He examined Shea’s license and insurance card, then handed them back to her. “You found that registration yet?”
Wendy dug under her seat, pulling out empty paper cups and candy wrappers. “I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”
“No registration.” He walked around to the back of the car, bent down, then returned to the window. “Plate’s current. I’ll let it slide. As for the reckless driving, I didn’t see any SUV. But I’ll let you go with a warning.”
“Well, don’t do me any favors. I’d hate to impose on you any further.” Letting her smart mouth run wild was apt to get her in deeper trouble, but she was hungry and in desperate need of coffee.
Willie leaned in, his face inches from Shea’s. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I get the impression you’re messed up in something you shouldn’t be. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in jail, I’d suggest getting your shit together. Childhood friendship only goes so far. Now get on outta here before I change my mind. And do drive more carefully.”
“Gee, thanks, Sarge,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Shea pulled out slowly and cruised on to the diner. A mile down the road, Wendy held up a piece of paper. “Found it. No, wait, this is from two years ago.”
“Give it a rest, Wen.”
Chapter 16
Shea pulled into the diner’s crowded parking lot. The aluminum skin of the building gleamed like an oversized Airstream. Near the entrance, a Harley Fat Boy and a Road King sat parked next to a Ford Bronco. All three sported the skull and Confederate battle flag—nicknamed the Johnny Reb—that served as the club’s logo. Shea resisted the urge to spit on the Road King’s seat as they walked past to the front door.
Inside, plates and glasses clinked over a hum of conversation. Most of the tables were filled for the breakfast rush. Waitresses in yellow and orange outfits, armed with pots of coffee and trays of food, glided through the aisles like ballerinas.
Hunter sat in a large round booth in the corner.
“Over there.” Shea nudged Wendy in his direction and followed behind her.
Hunter looked up from his steak and eggs. “Well if it ain’t my prodigal wife and her sister, Scarface.”
“Nice to see you, too, asshole.” Shea approached the table.
A heavy hand gripped her shoulder. She turned around to see One-Shot looming over her. According to the patches on the front of his cut, he was the club’s VP. Mackey, the club’s sergeant-at-arms, stood next to him. The place felt way too crowded. Shea wondered if Hunter might be looking for payback.
“After you.” She tried to step away to let Mackey and One-Shot go first, hoping not to get boxed into the booth between them and Hunter.
“Ladies first,” said Mackey with a crooked smile. He pushed Shea and Wendy onto the seat and slid in after them. The side of his face was purple and swollen from where Switch had walloped him with the tailpipe.
One-Shot took a seat on the other side of Hunter.
Shea hooked a thumb at Mackey. “What’re Tweedledum and Tweedledee doing here, Hunter? I thought it’d be just the three of us.”
Hunter smirked at her. “You thought wrong. Where the fuck’s my gun?” He stuffed a piece of steak into his mouth, chewing so everyone could see the show. He cut up a piece and offered it to Wendy. She took a sniff and scrunched up her nose at it.
“Talk to Sheriff Buzzkill. One of his deputies took it when Annie’s babysitter got killed. I reckon they’re running ballistic tests to see if it matches the murder weapon.”
Hunter growled. “Stupid bitch, you don’t know the shitstorm you stirred up.”
“Forget the gun. Let’s talk about how we’re getting Annie back.”
“Fine, but you ain’t off the hook.”
Wendy cuddled up to him, then erupted into a fit of raspy coughing over Hunter’s food.
Hunter pulled his plate away from her. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” He turned to Shea. “What’s wrong with her? She looks like shit.”
“Beats me.”
“Shea threw away my medicine,” Wendy said with an exaggerated pout on her feverish face.
He glared at Shea. “What the hell’d you do that for?”
“We don’t need her all fucked up while we’re rescuing Annie.”
“Stupid bitch! Can’t you see she’s in withdrawal?” He cupped Wendy’s chin in his hand. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll hook you up. Mackey, call Goatsy, tell ’em to bring me some Oxy.”
