“She’s hanging in there.” What do you say to a polite question about your mom’s illness, ‘she’s dying’? He knew that; the entire town knew it. The questions were well-meant, but they upset him. How do you think she’s doing? A horrible disease is eating her from the inside, and it’s taken her mind already. She might as well just go ahead and die. Of course, he couldn’t say that, not ever. He hated even thinking it.
At the other end of the bar, the Latino had raised his head at the question, then turned to his friend and whispered something. A minute later, they left a ten on the bar and walked out the door. Was it something about Paul? About Dylan? What had happened, to make them decide to leave their beers half-finished and go?
Dylan quickly followed, only as far as the door. The dreadlocked guy got on a motorcycle and roared away, leaving his Latino friend to get into a battered Jeep. Dylan moved to the window, hoping he was hidden or at least obscured by the neon beer signs, and tried to make out the license plate number. It was one of the discontinued orange plates used for non-commercial pickup trucks, so he knew it didn’t belong on the Jeep. The numbers wouldn’t be of much use, but he got them, a four-digit number followed by NB. Now to find a resource who could tell him where that plate did belong.
It wasn’t going to happen tonight, though. In fact, it might take quite a while. Dylan had lost track of most of his old friends in town. The one person who could help him had become an enemy of sorts, which was another weird thing. It seemed to be more than just a rivalry over Alex. Anyway, he needed someone who could tell him if anyone else from Dodge, who would know him and be willing to help, had gone into law enforcement somewhere in the state. All without asking questions. At the moment, he couldn’t think of anyone he could ask, except maybe Alex.
~~~
There was no profit in staying at the bar. From the snippet of conversation Dylan picked up, there was a good chance the two men were involved in something illegal, but whether it had anything to do with Rufio was unanswerable. Only the fact that one of them had been Latino, with a heavy accent, gave him the idea it could have, that and their strange behavior as they left. Dylan didn’t know what to think of the motorcycle-gang type. There was no problem with MCs in Dodge that he knew of. Even if he wasn’t plugged into the grapevine, he thought he’d have heard about that.
There was one other bar in town, the Stars and Garters, but Dylan didn’t like it. Too dark, and not very friendly. He decided to head over there, look in the parking lot for the bike and the Jeep. If he didn’t find them, he’d step in for one more beer and keep an ear open for more info. If he did see one of the vehicles, he’d do his grocery shopping and go home, because they weren’t the kind of guys he wanted knowing he was following them.
Dylan’s logical plan didn’t work out exactly the way he envisioned it. When he got to Stars, the Jeep was there, and so were several motorcycles. He hadn’t paid enough attention to Dreadlocks’ bike to be certain it wasn’t one of them. The Jeep being there was enough to keep him from going in anyway, so he went on down the road to the grocery store and picked up some pork for green chili and a few other things he thought looked wholesome.
Before going home, Dylan swung by Stars again and checked out the parking lot. The Jeep was gone, but even more motorcycles had arrived. What was this? Was he wrong about an outlaw MC problem? Of course, these could be old geezers playing biker gang; there were plenty of those in the western states, especially where it was warm all winter. He still didn’t want to run into Dreadlocks, so he drove past without stopping and went home.
Probably there was nothing more to it than the geezer theory. At worst, a wannabe outlaw MC setting up where pot was plentiful and cheap. The cartels wouldn’t tolerate anything more on their doorstep.
Ange was asleep on the couch with the TV still on. Mom was in bed, so he turned off the TV, put a sheet over Ange and turned up the A/C. Then he started putting away the groceries, which woke Ange up.
“Dylan, you’re back,” she said.
“Yeah. Hey, Ange, do you know of any locals that went into law enforcement somewhere else in the state? Especially any I’d have gone to school with?” She was enough older it might have been a futile question. He didn’t expect much from her answer.
“Hmm, seems like someone did. I can’t remember who right now, let me think about it. Maybe I’ll ask Bill,” she said. That alarmed Dylan.
