Cry Mercy

Cry Mercy

Cry Mercy

Mariah Stewart

After Ann Nolan, a California beat cop, adopts the daughter of a notorious drug dealer, the ruthless father vows to take back his only child. In response, Ann flees across the country, changes her name, and starts a new life as an investigator for the Mercy Street Foundation, the billionaire-endowed organization dedicated to finding missing persons. As Emme Caldwell, she takes the lead on the Foundation’s first case: Nineteen-year-old Belinda Hudson disappeared from her sorority house leaving behind only one cryptic clue. Retracing the vanished student’s steps leads Emme to Heaven’s Gate, a fertility clinic, and the mysterious Donor 1735.

Belinda’s legal guardian, Nick Perone, is determined to shadow Emme’s every move as she searches for his niece. But the closer Emme gets to Donor 1735 and the chilling truth, the more apparent it becomes that she’s escaped one dangerous man only to run head-on into another-one who’s far more determined and every bit as deadly.

Mariah Stewart

Cry Mercy

A book in the Mercy Street series, 2009

To the doggie divas-JB, Mama Jean, Maryand South Philly Phil

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks as always to the ever-fabulous team at Ballantine Books-Linda Marrow, Kate Collins, Kelli Fillingim, Sarina Evan, Scott Shannon, Libby McGuire, and Kim Hovey (hopefully, I didn’t leave anyone out), and to my agent, Lorretta Barrett, and her staff-Nick Mullendore and Jennifer Didik.

Huge appreciation to FBI Special Agent Pam Stratton, and to Special Agent Jack Martinelli, who met with us on the firing range and taught me how to always get my man (and I have the target to prove it!).

The Nora Roberts Foundation received a donation from Debra Newhouse via her purchase of a raffle ticket that turned out to be a winner, and bought her the right to have a character named after her in this book. Thanks to the ladies at ADWOFF-especially Phyllis Lannik-for running this fund-raiser that supports literacy and so many other good causes.

PROLOGUE

August 2008

His chest heaving from exertion, he dumped his burden unceremoniously on the ground, leaned against the nearest tree, and gulped in air, trying to catch his breath. Who would have believed a 110-pound girl could be so unwieldy, so hard to control? Well, if he was ever going to do something like this again-and he knew he would-he was going to have to get in shape. No question about it-first thing Monday morning, he was going to join a gym.

He looked at the heap that lay at his feet. Damn, but she’d been a pretty thing. He knelt down and touched her hair, running his fingers through the long brown strands and holding them up in the sunlight where shades of red and gold glinted and gleamed in his hand. Beautiful, really.

He sat next to her and studied her face. Her eyes had been warm and brown and her smile eager when they’d first met. They’d talked and laughed, compared notes, noticed how much they had in common. The brown eyes, the love of sushi, the ocean. They’d both collected shells as children, both had played tennis, and neither ever missed an episode of South Park . Uncanny, she’d declared, that we’re so much alike.

He’d offered to meet her at the train station and she accepted without a second thought. They’d chatted and gone to lunch and she got into his car without hesitation. When he stopped along the lonely back road and told her he wanted to show her something, she never questioned his motives. Even when he struck her that first time, she seemed not to comprehend what was happening. It wasn’t until he had her on the ground, and the beast had taken over, that he’d seen the terror in her eyes. The beast had been like a living thing, and for a moment, it was him against it. The beast, of course, won.

Her fear had bled from every pore in her body and the smell of it had ignited him like nothing he’d ever experienced. She cried and pleaded and begged. No words had ever sounded sweeter to his ears.

God, he’d had no idea that it would be like this.

He’d never imagined that anything could feel so good. That sex could be so exhilarating, that such power could flow through his hands to ignite his entire body.

He’d never known how completely he could connect with another human being.

Before lifting her and continuing on his way, he gently smoothed her hair from her face. There was still a long way to go. He wanted to find the perfect place for her. She deserved a special place to rest in the peace she now enjoyed, the peace he’d brought to her. She should have sunlight and wildflowers in return for the wonders he’d discovered through her. After all, she had been his first.

He smiled, remembering every delicious moment, and reveled in the knowledge that she would not be his last.

ONE

Robert Magellan stood on the front steps of his Tudor-style mansion and looked over the crowd gathered on the paved circular drive that was wide enough to accommodate three vehicles.

��I want to be able to park three cars across,�� he’d told the contractor, and that’s exactly what he got.

Today there were people, not cars, lining the driveway.

��Are you sure this is a good idea?�� Robert’s personal assistant and right hand, Susanna Jones, asked from just inside the front door.

��It’s a great idea,�� he assured her.

��You’ve always avoided the press,�� she reminded him.

��Yes, but this time I have something important to say.��

��There were those who thought you might have had something important to say when you sold your stock in Magellan Express a few years back,�� she said dryly.

