“I’m catching up after being out for three months.”
“I know you’re busy, but it feels like…” Jess’ face clouded over and she turned away.
Shea tilted Jessica’s chin back until their eyes met. “What?”
Jess sighed. “Feels like you’re avoiding her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I just sat for ten minutes in her room.”
“While she’s asleep.”
“You want me to wake her up?”
“No, it’s just…I don’t know. I guess I’m also worried about you, too.”
“Me? I’m fine.”
“When was the last time you really talked to someone about what happened?” Jess placed her hand on the center of Shea’s chest.
“Whaddya mean what happened?”
“Your sister getting killed. You getting shot.” Jess paused, then whispered, “You killing Annie’s dad.”
“Who’m I supposed to talk to about that? A shrink? They’d arrest me for murder.”
“Not if it was self-defense.”
“What’s a shrink know about what I been through, anyway? Not a goddamn thing, that’s what. All they got is theories and book learning. ‘Tell me your feelings,’ ” said Shea in a mocking voice. “It’s bullshit. I know what I fucking feel. Don’t change nothing.”
“Doesn’t have to be a therapist. There’s a group of women I know. They call themselves the Garden Club.”
“Garden Club? I ain’t got time to be planting tomatoes and orchids and shit.”
“They’re not a gardening group. They’re women who get together and discuss things going on in their lives. Not just things, but emotions, struggles, trauma. I hear it’s very spiritually enlightening.”
“Sounds a little touchy-feely, woo-woo.”
“So what if it is? Maybe that’s what you need.”
Shea shook her head. “This girl don’t do touchy-feely.”
“Okay, maybe not them. What about that feminist biker group you mentioned awhile back?”
“The Athena Sisterhood?” Shea asked incredulously. “My ex is their president. Remember?”
“Oh. Definitely not them, then. But you need somebody to talk to about what happened.”
“Ain’t nobody wanna hear that shit.” Shea sighed and their foreheads touched. “Besides, I got you to talk to. Ain’t that enough?”
“Might help to talk with someone you’re not sleeping with.”
“I’ll consider it.” Shea nuzzled the side of Jessica’s face with her own. “Right now I just want to spend time with you. In bed.”
Shea and Jessica ambled to the bedroom in a flurry of kisses and gentle caresses. Waves of arousal pushed out the haunting darkness in Shea. She cupped Jessica’s delicate face in her hand, drawn in by the openness and vulnerability in Jess’ eyes. “I really love you, you know.”
“I know.” Jessica pulled off Shea’s shirt and grazed her nails across Shea’s back, causing her to groan. “I love you, too.”
Shea reached under Jessica’s shirt, unhooking her bra. Her girlfriend’s skin was like the softest silk, her body so feminine. Her scent filled Shea’s senses with notes of cinnamon and rose petals, transporting her to a world of safety and nurturing. A place to let down her guard.
Shea covered Jessica’s chest with kisses, each one a tiny, tender expression of gratitude. Her hand explored farther down, causing Jessica to gasp with pleasure. Jess pressed her pelvis against Shea’s hand as arousal became need.
A high-pitched scream from the other room jolted Shea back into reality. Shields slammed back into place. Shea tensed with frustration, mixed with a need to protect. “Damn.”
“Nooooooo…please. Mommy, help me!”
Shea shimmied back into her shirt and jeans and ran into Annie’s room. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
“Mommy, it hurts.” Annie’s choked cries ripped open Shea’s heart.
She flicked on the bedroom light. Annie’s eyes were still closed, her face flushed and wet with tears.
“Annie, sweetie, wake up. It’s Aunt Shea. You’re home. You’re safe.”
Annie’s eye’s fluttered and took a moment to focus on Shea’s face. “Aunt Shea?”
“Yeah, Doodlebug. It’s me.”
Annie wrapped her trembling arms around Shea’s neck. “I dreamed they came and got me again.”
“I know, baby. I’m so sorry.” Shea sniffled, struggling to control her own feelings. What good am I to Annie if I get all emotional?
“I wish Mommy was still here.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“She really in Heaven looking down on me?”
