“Just drive around. We can’t afford for anyone to overhear.” Her voice was like ice. Dylan shuddered. He was in big trouble, and he didn’t know why. But at least he was about to find out. He waited for Alex to tell him.
“You’re wondering why I’m pissed off.”
Yes, he was. That she could read his mind scared him. He nodded.
“I’m pissed off because I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. What I know about this and can’t print, or even tell anyone, compromises my integrity, Dylan. Don’t look so surprised. I have integrity.”
“Not saying you don’t, baby. Just surprised you used the word. I get it. You’d like to give Thurston what you know about Wanda and Jimmy.”
“No, you don’t get it. I don’t want to give that jackass anything, but I should. Legally, I should. I should also tell my dad, and let him decide what to print. But I won’t, because I’ve been friends with Wanda all my life, and I love you, and it could put you both in more danger. Shit, Dylan, what am I supposed to do?”
Instead of answering, Dylan pulled over. They were on the road that skirted the high school on the east side. Nothing but the old tailings pond was on the other side of the road. It was as private a spot as anywhere in Dodge. Sparing little thought for the wisdom of locating a school so close to what had to be hazardous waste, Dylan pulled Alex into the curve of his arm.
“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t handle any of this right. You shouldn’t be in the middle of it. I hate that you are. Everything will turn out all right, I promise.”
“How can you promise that, Dylan? Have you been to Wanda’s house? I’m pretty sure she isn’t there, or I’d have heard about it on the scanner. She’s somewhere on the rez looking for Jimmy. She should have been home by now. She wouldn’t keep looking after dark, would she?”
Dylan hesitated. She was right. Something had happened to Wanda. He gave Alex a squeeze.
“Let’s go over there and see if Hector can shed any light on this. You’re right. Wanda would have come home, unless something happened.” He started the pickup and pulled away from the curb.
Dylan was more worried than his tone suggested. He drove to Wanda’s as fast as he could without attracting attention. It was plain to see that no one was home. In a town that rolled up its sidewalks not much later than sunset, except for the two bars and the Elks club, finding someone not at home was puzzling, unless they frequented the sparse nightlife.
Knowing Wanda was missing, it was especially puzzling to find Hector gone too. They expected to find him pacing the floor and watching for any sign of Wanda. To make matters more worrisome, Alex noticed that the front door wasn’t quite closed.
By unspoken consent, they got out of the pickup and cautiously approached the front door. Dylan knocked, standing to one side of the door and unconsciously holding his arm across Alex, behind him. There was no discernible light coming from the inside of the house, and no answer to their knock. With a gentle push, Dylan opened the door further. It swung in with no resistance.
“Stay here,” he whispered, and slowly entered the house, looking from right to left before switching on a lamp. He started to call to Alex to come inside, when he realized she was right behind him. With no time to waste in scolding her for not following his directions, he quickly cleared each room, noting the mess. This didn’t look like Wanda’s neat home. Dylan found the search warrant on the dining room table and read through it.
“Fugitives, weapons, papers, and electronic devices... This was pretty broad. How did they get this?” he asked, not expecting an answer. What had Thurston known, or told the judge that he knew, that would have convinced a neutral judge to issue a warrant with no more limitations than this?
Alex whispered to him urgently. “We shouldn’t be here. What if someone sees the lights?” Dylan interpreted that to mean, what if a sheriff’s deputy sees the lights. She was right. If the law thought Wanda had returned home, they might find themselves at the wrong end of a loaded sidearm before they could explain themselves.
Dylan put his hand on her arm and pushed her gently toward the front door as he turned out lights. He didn’t bother worrying about fingerprints. Those could be explained by their visit two nights ago. As quickly as he could, he pulled the door shut behind him, noting that it didn’t latch. Thurston had probably broken it when he entered with the search warrant.
Dylan joined her in the pickup. “Now what?” she asked.
