist group, al-Qaeda. “I didn’t return
to this area until 2011, after Osama bin Laden was final y taken out.”
“And then what?” Belle looked and spoke in a way that told him she truly wanted to know. Yet at
the same time the guilt she still felt in leaving was in her expression.
“I transferred to Douglas’s ICE office when a position opened.” He’d been after his father’s
murderers ever since, hitting one dead end after another. Al he knew was that Ben Curtis’s death
was related to the Jimenez Cartel. Now that he was back and had the resources, it had been his
mission to do everything he could do to take down the cartel.
Belle seemed to realize he didn’t want to go into why he’d come back. No doubt she knew why.
“How are Julie and Aspen?” The depth of caring she’d had for his mother and brother was clear in
her voice. Belle had been close with his entire family.
Thoughts of those days brought a lump to his throat as more memories poured through him. He
could see in her expression that she was experiencing the same thing.
Dylan held Belle’s gaze. “Mom remarried a couple of years ago to a rancher named Bill Petersen
and they live in the valley. He’s a good guy.”
“I’m so happy to hear that.” Belle’s smile was genuine. “And Aspen? Did he stay with Sally?”
“They broke up not long after you left.” Just saying the words hurt.
After you left.
He cleared his
throat. “Aspen is doing wel and works in Southern California for CBP.” When she looked like she
wasn’t sure what CBP was, he added, “U.S. Customs and Border Protection.”
Belle tilted her head to the side. “Does he get back to Bisbee often?”
“Every month or two.” Dylan’s younger brother had graduated with the same degree and had