“Of course.” Shea wished she believed it herself.
“Daddy, too?”
No, your Daddy’s in hell, where he belongs, Shea wanted to say. “Yeah, him, too.”
“I’m glad I got you.” Annie’s eyes locked with Shea’s.
Shea held the girl’s gaze as long as she could stand before looking away, afraid Annie might see how not-so-strong she was. “I’m glad I got you, too, Doodlebug.”
“Aunt Shea?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we see Grampa Monster and Gramma Julia sometime?”
Shea grimaced. “Why you wanna see them?”
“I miss them.”
“Not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“Why? Monster calls me his little princess. And Julia always made me cookies when I came over.”
“Let me think about it, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now get some sleep and try to dream about something fun.”
“Like what?”
Shea searched her tired mind for something to say. “I dunno, like unicorns and fairies.”
“And riding motorcycles?”
Shea’s smile returned. “Yeah, and riding motorcycles.” She tucked Annie in and stood up.
“Don’t go.”
“You want me to stay here all night?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I gotta sleep in my own bed with Jessica.”
“Please…”
“Tell ya what. I’ll stay here till ya fall asleep.”
Annie pouted. “Okay.”
A few minutes later Annie was snoring softly. Shea turned out the light and snuck out.
Jessica was curled up in bed when Shea got undressed and climbed in beside her.
Jess turned over. “How’s Annie?”
“She wants to see Monster and Julia. But I don’t want any member of the Confederate Thunder or their old ladies near Annie. This is her chance to get clear of the violence and bigotry of outlaw biker culture. She deserves better.”
“She’ll be disappointed. What are you going to tell her?”
“I’ll figure something out. For now, I just want to sleep.”
“We’re going to have to do something about her nightmares. We can’t go on like this.”
“She’ll grow out of it. I did.” Shea turned over and let her consciousness dissolve into her pillow.
Chapter 3
Crime scene tape stretched between traffic barricades at the alley between the First Arizona Bank and the Manila Grill. Two deputies sipped coffee by one of the barricades, redirecting the occasional pedestrian away from the scene.
Detective Toni Rios stepped from her warm car into the frigid morning air. She tightened the belt on her black wool coat and shielded her eyes against the rising sun, which had painted the buildings of downtown Ironwood in golden light.
“Morning, deputies.” Rios nodded as she approached. “Coffee smells good.”
Graham, the older deputy, wiped his mustache. “It’s hot. That’s all I care about. I moved from Detroit to get away from the cold and here I am still freezing my ass off in twenty-eight-degree weather. I thought Arizona was supposed to be warm.”
Rios smirked. “You want warm, you should have headed farther south to Phoenix.”
Graham harrumphed. “Now ya tell me.”
“Coffee
and doughnuts are on the front seat of the coroner’s van, if you’re interested.” Cruz, the younger deputy, stuffed his free hand under his other armpit. His breath billowed in a cloud of water vapor. “Dr. Crawford stopped on her way in.”
Rios’ nose wrinkled in distaste. “Not sure I want to eat or drink anything from the coroner’s van.” Her gaze turned down the alley. “What do we got down there?”
“Deceased white female,” said Cruz. “Looks like she had some kind of seizure. Detective Johnson’s canvassing the neighborhood for possible witnesses.”
Graham scoffed. “My money’s on an overdose. These dumb kids are snorting and shooting all kinds of weird shit. What’s that new drug making the rounds?”
“Hex, sometimes called magic molly,” said Rios.
“Yeah, that’s it. Heroin mixed with ecstasy. I ask ya, how stupid ya gotta be to put shit like that in your body? A wonder more of these kids don’t end up in the morgue.”
“It’s a tragedy.” The scene evoked memories of Rios’ heroin-addicted sister, threatening to unleash emotions she didn’t need to deal with when she had a job to do. “Stay warm, guys.”
A uniformed deputy with a shaved head and beefy build emerged from the alley.
“Aguilar,” she mumbled.
“Fuck you, traitor.” Aguilar bumped Rios’ shoulder with his elbow, nearly knocking her off her feet.