As he put the truck in gear and backed out of the driveway, Dylan asked if she’d left anything out of her story about following Thurston through the reservation. He had a hunch at dinner that she was holding something back; something she wanted to tell him when she told her dad they needed to talk.
“Oh, yeah. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Dad.” She revealed the conversation she had with the woman in the fourth house she visited on the reservation.
Dylan agreed that the impression of Jimmy as a Robin Hood figure didn’t match with the one Wanda had given them. Who was right? The only way to get the answer was to find either Jimmy or Wanda. Dylan didn’t know whether to wish they’d find both of them together. Would she be safe with Jimmy? Alex had one more thing to tell him.
“The woman told me to talk to an Anna Redhawk. She said something about Jimmy helping with Sophia’s baby, and that Sophia was Anna’s granddaughter. I didn’t know what to make of that, but by the time I got back to the main road, it was too late to make Sells and get to the tribal government offices before they closed.”
“What does the government have to do with it?” he asked.
“Didn’t I tell you? Anna is the vice chairwoman.”
Dylan fell silent, trying to put it together. Tomorrow was Saturday, his half-day at work. The government offices would be closed. Or would they? He’d only had dealings with the adoption committee, but did the whole tribe operate on white man’s schedule? He considered calling in for a personal day.
“Dylan, I’m going back tomorrow. I need to get to the bottom of this story before Wednesday. Before Tuesday, in fact. Maybe someone in town can direct me to Anna Redhawk’s home.”
That settled it. If Alex was going to poke around in a potential bear trap, he was going with her to protect her. He drove her home and made arrangements to pick her up at seven the next morning, at first light.
TWENTY-NINE
10:30 p.m.
Alex understood why Dylan wanted to accompany her. He had never been less than macho, even if he wasn’t a jerk about it. He wanted to protect her, and as both a law officer and a member of the tribe, albeit an unrecognized one, he thought he had a better grasp on the situation than she did.
However, he had proved, by his questions to her, that he still didn’t get her core issue. Without some long talks about it, he never would. It prompted her to reconsider their relationship in the light of cultural differences.
Dylan had overcome a lot. He’d figured out how to get an education that gave him a career path, had escaped his mother’s alcoholism and their tiny town that had no prospects for him, only to be dragged back by his mother’s illness. But he didn’t have the ties to family, going back three generations, like she did. He didn’t know his father and was ashamed of his mother. He didn’t know his grandparents, or what their lives were like. She did.
She’d been raised to value the truth and the people’s right to know it, above almost everything else. That the right to know stopped at the threshold of private family matters, was a matter of getting along in a small town. The Dodge Desert Times didn’t print hurtful gossip, or speculative stories that had no foundation. Her dad was an honorable man and an honest newspaperman.
Until now, she never thought about herself in those terms, but her precarious position in this case made her take stock. She didn’t like the conclusions she drew about whether she was being unbiased. She couldn’t help resenting Dylan for bringing her into it, even though she had insisted.
Her feelings for Dylan and Wanda a
side, she owed it to her dad, and to the people of Dodge, to report this story, if only she could sort out who were the good guys and who were the bad ones. Right now it was anything but clear.
Her dad was waiting for her when she came into the house after kissing Dylan goodnight in the pickup. He seemed hesitant to question her, but anxious about something.
“Hi, Dad. No date with Jen tonight?”
“Jen and I are just friends,” he said, with some asperity. She’d heard it before.
“For now. Dad, I know you’re curious about what’s going on. I wish I could tell you. I will tell you, as soon as I can get some clarity. But for now, can you trust me to do the best I can?” It was lame... she couldn’t even tell him what she needed his trust about. But he nodded.
“Yes, Baby Girl, I trust you.” She walked into his waiting arms for a daddy hug, which had become fewer as she grew up. She didn’t think he’d hugged her since that awful day when it came down to her life against the intruder’s. She should initiate a change. You’re never too old for daddy hugs, but someday they wouldn’t be available, or as readily available. It would be good to store some up against a future shortage.