��My ex-partner talked enough for both of us,�� he recalled. ��There wasn’t much for me to add.��

And of course, he’d had little enough to say to the media when his wife and son went missing more than two years earlier. At the request of the police, he’d made the televised pleas for anyone with any knowledge of their whereabouts to call the numbers that flashed on the screen, but beyond that, he’d been silent. His reluctance to speak on camera about his family had led some to speculate that perhaps he’d had a hand in their disappearance, but no one who knew him took that seriously. Robert had always worn his heart on his sleeve, and even now, speaking publicly about Beth and Ian was acutely painful, something he’d rather not do.

��Mr. Magellan, if you’re ready�� The young assistant to the head of the public relations firm Robert had hired to organize his press conference placed the microphone on the podium that had been brought in that morning.

��Let’s do it.�� Robert smiled and stepped up to the mike.

��Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for coming today on such short notice.��

As if anyone from the local newspapers or television stations would have missed the first press conference Robert Magellan had ever called. His gated property had hummed with a buzzing undercurrent for the past hour.

��What do you suppose he’s up to? Think he’s going to announce that he’s starting up another business?�� The whispers floated on a light late spring breeze.

��What do you think it is this time? Energy? Or do you think he’s sticking with technology?��

��Whatever it is, I’m calling my broker and telling him to buy me some of whatever it is he’s selling. Everything he’s ever touched turned to gold.��

��Well, except for that business with his wife and kid��

��Yeah, that was tough. Still haven’t found either of them.��

��You think maybe that’s what he’s-��

��Shhhh. I want to hear what he’s saying.��

��Recently, my cousin, Father Kevin Burch of Our
Lady of Angels parish here in Conroy, reminded me of an oath we made to each other when we were kids.�� Robert made eye contact with Trula Comfort, who, as his late grandmother’s best friend, had been invited to come along for the ride when he made his fortune. Trula winked, knowing, he suspected, how he planned to introduce his latest venture.

��When I grow up, I’m going to make a lot of money,�� we promised ourselves and each other, ��and I’m going to use it to help people who can’t help themselves.�� Well, I grew up and did, in fact, make a lot of money, and Kevin has devoted his life to helping others. But until now, I haven’t done a whole lot of good for too many people outside of my immediate circle.��

Robert paused momentarily. ��Father Kevin recently reminded me of that, too.��

When the light laughter died down, Robert said, ��As I’m sure you all know, more than two years ago, my wife, Beth, and our son, Ian, disappeared without a trace. Because I have unlimited resources, I was able to hire private investigators to search for them when the police came up dry. The fact that our local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies were unsuccessful doesn’t negate the diligence of their work, but the reality is that, eventually, as every lead turned into a dead end, they had to turn their attention to other cases.

��Not too long ago, Father Kevin enlisted my assistance in finding two Conroy teenagers who’d also gone missing. I know that some of you covered the story of the successful return of these kids to their families. And once again, Father Kevin took the opportunity to remind me of that oath we’d made long ago.��

Robert cleared his throat before continuing. ��There are countless people whose loved ones have disappeared. There are thousands of parents who go to bed each night wondering where their missing children are, whether they’re dead or alive. Over time, their cases go cold, the police are pulled in other directions, and the investigations often cease, leaving the families praying for a miracle. Well, I’m here today to announce the formation of what I like to think of as a catalyst for miracles, the Mercy Street Foundation. Funded by me, the foundation will employ the best talent available from all avenues of law enforcement, and put them to work to try to solve those unsolvable cases. Missing persons and homicides will be our focus.��

A reporter in the back row raised his hand, and without waiting for acknowledgment from Robert asked, ��Are you talking about a private police force?��

��More like a private investigative firm,�� Robert told him.

��When you say this is funded by you, what exactly does that mean?��

��It means that I will be paying the investigators, whatever staff I have to hire, whatever expenses we incur to get the job done.��

��How is this going to work?�� someone asked.

��Suppose you have a sister who’s been missing for a couple of months-maybe even a couple of years-and the police are no longer actively looking for her. The trail is cold. You’d go to our website and you’d fill out a form. We’ve streamlined the process as much as possible. Answer all the questions about the case, tell us why we should choose your case to work on. You’d apply pretty much the way you would for a scholarship. You fill out the paperwork, then you wait for a response,�� Robert said. ��To start, we’ll choose one case each month to work on. It’ll be up to the applicant to convince us to choose his or her request. Each one will be evaluated. The one we feel we’re most able to help is the one we’ll choose that month.��

��Who’s ��we��?�� someone asked.

