I brace myself and open the door. Sandra is on the other side, one hand raised, ready to knock.
“Baby,” Her eyes fill with tears. “I miss you so much.”
In spite of my intent to appear mature, independent and not in need of mothering, I dive into her arms. I bite my lower lip to hold back answering tears. “I miss you too.”
She grips my shoulders, pushes me slightly away and gives me a thorough visual examination. “Maybe I should move to 3 Peaks.”
I suppress the urge to scream, “No.”
Instead, I frame my words carefully. “Actually, I think it’s time for me to take care of myself. So far, I’m doing a pretty good job.”
She peers around me. “This is where you live?”
“For now,” I say. “Maybe I’ll get an apartment later. After I save up some money.”
“About that,” she begins. “Abel and I would be glad to—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I need to do this on my own.”
In the process of checking out Number Twelve, Sandra spots Blazing Saddles parked next to the wall behind the door. A horrified look blooms on her face. “Is this how you’re getting around? On a kid’s bike? Do you have a helmet?”
I confess I do not.
After my mother finishes her inspection, we climb in the truck where I’m relieved to see the driver isn’t Brett. Yes, that Brett, who’s wasted no time narcing me out about my relationship with Billy. She pumps me for information on our way to the truck stop.
“When will I meet this guy?”
“Not sure. He’s pretty busy prepping for his new job.” Also known as, getting treatment for PTSD.
We pull into the truck stop under bright Oregon sunshine. A soft breeze carries the scent of pine. I see the Godmobile. It’s open for business. The back hatch is up. A wide rubberized ramp spans the space between the ground and the cargo area. A bunch of drivers clutching super-sized coffees are milling around, shooting the breeze.
Abel spots us and comes running. First a hug for Sandra. Then me. He brushes the hair back from my face and whispers, “Te amo, hija.”
I smile and kiss the bristly cheek of the only father I’ve ever known. “I love you too, Abel. Looks like you’ve got a good crowd.”
He places a hand over his heart and then points to the sky. “Recruiting for Jesus.”
The service starts precisely at eleven to an overflow crowd. After an opening prayer followed by a hymn blasting from the state of the art sound system, Abel launches into his message of God’s grace, love and forgiveness. From my vantage point in the back, I see a number of people pull kerchiefs from their pockets and swipe at their eyes. One guy blows his nose so loudly; the honking sound reverberates through the cargo area like a blast from Gabriel’s horn. Nobody laughs.
I feel the cell phone in my pocket vibrate and walk down the ramp to answer.
“Mel? It’s Billy.”
It’s only three words but, at the sound of his voice, heat spirals through my body and lingers in all points south. Damn.
I strive to keep my voice neutral. “Hi, what’s up?”
“I talked to my friend at 3 Peaks P.D. Asked if there had been any reports filed about foreign girls coming here and working as nannies and maids. If any of them had come to the cops looking for help.”
“I seriously doubt if any of the girls would go to the police. They’re scared to death. But there’s a chance somebody else might have noticed these girls and reported it.”
“My friend said the guy in charge of human trafficking is a waste of air. He sits on his fat ass and looks online for prostitutes to bust. Human trafficking. That’s what they call prostitution now. But, my contact will check with him and get back to me.”
As I listen to his voice, I try to figure out his mood. Tense? Calm? Angry? Ready to explode? It’s impossible to tell. Finally, I remember it’s my turn to talk. “Thanks, Billy.”
After a long silence, he says, “I couldn’t sleep last night so I checked out the medical clinic.”
His frame of mind is what concerns me most, so I zero in on the first part of his statement. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”
I hear an irritable sigh. “Guess I have a lot on my mind right now. But that’s hardly the point.”
Oh really? I decide not to push it, so I zero in on the second part. “Looking to get your sperm back?”
“Nah, they can have my little swimmers. I parked across the street and watched the place for a while. Guess what I saw?”
My hand tightens on the phone. “What?”
“A couple came out, carrying a baby. They loaded it into the back seat of their car and took off. California plates on the car.”