A few months earlier, Rios had been forced to kill her former partner, Detective Edelman, to protect Shea Stevens. Edelman and their boss, Sergeant Foster, had killed several people and kidnapped Stevens’ niece while running an illegal heroin operation.
After Rios learned of Foster’s involvement, she’d reported him to Internal Affairs. When he and Edelman tried to murder Stevens, Rios had intervened. Since then, Aguilar and others had treated her as an outcast for crossing the blue line.
“Shut the hell up, Aguilar!” Rios shouted at his back. “Foster and Edelman were dirty. Maybe you know a bit more about that than you’ve been saying?”
Aguilar turned on her like a roaring puma. “If they were dirty, you should’ve arrested them instead of gunning them down like dogs.”
“I acted to protect an innocent civilian from being executed. It was a good shoot.”
“Good shoot, my ass. Your little girlfriend was caught with a weapon tied to several murders and was fleeing a gangland shooting when Foster tracked her down.”
“Shea Stevens isn’t my girlfriend,” said Rios, her nostrils flaring. “And all charges against her were dismissed.”
“Such bullshit. You turned on your own so you could tap that skanky biker bitch’s ass. Everybody knows that.”
“It’s a goddamn lie.” Rios stepped into Aguilar’s personal space, her nose inches from his chin. “I know you’ve been spreading rumors about me to people in my unit. That stops now.”
“And if it doesn’t, what? You going to shoot me, too?”
“No, Deputy, I’ll have your badge.” She held his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Do I make myself clear?”
After a long, tense moment, Aguilar turned on his heel. “Watch your back, Detective,” he said over his shoulder.
Rios took a deep breath to let go of her frustration. Hell with him, she told herself. You got a job to do here.
At the end of the alley, the stench of vomit and feces made Rios doubly glad she hadn’t eaten one of the coroner’s doughnuts. Two evidence techs placed yellow numbered markers by potential evidence. A third snapped photographs of the scene.
The victim lay on her side, body arched unnaturally backward. Fists were balled and held against her chest. Champagne blond hair partially obscured the woman’s ivory face. White foam coated her mouth, which appeared to be grinning.
Vomit dappled her emerald spaghetti-strap blouse. Black, four-inch heels clung to her feet, the left one with a broken heel. A few feet from the body, a black leather purse lay on the ground, the main zippered compartment wide open.
Winslow, a deputy with a boyish face and a pear-shaped body, hovered over the dead woman. Despite being Aguilar’s partner, Winslow had always been nice to her, even after Foster and Edelman were killed.
A tall woman in a Cortes County Medical Examiner’s coat crouched next to Winslow, studying the victim. She stood as Rios approached. “Good morning, Toni. If you’d like some coffee, I got some in the van. Doughnuts, too, if you’re interested.”
“Maybe later, Dr. Crawford.” Rios covered her nose with the inside of her arm. “What do we know?”
“Victim appears to be in her early twenties, dead approximately six hours. No lacerations aside from a scraped knee, no bruising or other indications of physical trauma. Hyperextension of the body, combined with the frothing at the mouth and a risus sardonicus grin suggests either tetanus or strychnine poisoning.”
Rios pulled out a notebook and wrote down Dr. Crawford’s findings. “Anything else?”
“The back of her hand bears an ink stamp of the letters THL.”
“Trip Hop Lounge.”
“That would be my guess.”
Winslow reached down and lifted a plastic bag containing a few dark pills from the victim’s purse. “We found these.”
Rios took the bag from him. Each of the four pills was stamped with a pentagram. “Could this be another hex overdose?”
“We won’t know for sure until the tox report comes back, but it is strikingly similar to two recent hex-related deaths.”
Rios shook her head. “I don’t get it. Hex has circulated in the clubs for months now. Why are people dropping dead all of a sudden?”
Crawford crossed her arms. “Drugs like heroin are cut multiple times before they hit the street. Usually with something inert like cornstarch, but that dilutes the potency. Cutting it with strychnine, which is cheaper than heroin, still gives a bit of a high. But too much can lead to stomach cramps, convulsions, and death.”