��Right now, the evaluation committee consists of my assistant, Susanna Jones; Mallory Russo, a former Conroy detective who was the first person I hired; and myself.�� He nodded in the direction of an attractive blond woman who stood close to the podium. ��Mallory will be pretty much calling the shots on how the investigations will proceed, and since she has nine years of experience in law enforcement, her opinion will carry the most weight. She’ll also be the bottom line on new hires. That’s our committee.��

��A-hem.�� Someone coughed nearby.

��Oh. Right. And Father Kevin Burch,�� Robert grinned. ��He doesn’t have any law enforcement experience, but he’ll be trying to channel some divine guidance.��

On the sidelines, Kevin laughed.

��You’re saying you’ll work on one case each month. Is that how long you’re giving yourselves to solve a case? One month?�� one of the local TV anchors asked.

��We will work each case until it’s solved or until we or the applicant feels the investigation has run its course and is no longer productive.�� Robert stacked the index cards containing his few notes on the podium. ��Look, I of all people know that there are some cases that will never be solved. Some missing persons will never be found, some killers will never be brought to justice. But we’ll do our best on every case. For some victims, there will be justice. For some families, there will be closure.��

��How much staff do you anticipate?��

��We’ll grow as we need to. Right now, we have only one investigator, but she’s going to have her hands full evaluating the submissions. We’re going to have to hire at least one more immediately just to take on the first case.�� He looked directly into the camera and added, ��We’re looking for law enforcement personnel with experience in all avenues. Crime-scene investigators, crime-scene analysts and reconstruction experts, criminologists, profilers-we’ll need them all, sooner or later. I’m also hoping to set up our own lab within the next year so that we can analyze evidence on our own without being a burden to the state and county labs. So if you’re tops in your field and you’re looking for a real challenge, go to our website and fill out an application.��

��That’s pretty ambitious,�� someone in the crowd noted.

��Yes.�� Robert smiled. ��We know.��

��When will you start hiring?��

��We’ll begin the interview process with our first strong applicant. We intend to be well on our way to being fully staffed within six to nine months.��

The conference lasted another half hour, with Robert fielding questions and repeating the website address several times for prospective applicants for the foundation’s services as well as for potential employees. The young man from the PR firm passed out copies of the press release, and when the last question had been asked and answered, Robert waved to the crowd from the front porch before retreating into his house with his small inner circle.

��How soon do you think before we’ll start hearing from people?�� Mallory asked as she closed the door behind them.

��Before Trula gets the coffee made,�� Robert replied. ��You’re going to be a very busy woman over the next few weeks.��

��Good.�� She smiled and followed the others into the large kitchen at the back of the house. ��I like busy. I need busy. I can hardly wait.��

��You won’t have to,�� Trula said. ��I just heard a ��ping�� on the computer over there on the desk. That’s one of the computers Robert had set up to receive email only through the website.��

She pulled out a chair and gestured for Mallory to take a seat. ��Make yourself comfortable, honey. I think you’re going to be working late tonight��

***

In Southern California, a woman leaned closer to her television and listened with great interest to the midday press conference she’d found by accident while channel surfing, wasting time until she had to pick up her daughter at preschool. Intrigued, she went to the Mercy Street Foundation website and read about Robert Magellan’s latest brainstorm. Using Magellan Express, the Internet search engine he’d dev
eloped and later sold for a king’s ransom, she typed in Conroy, PA, and found it to be a small, working-class city surrounded by farms and gently rolling hills. She studied the photographs and liked what she saw. Returning to the website for the foundation, she filled out the online application for employment, but hesitated when it came to submitting it.

A conversation she’d had in the wee hours of that morning came back to her in full force, a conversation that had set her on edge and had made the prospect of a change-one involving a quick relocation-more appealing than it might otherwise have been.

Fifteen minutes later, she was still deliberating whether to submit the application, when the sound of a slamming car door drew her attention to the street outside. In this mostly blue-collar neighborhood, there was little traffic during the afternoon hours. She rose and peered through the front window, and her blood froze in her veins. A late model car was parked directly across the street, and two men were standing next to it on the sidewalk, their gaze fixed on her house.

She knew what they were there for, even if she did not know their names. It had been less than eight hours since she’d been warned, and once warned, she’d been a fool to think there’d be time.

Turning back to the laptop, she made one quick change on the application before hitting send.

Almost without thinking, she ran up the steps. Practically diving into her closet, she dragged out the large duffel bag she’d kept packed for just such a day. She ran across the hall into her daughter’s room where she grabbed a few things she knew they could not leave behind-Chucky the dog and Buggy the glowworm-then slipped back downstairs. The men were still there, debating, perhaps, the likelihood of finding her home in the middle of the day. She picked up her laptop from the sofa and hurried into the kitchen. Grabbing her handbag from the counter, she shoved in her Glock and grabbed a plastic bag from the pantry. She stuffed in her daughter’s things then quietly passed through the back door into the yard.

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