I search my mind for a logical explanation. “Maybe it’s an urgent care clinic and their kid was sick.”
Billy says, “No, it’s strictly a fertility clinic. They keep business hours, nine to five.”
“What the hell? Did you see anything else?”
“Yeah, I followed them. They’re staying at the Fairfield Inn. Room 223.”
“Where are you now?” I ask.
“In the Fairfield coffee shop. They just came in with the baby. Looks like they’re ordering breakfast.”
“I’m sensing there’s more.”
“Might be a good time to check out their room. I’ll call you later.”
He clicks off before I can ask him. How? And, Are you nuts?
I wander back into the truck although my mind is somewhere else. Since it’s a church service, it seems appropriate to offer up a prayer for Billy’s safety. What if he gets caught? Arrested? His future employment plans would be down the drain, all because I asked him for help. Guilt takes me away from the present, so I’m startled when a group rises and gives Abel a standing ovation. Some people pull money out of their pockets. Apparently they don’t know about Abel’s mission.
I trot down the ramp, still thinking about Billy when my phone buzzes again. I tuck in around the corner from the Godmobile to answer.
“Billy? You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Are you home?”
I explain about my mother, Abel, the Godmobile and the truck stop. Billy chuckles. “This I gotta see. Be there in a few.”
Abel and Sandra are still pressing the flesh, so I trot to the espresso stand adjacent to the truck stop and snag a grande Americano with a shot of chocolate. After a few sips, I feel the caffeine race through my system like rocket fuel. When I get back to the Godmobile, the crowd has thinned out. Sandra and I help Abel collect the hymnals and pick up trash.
A few minutes later, Billy tools up on his bike. I tap my mother on the shoulder and, in the Biblical spirit say, “Ask and you shall receive. Come and meet Billy.”
Her eyes sparkle and she practically runs down the ramp. I hurry after her. Only God knows what Sandra might say to my sexy yet sensitive, PTSD-afflicted boyfriend. And, who knows which Billy will show up today? Good old boy, Billy or stressed out semi-violent Billy?
I needn’t have worried. Billy steps up to the plate and hits a home run. He grins at me and then gives Sandra a big hug. “I’d know you anywhere. You and Mel look just alike. Are you sure you’re not sisters?”
Sandra blushes and pats his cheek. “Well, bless your heart! Aren’t you a sweetie pie?”
Billy and Abel shake hands. The meeting-of-the-boyfriend-and-family is totally awesome, but I’m dying to hear what Billy found at the Fairfield Inn. I wish I could hop on the back of his bike, zip away to a private place and make him spill the beans. But, as Sandra is fond of saying, “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”
The pleasantries are winding down when I hear the unmistakable rumbling sound of Harley Davidsons motorcycles. A bunch of them. The sound grows steadily louder.
Sandra stiffens and puts one hand over her eyes to block the sun. She whirls around and barks at Abel. “Is that who I think it is?”
Abel gives her a sheepish grin. “Motorcycle gangs need God, too. They were tr
ying to get here in time for the service. They must have got a late start.”
Sandra rakes Abel with a squinty-eyed glare and speaks through clenched teeth. “You should have told me he was coming.”
She starts to march away. But then, she looks at me and changes her mind.
Billy throws an arm around my shoulder, pulls me close and whispers, “What’s going on?”
I smooch his cheek. “Brace yourself. You’re about to meet Uncle Paco.”
Chapter Eighteen
Genetics are weird. If you stood Abel and Paco side by side, you’d never guess they are full-blood brothers. Abel is slight of build, maybe five feet eight inches on his tippy toes, well groomed and law abiding. Paco stands six feet four and weighs close to three hundred pounds. His shoulders are wide. His body is heavily muscled and slabbed with a thin layer of fat due to his fondness for Mexican beer. His hair is pulled back in a ponytail and he sports a droopy Fu Manchu mustache. He rides with Los Habaneros, whose insignia is a chili pepper in the shape of a knife dripping with blood. The same image is tattooed across his chest. He always has plenty of money. Early in life, I learned not to ask how he acquired it. It’s a don’t ask, don’t tell situation.
