After a moment, the cold water numbed her leg. The pain became almost bearable. She looked for soap; there wasn’t any. No surprise in this sleazy motel. She was probably increasing her risk of infection by coming in contact with the tub. Who knows the last time it was cleaned?
After a few minutes of white-knuckling the spigot, she turned off the water and looked again at the wound. It looked cleaner, but raw, angry, and still seeping blood. She grabbed the cleanest towel from the shelf above the toilet and pressed it to her leg.
The front door of the room creaked open. Was it Wendy or had the Jaguars tracked her down?
Her fingers wrapped around the Glock’s grip. With her hand trembling from the pain, she pointed the gun at the bathroom door.
Chapter 19
Wendy popped her head in the bathroom and jumped when she saw the gun. “Jesus Christ, Shea! What the hell?” She seemed less jittery, eyes more focused. The clammy flush of fever was gone. Her hair was brushed, makeup not quite concealing the shiner Mackey had given her.
“Sorry. Didn’t know it was you.” Shea tossed the Glock onto her jeans, piled on the floor next to her. “Where the hell you been?”
“I got hungry. Where’s Annie?”
Shea shook her head. “She wasn’t there.”
Tears filled Wendy’s eyes. She collapsed onto the toilet seat, burying her face in her hands. “What are we gonna do? I want my baby back.”
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Shea pivoted toward her and put a hand on her sister’s knee. “We’ll get her back. Just gotta figure out a way to get the ransom.”
Wendy looked up at her. “Where’s Hunter?”
“I don’t know. We, uh, parted ways at the warehouse.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Ask that asshole you call a husband.”
Wendy tilted her head with a confused look on her face. Her gaze dropped to where blood seeped through the towel Shea held on her leg. “You’re bleeding.”
“You noticed.” She peeled the towel away and bit her lip to keep from screaming. Looking at the wound made it hurt worse.
“Shit, how’d that happen?”
“Learning how not to drive on gravel.”
“Maybe we should go to the Church. One of the guys is a doctor.”
“Can you drive?” The sudden departure of Wendy’s withdrawal symptoms made Shea wonder.
“Whaddya mean? Of course I can drive. I have a car.”
“I mean, are you high?”
“No!”
Shea couldn’t tell if she was lying or not. “Uh-huh.”
“I took some medicine to feel better, but I’m fine.”
Shea thought about asking her for some of whatever she’d taken to help with the pain. “Then drive me to the hospital.”
“The Church is closer. Our doctor, Dopey, knows his stuff.”
“Club’s got a doctor named Dopey? No, thanks. Drive me to the fucking hospital, okay?”
“Okay! Jump down my throat, why dontcha?”
“Sorry. My leg feels like it went through a wood chipper.” With the black pocketknife she kept clipped inside her waistband, she cut off the lower half of her right pant leg.
“What’re you doing?”
“Don’t want my jeans pressing against the road rash. You got anything clean I can use to cover the wound? Something you don’t mind getting blood on?”
Wendy retrieved a purple nightshirt from her suitcase and handed it to her. “You can use this. It’s kinda ratty, anyways. Had it since I was pregnant with Annie.”
Shea looked it over. The words MAMA IN TRAINING were printed in faded letters on the front. The hems were ragged in spots, but it looked clean. “Thanks.”
She wrapped it around the wound and cut strips on the end to tie it off. She gingerly pulled on her tattered jeans, followed by her boots, then holstered the Glock.
Wendy helped her to her feet. “Can you make it to the car?”
Again, she thought about asking Wendy what she’d taken, now wondering if she had some to share. Her pain tolerance had neared its limit. “I can make it. Is there an elevator?”
“Yeah, but it’s at the other side of the building. The staircase is a lot closer. Just lean on me.”
It felt weird relying on Wendy to help her walk. Shea was always the one looking after her sister. She kept reminding herself not to trust Wendy, not to like her. But right now she needed her help.
Wendy held open the passenger door as Shea lowered herself into the Mustang’s bucket seats with help from the oh-shit handle above the doorframe. Getting her right leg inside required some gymnastics.
“You in?” asked Wendy.
Shea nodded and put on her seatbelt. Wendy shut the passenger door, climbed into the driver’s seat, and drove south toward Cortes General Hospital.
“You hear from the kidnapper?” Shea asked through gritted teeth.
“Ummm…no, not really.”
“What do you mean not really?”
“I got a call from Margaret’s brother, Eduardo.”
“Why’d he call you?”
Wendy shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road ahead of them. “Well, we kinda know each other. I mean, he’s her brother. Or was.”
“You kinda know him? There’s something you ain’t telling me. I can hear it in your voice. Were you dating him?”
“Ew, no! He’s just a teenager. We’re just friends. Not even friends, really. He’s just the kid brother of a friend. I barely know him.”
“So what does he have to do with the kidnapper?” Shea thought for a moment when Wendy didn’t respond right away. “Shit, he’s a member of the Jags, isn’t he?”
“You know, I really don’t want to talk about this right now. I gotta concentrate on driving.”
“Is he the one who took Annie?”
“No, he ain’t like that.” Wendy’s voice became choked with emotion as her eyes filled with tears. “He was upset about his sister getting killed. He was calling me asking if I knew anything.”
“He should be talking to his fellow gangbangers.”
“That’s what I told him. But he swears the Jaguars ain’t got her.”
“Yeah, that’s a load of crap.” Shea’s leg began to throb more as she became angrier. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She pulled out her phone. Jessica had left a voicemail message. Rather than listen to it, she called Jess directly.
“Tell me the truth, Shea. Are you seeing someone else? I’m tired of these crazy stories.”
