Читать книгу Urgent Vows - Joyce Sullivan - Страница 13

12:00 p.m. Thursday

The electronic beeper on his wristwatch sounding noon roused Mercy from sleep, his heart pounding, the blood pumping through him and rushing to his head.

Had the bodies been discovered yet? Mercy scratched his private parts, then rolled over and grappled for the TV remote on the bedside table. The hand that had been so steady last night, so deadly, now trembled with anticipation.

The morning news had been ungratifying—not one mention of the killings. But surely, now there’d been time…. The set came on with a burst of color and sound in the darkened motel room.

A satisfied smile twisted his mouth as the thin-lipped, tight-assed, primly suited anchorwoman gazed solemnly into the camera, her expression conveying both sympathy and outrage as she segued into the lead story.

“Residents in Gloucester are in shock today over the gruesome discovery of the bodies of a man and a woman shot to death in their home. A neighbor spotted the couple’s three-year-old daughter through a kitchen window and became suspicious when it appeared the girl was unsupervised. Police are not commenting on whether it was a botched burglary or a murder/suicide. A toddler was also found in the home. He was unharmed. Names will not be released until the next-of-kin have been notified.”

Mercy flipped her the bird and switched to another Ottawa station, just catching the tail end of the story. He got some satisfaction from seeing footage of the neighbors huddled outside the house. The fear stamped on their faces made his chest swell. Damn straight they should be afraid. Mercy was no one anyone wanted to mess with—not if they didn’t want to find themselves six feet under or reduced to dust in a fancy bottle.

This station reported no names were being released, too. Mercy threw the remote against the wall. If he was lucky he’d get positive confirmation on the evening news, then he could blow off this town filled with politicians and civil servants squabbling over pay increases and tax cuts to medical and social programs. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He’d followed the bastard home from the office, and the mail piled in a basket on a table in the living room had been addressed to Q. D. McClure. The confirmation was just a technicality. Necessary paperwork.

He was on his way into the bathroom when his digital cellular phone rang. “Yeah?”

He recognized the dry, raspy voice. “Has the job been completed?”

“Last night. Just waiting for positive ID. His old lady woke up so I ended up poppin’ her, too.”

“Don’t expect extra. Just fax me a copy of the newspaper report and I’ll have the money wired directly to your account. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” The line went dead.

Mercy grunted and shook his head, remembering how the woman had stirred, her blond head lifting from the pillow…and how he’d popped her before the scream could rise from her throat.

His body tightened. Yeah, the pleasure was all his.