“Um, Ange, could you not do that? I don’t want it to get around.” As soon as he’d said it, he knew he needed a reason. “I’m thinking about applying to some local agencies. The Park Service is…” Dylan ran out of words. He loved the Park Service—what could he say that wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass?
“Too political, I know,” she supplied. It would do. Dylan didn’t answer. Ange spoke up again. “Okay, hon, I won’t ask anyone else. I’ll let you know if I remember. I’m going home, okay?”
As he nodded to acknowledge Ange’s goodbye, Dylan was beginning to understand better than he ever had before why it was always a good idea to tell the truth. What he was keeping from various people, and what he’d told others, was getting too complicated for him to remember.
~~~
The sun was low in the west when Alex left campus for her drive back home. It would be full dark well before she got home. She had never been worried about driving in the dark, though. It was preferable to having the long rays of sunset blinding her as she drove almost due west on Hwy 8 toward the intersection with 85. Her head was full of class lectures and what she needed to do for homework projects. When she got home, she needed to write the follow-up to the Rufio Mendez story, too. The drive went quickly because she had so much to think about.
Alex was driving south, just over the county line from Maricopa into Pima, when she saw flashing lights in her rear-view. Her glance darted to the speedometer. She wasn’t speeding, so she didn’t know why she was being stopped. She pulled over anyway.
Rolling down her window as the officer approached, Alex was surprised to see Joe when he ducked to speak to her.
“Hi, Alex.” This was annoying. She was tired, hungry and ready to go home. Get on with it, Joe, why did you stop me?
“Hi, Joe, what did I do wrong?”
“Nothing. I just saw your car go past, and wanted to say hi.”
It was so outrageous she almost laughed. But thinking of the flashing lights and the momentary panic, she saw red. “You ass. Say hi when we pass each other on the street in broad daylight, or at the gas station, or the grocery store. Don’t turn your fucking lights on and chase me down.”
“Hey, Alex, watch it, or I’ll have to arrest you for verbal assault,” Joe said, laughing. He still didn’t get it. She was royally pissed and would just as soon punch him in the face as have this conversation here and now.
“Okay, you’ve said hi. Is that all, or are you going to grill me about Rufio Mendez again?” Someday, she might learn to turn on her social filter before she opened her big mouth, but apparently it wasn’t going to be today. Joe’s face darkened enough she could see the flush even in the dim light from her car’s overhead. She regretted her attitude, too late.
“All right, Alex, get out of the car,” Joe said, all business now.
“What? No! I’m just mad at you Joe. You know I haven’t done anything wrong. Let me drive away and we’ll forget this.” The anger clouding his face was frightening, way out of proportion to their disagreement. She’d never seen Joe mad like this, not at her.
“Last warning, Alex. Get out of the car.”
“Okay! Give me some room,” She couldn’t open the car door without hitting him with it. He took a step back, but put his hand on the butt of his service weapon.
“Joe, good grief!” Alex’s voice was a mere squeak. Thoroughly spooked now, she slid her eyes sideways to take in his demeanor.
“Put your hands on the hood and spread your legs.” Oh, no he isn’t! Yes, he was. He patted her down efficiently, but spent too long in se
nsitive areas to be coincidence. His hands lingered on her breasts too long, as he crowded her from behind, circling his arms around to ‘search’ her front. Shaking with anger, she said one more stupid thing.
“You’ll regret this!”
“Are you threatening me? You want to be taken in for assault, is that it?” Cold steel firmed his voice. This wasn’t the jovial cop she’d dated, joked with. They were maybe ten miles out of town where there was no help for her if he got even weirder. Alex shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
“Say you’re sorry,” he directed. What? She didn’t respond.
“SAY YOU’RE SORRY!”
“Joe, please! I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think you’re sorry enough.”
Joe’s rough hands seized her and snapped one handcuff on her wrist, then turned her to face him. Shaking, she still had some fight in her. “Joe, what the hell?”