Rios turned to the deputy. “We got an ID, Winslow?”
“Not yet.” The young deputy pointed to the open purse. “Her wallet is missing. We found a cell phone but the battery was dead and the screen cracked. We also found a partial footprint not matching the victim’s heels. I’d guess a boot, either military or motorcycle. Also got some fingerprints off the purse. Might lead us to whoever took the wallet.”
“Detective Rios!” At the entrance to the alley, Ebony Johnson, a young female detective, held the arm of a person clinging to a grocery cart full of belongings.
“Good work. I look forward to your autopsy report, Doctor,” Rios said to Crawford before jogging back to the street to talk with Johnson. “What’s up, Detective?”
Johnson gestured toward the person holding on to the grocery cart. “Detective Rios, meet Miss Luz Escobar.”
“Sergeant Escobar! I ain’t no miss. I’m a goddamned marine.” The husky woman wore an olive drab utility jacket over a gray hoodie. Her face was grimy and she smelled of body odor, garbage, and alcohol. It was hard to tell under the rough exterior, but Rios estimated the woman’s age to be late thirties, maybe early forties.
“Sorry, this is Sergeant Escobar. She witnessed the victim having a seizure.”
Rios gave Johnson a knowing look, then turned back to Escobar. “Sergeant, you hungry by chance?”
Some of the fire went out of the veteran’s eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Deputy, could you bring the sergeant a couple of doughnuts and a cup of coffee from the van?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Johnson hustled off to the coroner’s van.
Rios gestured toward a bench along the wall in front of the Manila Grill. “Why don’t you and me have a seat, Sergeant?”
Escobar eyed Rios suspiciously, but shuffled to the bench without a word. One of the wheels of the grocery cart clacked over the seams in the sidewalk.
Johnson returned a moment later and handed the woman a couple of doughnuts and a steaming cup of coffee. “Anything else, Detective?”
“No, thanks.” Rios took a seat besi
de the homeless veteran.
Escobar set the doughnuts in the front basket of the cart, then sniffed the cup before taking a long slurp of coffee.
“You serve overseas?”
“Two tours in Afghanistan driving a Humvee till I got my ass blown up. Took three pieces of shrapnel in the cabeza.” The woman pulled back her nest of dusty brown-black hair to reveal an indentation near her temple the size of a quarter.
“Sorry to hear that. How’d you end up on the streets?”
“Got arrested for kicking some butter bar’s ass after he got handsy with me. Corps kicked me out for assault and insubordination. Dishonorable discharge. Can’t get no job, especially with this PTSD fucking with my head. So here I am.”
“You deserve better after your service.” Rios met her gaze. “You see what happened to the woman in the alley?”
Escobar rubbed her face and peered at Rios over the rim of her coffee cup. “I mighta seen something.”
Rios let the silence hang heavy between them, waiting for the veteran to continue. The minutes dragged. Escobar scarfed down a doughnut, chased it down with coffee, then inhaled the other, glancing periodically at Rios.
“Fine, that junkie bitch woke me up stumbling down my alley, moaning and shit. Looked like she was tripping on something.”
“What time was that?”
“Hell if I know. I don’t have a watch.”
“What did you do when she entered the alley?” Rios eyed the grocery cart, wondering if the victim’s wallet was in Escobar’s pile of belongings. All she could see clearly was a worn olive drab duffel bag underneath a dusty bedroll.
“I told her to shut the fuck up. She just moaned louder, like she was having some sorta fit. So I bugged out. Got no time to waste on junkies.”
“You didn’t try to help her?”
“Do I look like a goddamn doctor?” Escobar downed the last of her coffee, crumpled the cup, and tossed it into a nearby bin.
“Where’d you go?”
“Up a few blocks to Waldorf Park to sleep on a bench.”
“What happened to the victim’s wallet?”
“You think I stole it? I ain’t no thief.” Escobar shoved her cart toward Rios. “Search it if you don’t believe me.”
Athena Sisterhood Page 2