Fifteen Harleys, driving in a single file, pull into the truck stop. Paco is in the lead. His current old lady—I think her name is Roxy—rides behind him. They remove their helmets and park the bikes in a long, gleaming line. Everyone but Paco heads for the restaurant in the truck stop.
Abel calls, “Hey, little brother. About time you got here.”
Sandra snorts her disapproval as the two men embrace. Wrapped in Paco’s massive arms, Abel very nearly disappears. Paco spots me, flashes a smile and bellows, “Baby Girl. Come give your Unc a hug.”
I know what’s coming, so I’m prepared. After a quick squeeze, he tucks me under one arm and musses my hair. From my position dangling over Uncle Paco’s arm, I catch the puzzled expression on Billy’s face and realize how ridiculous our greeting ritual must look. “You can put me down now, Uncle Paco. Come meet my boyfriend.”
He sets me gently on my feet and scowls down at me. “Boyfriend? You’re too young for a boyfriend.”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“No way. How did that happen?”
I can’t hold back a smile. It’s the same every time we connect. I’m still a baby to him and he’s still my shady though protective uncle. His soul is unique. I’ve never seen another like it. It appears in shades of green, a color I’ve come to realize reflects harmony and balance. Somehow, this seems at odds with what is surely his life of crime. But, who am I to judge?
I take hold of his sleeve and pull him over to Billy, who extends a hand. “Nice to meet you, Paco. I’m Billy McCarty.”
I hold my breath while Paco checks him out and then tips his head toward Billy’s Harley. “That your bike?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice.”
The two then engage in a conversation totally foreign to me, using terms like giggle gas, baffles, drag pipes and blips.
Sandra sighs and drags me away. “This could go on for hours. Let’s go have lunch.”
Another hour goes by before I’m able to get Billy alone. Before we cruise out of the parking lot, my extended family informs me they will catch me later at Nick’s, so I’d better be on my toes.
Back in Number Twelve, Billy fills me in on his sneak peek into room 223. “The maid was across the hall. Spoke very little English. I told her my key card wasn’t working. Could she please open my door?”
“And she did?”
Billy shakes his head in disbelief. “Yeah, she did.”
My cynical mind collates this quickly. Cute hunky guy needs key to his room. Young, vulnerable motel maid can’t wait to oblige.
Billy goes on. “The place was a disaster. Baby stuff everywhere. I knew I’d better get in and out fast, so I looked through their suitcases. One suitcase had more baby things, clothes and blankets. Nothing in the other two suitcases but clothes. Then, I looked under the bed and found the briefcase.”
“And?”
“I found a file folder with a bunch of papers on how to care for a newborn, even when the umbilical cord is supposed to fall off. Maybe everybody with a new baby gets one.”
“Were the instructions printed on plain paper? Was there a logo in the header?”
“Plain paper.”
In my former life as a nurse’s aide in a hospital, I’d wheeled about a bajillion new mothers and babies outside to where the proud daddies were waiting with their cars. All of the mothers clutched a handful of papers describing how to care for their new babies. All the instructions included names and phone numbers of people to call if more information was needed. And, all of the instructions were printed on paper with the hospital’s name and logo.
“No call back numbers?”
“No.”
“That’s weird. What else did you find?”
“That was pretty much it. At the bottom of one page, somebody scribbled BC, tomorrow’s date, 9:30 a.m. and an address.”
He pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket. “423 Bond Street.”
“I wonder if they bought themselves a baby.”
Billy says, “Can’t prove it by what I found. Still, it seems pretty strange they’d pick up the kid in the middle of the night.”
I remember Aida’s panic when she couldn’t locate her sister and a chill snakes down my spine. Could this be Larissa’s baby? If so, it will likely be in California by the end of the day tomorrow. “What did the baby look like?”