“Shut up.” He seized her other wrist and snapped the other cuff closed. With that, he took her roughly by the arm and pulled her up the road with him, to his cruiser. Opened the back door and thrust her, stumbling, into the car. Alex could barely keep her feet under her, but righted herself as he slammed the door shut and leaned in the window.
She had just enough presence of mind to keep her mouth shut this time. Even when Joe deliberately grazed her breast again as he reached around her to thread the seat belt across her chest, under her arm and click it home, she stayed silent.
While he was doing that, another door opened, but the overhead light didn’t come on. Alex turned her head toward the sound, but Joe grabbed her chin and turned her face back to him.
“No you don’t. Eyes on me. It’s time you learned your place.”
With a cruel squeeze to her face, he thrust her head away from him and slammed the door.
Alex’s heart hammered and her mouth went dry. Joe was turning right, into the desert and away from the highway. Who was this wearing Joe’s face, and what was he going to do with her? Too many suspense novels she’d read supplied terrifying answers. Near panic, she fought to remember any self-defense moves she’d ever heard about. If Joe meant to rape her, he was going to pay.
~~~
Hours after Dylan got home, he was sleeping deeply when something disturbed him enough to bring him to semi-consciousness. There it was again. The telephone. Reflexively, he looked at his bedside clock before feeling for his cell phone. One-thirty a.m. Dylan grabbed the phone and swiped the screen to answer, coming fully awake in the knowledge that whoever was calling at this hour probably didn’t have good news.
“Hello?”
“Dylan, it’s Paul Ward. Listen, I’m sorry to be calling so late, but is Alex with you?” In an unconscious parody of a classic sitcom move, Dylan pulled the phone away from his ear to look at it as if doing that could lessen his confusion.
“Alex? No, why would she be with me?” Too late to call the words back, he remembered why Paul might have thought so.
“Er,” Paul said. Then, apparently deciding it was a rhetorical question, he went on, his voice going up in pitch as he spoke. “She’s not home. I can’t see anything to tell me whether she ever came home from school or not, but there’s no note for me that she’d be late. It’s not like her. She always leaves a note.” He stopped abruptly, and Dylan imagined him choking back a sob.
Dylan’s adrenaline spiked. There was nowhere in town she could be at this hour except in a private residence. She’d have left a note. Even the bars had closed half an hour ago. His rapid assessment left just one conclusion. The most likely scenario was an accident between school and here. She was injured or worse, or she would have at least called or texted her dad. Acid began to form in his belly as he imagined her in a similar situation to what he’d gone through on Saturday.
“Paul, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Call the Sheriff and tell the duty officer she’s missing, and she’d have been driving back from Casa Grande. Ask them to communicate with Highway Patrol to keep an eye out for her.” He spoke urgently, already trying to figure out how to dress with his left hand while holding the phone in it. What a piss-poor time to have his right arm out of commission.
“Okay, I’ll report her missing. They’ll start looking for her, or tell me if she’s already been found, right?” Paul said, bright hope in his voice now.
“Paul, take a deep breath. She’s an adult. They won’t be able to start looking for her right away. But I will, and you will. Anyone else you can think of. We’ll find her. Let me get off the phone.”
Ange answered his next call with an expletive, but she calmed down when Dylan told her what was up. In the middle of his concern for Alex, he realized he was going to have to ask Ange to move in to take care of his mom, even if that meant trying to find an apartment for the boys and him once he got them. A two-bedroom trailer wouldn’t accommodate all of them. Ange told him she’d be right over, and to go on. Mom would be fine for five minutes.
Freed of the phone finally, he pulled on his clothes and raced out the door, passing Ange as he left the trailer park. Good, less than five minutes for Mom to be alone. Dylan made it to Paul’s house in under ten minutes. As he expected, no Sheriff’s cars were there. He parked carelessly and ran up the sidewalk to the front door, where Paul met him.
The man was a mess. His hair was standing on end and his eyes showed white all around the pupils. Dylan’s EMT training told him Paul was in shock, not a good state to be driving. That meant he was on his own for the drive to Casa Grande and back to look for her, unless Paul had found someone to help. He asked.