Mackey pulled out his phone and made the call while Hunter and Wendy got all lovey-dovey, whispering, giggling, and making out like a couple of lovesick teenagers.
Despite her hunger, Shea’s stomach soured at her sister’s public display of affection. “Holy mother of fuck, are we gonna rescue Annie or are you two playing tonsil hockey all morning?”
Hunter’s face flushed as he sat up and straightened his leather cut. “Any more calls from the kidnapper?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Where’s the phone?”
She patted the inside pocket of her biker jacket. “I got it.”
He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
Shea frowned. “I’m holding on to it for now.”
Hunter’s eyes blazed. “I said, gimme the goddamn phone, lesbo.”
Shea’s upper lip curled in frustration. “You told him I was gay?” She normally didn’t care who knew, but she wasn’t in the mood to deal with these idiots’ bigotry.
“What? I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
One-Shot whispered something in Hunter’s ear. Hunter nodded. “Fine. You can keep the phone. For now.”
Score a point for me, she thought. “So what’s the plan?”
Mackey played absently with the pepper shaker. “Jaguars got a warehouse in the Cortes National Forest, fifteen miles east of Ironwood. Use it to store guns, drugs, whatever shit they don’t want the cops to find. Probably holding her there.”
Shea wondered if the Jags were also storing the stolen Pink Trinkets’ bikes there. “How do y’all know about it?”
“Been there a time or two, back when we sold weed for the beaners.”
“Is it guarded?” Shea didn’t want to get caught in the middle of a gunfight between the Thunder and the Jags.
“Not usually. They keep it locked up,” said Hunter. “If they got Annie there, they may have someone watching her.”
“When we going?”
“Ain’t no we, rug munch,” said Mackey. “This is club business. Don’t need no cunts getting in the way.”
Her hands balled into fists. “We had a deal. We’re in this together.”
“I changed my mind.” Hunter raised his chin as a smug grin creased his face.
“Oh yeah? Lemme ask you something. If this warehouse is locked, how y’all getting inside? Any you boys pick locks?” She looked at Hunter, then at One-Shot and Mackey. None of them spoke. “That’s what I figured. What’re ya gonna do? Knock and see who’s home?”
“We’ll fucking shoot the locks.” Mackey sneered.
“And whoever’s guarding Annie can blow her head off.”
Wendy shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t say that!”
“Point is, Hunter, you need me. I can pick anything that takes a key and a bunch of stuff that don’t.”
One-Shot again leaned over and had a whispered conversation with his president. Hunter smiled with a smug look that sent a shiver down Shea’s spine. “You can come. Just keep outta our way.”
Mackey grunted. “Hunter, man, why we gotta bring this dyke along?”
“ ’Cause I said so,” snapped Hunter.
“What about me?” asked Wendy.
“I’ll drop you back at the motel and pick up my bike.” Shea glanced back at the guys. “I’ll meet y’all back here in an hour.”
Hunter turned to Wendy. “When she drops you off, I want you to head to the Church.”
“Oh, baby, can’t I just
stay at the motel for a while? I don’t feel good. Probably shouldn’t be driving.”
“Fine. I’ll have someone pick you up.”
“No, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay at the hotel.”
“Why would you want to stay in that shithole? You’d be more comfortable at the Church. You can take a nap upstairs in our suite.”
Wendy glanced at Shea, then back at Hunter. “I wanna spend some time alone with my sister. We ain’t seen each other in forever. Please? Just a little while. Then I’ll meet up with you at the Church. I promise.”
Hunter narrowed his gaze at her. “I ain’t so keen on you being by yourself with all this shit going on.”
“Nobody knows I’ll be there.”
“The cops know.”
“I ain’t telling them shit, you know that.” She showered his face with kisses.
Hunter threw up his hands. “Fine. Do what you want. Just don’t stay too long.”
“Thanks, baby!”
Hunter followed them out into the parking lot. A guy with a goat patch beard wearing a Confederate Thunder cut over an NRA T-shirt sat on Hunter’s Harley Road King.