“Daddy, I won’t be able to do the refills tomorrow. I’ve got some more things to run down for Wanda’s story. Can you handle it?” Normally, her Saturday work duties included refilling all the newspaper kiosks and stacks around town.
“Yes, kiddo, I can do that. Tell me you’re going to be safe.”
“Dylan’s going with me. I’ll be as safe as I can be,” she answered. That would have to do. No one could promise a random accident wouldn’t take them out. Or a random criminal act when you didn’t even know you were a target. She had good reason to know that. “I’m tired, Dad. I’m going to bed.”
Paul took an involuntary glance at the mantel clock. Not quite ten. He turned back to her in surprise, but she was ready for him. “It’s been a long day.”
“Sure, sweetheart. Sleep well.”
THIRTY
In his concern over Alex’s whereabouts, and then the visit to Wanda’s house, Dylan had forgotten all about having asked Ange to set up a meeting with Bill tonight. He didn’t pay attention to the strange vehicle in guest parking either, since it was always full of various cars. So he was startled when Ange snatched the door open just as he reached for the doorknob. What the hell?
It didn’t take long for him to remember, as she hissed at him in tones that excluded both her boyfriend and his mother. “Where the hell have you been? Bill has been waiting for over an hour.”
Shit, he’d been rude as hell to a guy whose help he needed. Thankfully, Bill didn’t seem to be as mad about it as Ange was. He declined coffee, since he needed to be able to sleep as soon as his business with Bill was finished. Bill accepted. Dylan assumed that night shift required loads of caffeine.
He’d given some thought earlier to what he was going to ask Bill, but Dylan hadn’t known that Wanda was a wanted fugitive then, and he didn’t know where Bill stood on that matter now. It would be better to stay away from the subject of Wanda, if he could, and focus on the Diablos.
“Thanks for coming by, Bill. Sorry I’m late. Got hung up having a fight with my girlfriend.” Dylan ignored the strange glance from Ange and shook Bill’s hand.
“Women, can’t live with ‘em...” Bill began. At a look from Ange, which encompassed both of them, Bill broke off with a sheepish grin. “What can I do for you, Dylan?”
Dylan was acquainted with Bill, but didn’t know him well. He was in Paul Ward’s age group, but had no kids that Dylan was aware of, or at least that had gone to school with him. Dylan had to size him up quickly to avoid long, uncomfortable pauses in the conversation. He’d pick up on those himself as something to hide. He had no doubt that Bill, with his longer law enforcement career, would do the same.
“Did Ange tell you what I was asking about?” he asked.
“Something about the motorcycle club. I gather you didn’t fill her in much.”
Dylan sent a silent thanks to Ange. He wanted to feel his way into this, and if Ange had told Bill of his concerns up front, he might not have even come. He might be arresting a bunch of hog enthusiasts instead.
“I’d like to keep this quiet,” he said, “but I’m wondering if that group of bikers that hang out at Stars have been any trouble.” Dylan watched closely as Bill visibly read between the lines.
“Not that I’ve heard,” Bill answered. “Doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen. You got a beef with ‘em?”
“Not personally.” Dylan shook his head as Ange opened her mouth, and she closed it without speaking. “I’m concerned about their patch.”
“What of it?” Bill asked. Instead of answering directly, Dylan asked if he knew anything about the transaction that had transferred ownership of the bar to JT.
“Not much. Heard old Fred wanted to retire and these guys made him an offer,” Bill answered.
“Cash offer?” Dylan asked.
Bill narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you quit dancing and lay your cards on the table?” he asked. Dylan ignored the mixed metaphor.
“They wear a variation of the Diablos patch,” he said. “Outlaw MC out of San Berdoo. Heard of them?”
“Some. What would they be doing this far from home?” Bill asked.