“No, the deputy told me he’d contact the Highway Patrol to be on the lookout for her on Highway 8 between Gila Bend and Casa Grande. He called back a second ago and said they would.” That just left Hwy 85 between Gila Bend and here, a distance Dylan could manage on his own. Before he started, he made sure Paul had called all the hospitals in Casa Grande and here, and checked Maricopa County for reported accidents. He had; there was nothing.
“Stay here, and call me if she shows up,” Dylan told him. “I’ll drive out to Gila Bend.” He didn’t need to tell Paul what he’d be looking for; a wreck, with Alex either unconscious inside or thrown out. All he could hope was he’d find her alive, or the Highway Patrol would. “You told them the make and model to look for, right?” Paul’s nod reassured him everything had been done here. He gripped the older man’s arm.
“We’ll find her. I’ll call as soon as I know anything. Why don’t you try to get some rest? At least sit down, maybe have a drink. I’m sure it will be okay.” Dylan was sure of nothing of the kind, but it was the best he could do to help the man. Then he had a thought. “Paul, who would come over and keep you company? How about Jen?” She probably hadn’t gone to bed yet, since the bar had been closed for less than an hour. She might not have even gone home.
“I can’t ask her…” he started, then trailed off, his head hanging low.
Dylan could. “What’s her number?”
Paul shrugged, then pulled out his wallet and searched through it, before finding a creased business card and handing it to Dylan. On it, the bar name, phone number and an emergency number, probably Jen’s cell phone. He tried that first.
She answered on the second ring. “Hello?” The last syllable was a drawn out question. She probably didn’t receive calls at this hour, either.
“Jen, it’s Dylan Chaves. I need to ask you a favor. Alex Ward hasn’t come home yet, and her dad’s pretty shook up. I’m going out to look for her, but I think it would be best if someone was with him.” He didn’t even get out the question before she said she’d be right here.
“Thanks, Jen. When can we expect you?”
“I’m still at the bar, and I’m locking up right now. I’ll be there in five minutes.” That was good enough for Dylan. He told Paul she was coming over, which he weakly protested. Dylan didn’t have time to argue with him.
“Look, Paul, I need to go. Let her in when she gets here. Friends
help friends in a crisis. Let her in.” He nodded, a tear escaping. Dylan couldn’t watch him cry, so he left, hoping for the best between him and Jen. His priority was Alex.
~~~
It was dark. Alex couldn’t see anything about her surroundings, but she thought she might still be in Joe’s cruiser, stopped. The realization jerked her alert. She’d nodded off on the long drive, lulled by her long day, the heat and the drone of the engine despite her fright. But Joe wouldn’t really hurt her, would he? He had to be kidding around, not that she found it in the least bit funny. Where were they? In fact, where was Joe?
Muffled voices, coming nearer. Joe? And someone else, with a Latino accent. Fear crept in again. The words weren’t clear, but the anger was. Both men were practically snarling.
“…fuck were you thinking?” Latino guy.
“…told you…” Joe? She wasn’t sure.
“…kind of shit that…makes Ray…trust you.” So frustrating, not to hear the whole thing. She couldn’t be sure what she was hearing was even what they were saying. Who was Ray?
“Fuck…do what…with what’s mine.” Definitely Joe.
“You follow orders…rid…or else.” Latino guy.
The car door opened and Alex pretended to be asleep, making sure her breathing was deep and even, even though it was hard to keep her body from shaking. After a minute, the driver turned the car on, but she couldn’t tell who it was. She kept her eyes closed, praying it looked like she was asleep, but her eyelids kept twitching. They drove for a few more minutes, then a muffled “Shit!” came from the driver. Alex’s body surged forward as he put on the brakes abruptly.
The driver got out, walked to the passenger door and yanked it open. The blow came unexpectedly, and then Alex saw stars.
Fatal Exposure Page 15