Must be Goatsy, Shea thought, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He slipped something into Hunter’s hand as they walked past on the way to Wendy’s car.
Shea climbed in and started the Mustang. Wendy sat down in the passenger seat, as Hunter handed her a small plastic bag. “This should hold you till I get back with Annie,” he said.
“Thanks, baby.” She kissed him on the lips.
When Hunter left, Wendy opened the bag, took out two pills, and chased them down with a swig from a half-empty water bottle in the center console. She shut the door. “Okay, let’s go.”
Shea’s lip curled in disgust. “Real mother of the year, you are.” She pulled out of the parking lot and raced down the road. Wendy didn’t say anything.
—
Shea drove back to the motel, keeping an eye out for the black SUV or anyone else who might be following. Either no one was tailing them or their pursuers were getting harder to spot.
To her relief, her bike remained in the motel parking lot. At least something’s going right, she thought.
They climbed the stairs to the room. As Wendy opened the door, the phone in Shea’s jacket rang. Wendy gasped and dropped the key on the floor.
Shea pulled the phone out of her jacket pocket. “Hello.”
“You the little girl’s mother?” The voice was deep and gravelly with a Latino accent, the same one on the video.
Shea directed Wendy into the room and closed the door behind them.
“She’s not feeling well. I’m her sister. You can talk to me,” she said, taking a seat on the bed. Wendy sat beside her, eyes frantic.
“Órale. What’s your name?”
“Shea. Where’s Annie?”
“You got my four million dollars, Che?” he asked, mispronouncing her name.
“Put Annie on the phone, so I know she’s okay.”
“You don’t make the rules, puta. I’m in charge. ¿Comprende? You got the money, or do I kill her?”
“Put her on the phone or you don’t get shit, asshole.”
A shrill scream filled Shea’s ear, followed by the choking sobs of a child. Shea inhaled sharply, wondering if she’d overplayed her hand.
“You hear that? She’s alive, but not much longer, you keep playing games. You got my money?”
“Four mill? No, I don’t.”
“That’s too bad. She such a pretty girl. But when I cut her open and hang her from a bridge, she won’t look so pretty.”
Shea struggled to keep the image of Annie’s broken body out of her mind. Keep it together or you’re no good to her, she told herself. “Look, I can get some money. Just not four million.”
“You think this a game? Maybe I cut off the girl’s ear, show you I don’t play games.”
“Don’t you fucking touch her, you miserable dirtbag. I’ll try to get the money. It’s gonna take time.”
“Time’s something you don’t got. Get the money now or the girl swings from a bridge.”
“What the hell you expect me to do? Rob a fucking bank?”
“Maybe you should, if you love your niece.”
“I ain’t robbing no bank. I’m willing to pay, but you gotta come down on the ransom. Otherwise, nobody gets what they want.”
“Why should I believe you, when you already talked to the cops?”
The phone trembled in her hand. How’d he know? “We didn’t contact them. They just showed up. We didn’t tell them nothing.”
“Better not. If you want Annie back alive, you get my money.”
“I can come up with maybe a couple grand.”
“Two fucking grand?” he scoffed. “For two grand, I give you a piece. What part you like? Her eyes or her heart? Maybe a finger or two.”
“You sick fuck. We ain’t got that kinda cash.”
“Girl’s papi got mucho dinero from selling crystal. Only question is what he loves more—his money or his daughter.”
“You said we got forty-eight hours. I’ll talk to the girl’s father about getting the ransom.”
“Get the money. Then take out ad on craigslist. Subject say, ‘Come Home Annie.’ In the ad, you say ‘We have room ready.’ You do that, I know you got the money and ready to make the drop. I don’t see the ad by nine tomorrow night, I kill the girl. You talk to the cops again, I carve your name in her chest so everybody know it’s Shea’s fault the girl’s dead. ¿Comprende?”
“Yeah. I comprende.” The call ended.
“What’d he say?” Wendy looked worried but less feverish. Maybe she really was in withdrawal, Shea thought.