He shrugs. “Like any other baby. Red face. Waving its fists in the air. Making that wah-wah sound new babies make.”
“Pink blanket or blue?”
“Yellow.”
“What color hair?”
“Dunno, it had a hat on. A blue one.”
“Then it’s probably a boy,” I say. “Aida’s sister was about to give birth to a boy. It could be her baby. But, if it is, where’s Larissa?”
“Good question,” Billy says.
“No birth certificate in the briefcase?” I ask.
“No.”
I think for a moment and then fetch the phone book from the bedside table. On a hunch, I look up the business address for Ethan Rockwell’s law firm. 423 Bond Street. I point it out to Billy. “Maybe that’s why they’re going to Rockwell’s office tomorrow. To get the birth certificate. BC. Birth certificate. I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that meeting.”
Billy grimaces and his eyes spark with anger. “Just when things get interesting, guess where I’ll be tomorrow? In counseling.” He uses his fingers to make air quotes around the word that angers him.
I’m beginning to understand Billy’s mood swings. Lurking beneath his rage, I suspect there’s a big, ugly mess of fear crashing into his psyche like a wrecking ball. Fear of what he might find if he lets his guard down.
Previous attempts at sweetness and understanding have been a miserable failure. I decide to switch gears. I fold my arms across my chest and stare up at him. “Hasn’t this pity party gone on long enough? If you want that job as a detective, you better suck it up and deal with it. I can think of worse things than counseling.”
Billy blinks in surprise. Uncertainty replaces the anger in his eyes. “Well, I…”
“Look Billy, Kendra told me about your tours of duty in the Middle East. She told me about the medals you earned. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. But you need help with your anger issues. Can’t you see that?”
He mimics my pose. Arms folded across his chest. Stares down at me. “Maybe we’re both wounded warriors. You need to take a look at yourself. I know about your twin sister dying, that you couldn’t speak for a while. I know about the soul-reading thing too, even though you don’t trust me enough to tell me.”
My mouth drops open in surprise. Not a good look for me. Damn Kendra. Part of me has to admire how neatly Billy had deflected the conversational ball coming at him an
d batted it back, directly at my head.
Even though I’m seriously pissed about the switcheroo, I try to hold it together. “Okay, fair enough. I guess we both have issues to work on.”
His lips twitch. I can tell he’s trying not to smile. “Oh, Minnie, if you could see your face.”
He opens his arms. I hesitate for a moment before I slip between them. My head is pressed against his chest and I hear the rumble of his laughter. My anger disappears as quickly as it arrived. I hug him tight and decide it’s okay if I laugh too. Laughing is better than crying. Right?
His lips brush my ear. “So, what do we do about the baby?”
The touch of his lips distracts me for a moment. Then, I step away from him. If I don’t, we’ll end up naked. “I’ll call Aida and see if she’s heard from her sister. I wonder if Rockwell keeps anything of interest in his study.”
Billy says, “I doubt it. If he’s involved in this, he’d be careful not to leave anything incriminating lying around.”
I glance at the clock on the bedside table. Time to get ready for work.
Billy swallows hard and takes my hand. “I’m supposed to go to Kendra’s tonight for dinner, so I probably won’t be back. Not sure what tomorrow will bring, but whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.”
“That’s good, Billy. You know where to find me if you need to talk.”
He grins at me. “Sure thing. I’ll do that. Then, you can tell me everything you see in my soul. Deal?”
He did it to me again. Damn, he’s good. “Deal.”
I walk him to the door and watch him drive slowly from the parking lot. Before he rounds the corner and disappears, he stops and raises a hand in farewell.
Chapter Nineteen
It’s six o’clock when Sandra and Abel show up at Nick’s for dinner. Abel is trailed by three of his converts who sheepishly order beer. Abel doesn’t care. He orders a beer too. Sandra orders white wine and a Reuben sandwich. After I take her order, she pops up and trots over to Nick who, as usual, is on high alert behind the bar.
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