Dylan let it pass. This wasn’t about educating the locals about outlaw clubs. Diablos’ tag line was ‘Coast to Coast’, but his interest was more in the local version of the club than the fact that they were widespread, if sparse. “With all the cartel activity around here, it doesn’t concern the sheriff’s department that a potential drug trafficking ring has moved into town?”
Bill’s face changed as he took in the implications. “Don’t know that we’ve even thought of it,” he admitted.
Dylan kept his opinion of the competence of the local branch of the sheriff’s department to himself. Most likely, Thurston set the agenda, and Dylan never had a high opinion of Thurston. He couldn’t blame the troops for the leader’s lack of imagination.
“I had an interesting evening over there the other night. They invited me to stay on my own side of town. I’d like to know what’s going down in that bar that they don’t want people to know about.”
“Good idea, man,” Bill answered. “I’ll look into it.”
“May be best to keep a low profile. I don’t think they like LE,” Dylan said, using the Park Service acronym for law enforcement.
“LE? Oh! Got it,” Bill said. Dylan began to wonder if he’d chosen the wrong person to help.
“Bill? Don’t let Thurston know this idea came from me. He doesn’t think much of me.”
“He... oh sure, Dylan,” Bill said. He winked at Ange. “My lips are sealed.”
Dylan wondered if he’d always wanted to say that.
“You can call me or come over any time after four,” Dylan said. “I think it’s urgent that we know what they’re up to. I can’t help but feel that their presence in town represents a threat to the peace around here.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Bill stood, revealing a belt full of gadgets. How did the guy relax with all that hanging on him? And where did he get off, coming into someone’s home and sitting down with a hip holster and weapon? This was going to be an uneasy liaison, Dylan could tell already.
He just hoped Bill didn’t slip and set off Thurston’s radar. The last thing he needed was the cantankerous sheriff on his back. Or a partner who couldn’t think on his feet.
THIRTY-ONE
Saturday morning
Wanda didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, or where she was when she woke up. The last thing she remembered was hearing a whispered conversation in the O’odham language. She couldn’t make out much of it because of the whispering, and also because, to her shame, she’d forgotten so much. What she could make out frightened her badly, especially when Hector was taken from her side in the dark space.
They’d been forced into what must have been a root cella
r, below ground. Both stumbled to their knees as they struggled to negotiate the short ladder of deadwood and sotol fibers. Hector couldn’t stand up to his full height, and her hair brushed the ceiling, even though she was several inches shorter than Hector.
The floor and walls were carved out of hard-packed desert silt, with a few planks here and there to shore it up. As far as she knew, there was no door to cover the hole in the ground. If there was, it hadn’t been closed, allowing the whispered words to filter down through the opening.
Things had changed this morning, if it was morning. Hector was still gone, and Wanda was both hungry and in need of relieving her bladder.
“Ho!” she called, unsure whether an answer would cheer her or scare her even worse. “I need to urinate. Please, anyone?”
No answer. So, did that mean there was no one to answer her, or did they just not care? Wanda felt around her, not knowing what she was looking for, really just exploring her surroundings. The space was about twice her height in each direction, so maybe ten feet by ten feet, and roughly square. A palace, in terms of the mud huts that her forebears would have built for winter. It was neither warm nor cold, though the dirt under her hands was cool.
Wanda found nothing that could help her in her current predicament. No stored food, no water, not even a gourd that she could have used for a chamber pot. Except for her, the room was completely empty. That begged the question, what was it usually used for? Was it designed for holding people? If so, it was a poor design. They could have at least provided a hole where she could relieve herself.
Finding nothing of interest on the floor, Wanda began to search the walls for shelves, hooks, anything at all. The only thing of interest was the ladder, which was still in place. Could she climb up and leave if no one was here? That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?
Nevertheless, she did climb up the four or five rungs, only to bump her head on something solid. There was a door after all. She put her hand above her head, holding onto the ladder with the other, and pushed. The door was solid and heavy. She couldn’t budge it. She tried calling out again, thinking perhaps her voice would carry through the door, but there was still no answer.
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