“He ain’t budging. Says we gotta come up with four million dollars or he’ll kill Annie.”
“Four million? That’s not—That’s way too much! Where we supposed to get four million dollars?”
“We aren’t. Hunter and I are gonna rescue her.”
“What if you can’t find her? What then?”
“We’ll find her, all right? Sit tight in the room.” Shea handed her the phone.
“What if he calls back? What do I say?”
“He ain’t gonna call before I get back. And if he does, tell him we’re putting the money together.”
Shea walked to the door, adjusting the pistol in her waistband.
Wendy followed her and handed her a key to the room. “Shea, please bring my baby back.”
“That’s the plan.”
Chapter 17
With the breakfast rush over, the diner’s parking lot was a lot emptier when Shea returned. Hunter and One-Shot sat waiting on their bikes, with Mackey in the Bronco, looking antsy. Shea pulled up in between Hunter’s bike and the Bronco.
Mackey looked at his watch and threw up his hands. “What the fuck? You’re late.”
“Got a call from the kidnapper.”
“You learn anything?” asked Hunter.
“Sounds like he’s got Annie with him. Wouldn’t put her on the phone, but I heard her scream.”
His face twisted in anger. “Motherfucker!”
“Point is, if she is at the warehouse, she ain’t alone.” Shea narrowed her gaze at Hunter. “And FYI, he took her ’cause the club deals crystal. Figures you got the four mill for the ransom.”
Mackey held up a full-sized Ruger SR9. “Guess he’ll have to settle for a nine mill, instead. Right between the eyes.”
“Enough of this chitchat,” said Hunter. “Let’s get this done.”
The Confederate Thunder engines roared to life. Shea followed the guys out of town and down South Chaparral Road into the mountains of the Cortes National Forest. The sweet scent of ponderosa pine, mesquite, and juniper trees filled her nose, taking a bit of the edge off the tension. Campgrounds sprawled on either side of the road, catering to tourists escaping the heat of Phoenix.
Ten miles later, the pavement gave way to hard-packed dirt and gravel, forc
ing those on motorcycles to slow down or risk catastrophe on the less stable surface.
Near a vine-wrapped stone chimney, the last remains of a pioneer homestead, Hunter turned down an unmarked side road. Here and there, large rocks protruded through the earth, forcing Shea and the bikers to navigate around them. Muddy ruts and washboard ripples rattled the bikes so much that Shea wondered if she would lose a filling.
After a dozen turns through a labyrinth of dirt roads, they stopped and shut off the bikes. The sudden quiet of the forest felt like a shock after an hour of listening to the rumble of the engines and the roar of the wind through her helmet. The crunch of pine needles underneath her boots and the soprano chorus of birds were a welcome sound.
Shea had lost track of where they had turned and wasn’t sure she could find her way back if she needed to.
“Where’s the warehouse?” She wondered if they had led her here to get revenge for their tussle at the bike shop.
“We walk from here.” Hunter chambered a round on what looked like a .44 Magnum Desert Eagle.
“Walk?” She considered drawing her Glock. “How far?”
“The warehouse is over the next ridge.”
“Why the hell’d we park here then?” Her pulse quickened as she resisted the urge to make a run for it.
“Don’t want them wetbacks to hear us coming, do ya? Come on.”
Hunter and Mackey led the way. She stepped aside to let One-Shot follow. He gestured with an open hand toward the others. “After you,” he said in a baritone voice.
She studied his face, looking for hints of conspiracy. After a moment, she fell in behind Mackey, keeping an eye out for possible cover and escape routes should things go south.
They retraced their route on the gravel road to the most recent turn, veered right around the crest of the hill, then up a ways to the summit. The road dead-ended in front of a fifty-foot-wide, sage-green corrugated metal building. She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe this isn’t a setup.
Keeping to the trees, they stopped ten feet from the building. A garage door dominated the front with a side door painted black to the right of it—both closed. No vehicles outside.
The only sounds came from a pair of ground squirrels chasing each other through the underbrush.
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