She took a deep breath as the throbbing in her leg intensified. “No, sweetie. I ain’t seeing no one else. I had a minor accident on the motorcycle.”
“Oh my God, are you all right? Where are you?”
“Wendy’s driving me to Cortes General now. Got a little road rash on my leg. I’ll live.” A pothole on the road sent a jolt of pain through both her leg and head. “Fuck!”
“I’ll meet you there.” Jessica hung up before she could tell her not to bother.
“She coming?” asked Wendy.
“Guess so.” Shea lay back in the seat, relaxing into the pain.
“Interesting. I get to meet my sister’s old lady.”
“Don’t call her an old lady to her face. She might not get the context.”
“Why not?”
“She’s an insurance adjuster who moved up here from Scottsdale. The whole biker scene’s new to her.” Shea opened one eye and looked at her sister.
Wendy grinned. “This oughta be fun.”
“Oh yeah. Tons.”
“What happened at the warehouse?”
Shea didn’t feel like talking about it, but as Annie’s mother, Wendy deserved to know. “All we found was a shitload of hex. Hunter decided to commandeer it. When I objected, the three of them jumped me.”
“Hunter did this to your leg?”
“Not directly. He just left me for the Jags to find. Barely got out of there when Uncle Victor and one of his goons showed up.
They were the ones in the black SUV that chased us.” The car hit another pothole, sending Shea’s pain level through the roof. “Gah! Tore up my leg getting away. Fucking gravel roads.”
“Damn Hunter! You see why I ran away from him?”
“Seemed awful cozy at the diner.”
“I wasn’t feeling well. I was hoping he could hook me up with something.”
“Sounds fucked up, if ya ask me.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
Shea’s phone rang. “Hello?”
“Panterita?”
“Goblin! You hear anything about my bikes?”
“An associate of mine got a visit from a couple guys looking to unload some pink bikes.”
“Fucking A! Best news I heard all day. He got ’em?”
“Not yet. He supposed to check ’em out in the next day or so.”
“What’d the two guys look like?”
“My associate said one was a cholo with Jag ink. The other guy was bald and talked like a cop. My guy’s not sure about doing the deal. Might be a sting.”
“A sting with my stolen bikes? Doubt it.” She wondered if the cop was Deputy Commando. “Tell your guy to set up a meet. Give me the details and I’ll be there.”
“I’ll pass the word, amiga.”
“Thanks, Goblin.” She hung up.
“Who’s that?” Wendy asked.
“A friend from back in the day. Might have a lead on who’s got my stolen motorcycles.”
“You think it’s the same people who took Annie?”
“Could be. One of the guys sported Jaguar tattoos. My friend’ll call me when they set a meet.”
Chapter 20
When they parked near the ER entrance, Shea stashed her Glock in the glove box. Wendy helped her limp into the emergency waiting room. The heady smell of antiseptic hung in the air.
The same woman with the pale lavender bouffant hair sat behind the check-in desk. Her brow crinkled when she looked up at Shea. “Weren’t you here yesterday?”
“Yeah. Tore up my leg in a motorcycle accident a little bit ago.” Shea gave the woman her personal information.
“Have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”
Jessica arrived twenty minutes later, right as a nurse named Bruce, sporting Harry Potter glasses, showed up with a wheelchair. Shea gave Jess a quick hug, taking a moment to enjoy the scent of her perfume. “Glad you came.”
Shea sat in the wheelchair and Bruce wheeled her into one of the ER rooms, with her sister and girlfriend trailing behind.
“You need help getting on the bed?” asked Bruce.
With his help, Shea climbed onto the bed and lay back. Jessica and Wendy stared at each other in awkward silence, while Bruce took Shea’s vitals and asked the usual medical intake questions.
“The doctor should be in soon.” Bruce shut the sliding glass door behind him as he vanished down the hall.
“Jessica, meet my sister, Wendy. Wendy, this is my girlfriend, Jessica.”
“So, you’re my sister’s old lady?” said Wendy with a smirk.
Jessica looked at her, horrified. “Old lady?”
Shea shook her head. “Biker lingo, darling. It means we’re in a relationship.”
“Oh yeah, right. I knew that.” Jessica blushed. “How’d this happen?”
“The leg? An elk jumped out in front of me. I laid down the bike to avoid hitting it.”
Wendy raised an eyebrow. “You said it happened when you were running away from the Jaguars.”
“Jaguars? I think you mean mountain lions. There aren’t any jaguars this far north,” said Jessica.
“Not that kind of jaguar, honey,” said Wendy. “We’re talking about Mexican gangsters who traffic heroin for the Santa Cruz drug cartel.” Angry tears filled her eyes. “And kidnap little girls.”
“We’ll get her back, Wen.” Shea put her hand on her sister’s arm.
“A Mexican drug gang has your niece?” asked Jessica. “I thought you said the girl’s father had her.”
“We got a ransom demand from the kidnappers,” Shea said. “Me and a few of the Thundermen thought we could rescue Annie.”
“From Mexican gangsters? Are you insane? Have you told the cops what you know?”
“No!” Wendy shook her head. “We tell the cops, they’ll kill her.”
“I don’t like this, Shea. You’ll get yourself killed.” Jessica looked angry. “Look at your leg, for crying out loud.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll find a way to pay the ransom and get her back. No more heroics. I promise.”
—
A little while later, Dr. Sossaman, the same doctor who’d treated Derek, walked in. “Ms. Stevens, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“That makes two of us,” she said.
“What brings you back?”
She pointed to her leg wrapped in the bloodstained remnants of Wendy’s nightshirt. “Laid my bike down in gravel.”
“Ouch! Let’s get that off and take a look.” She untied the strips used to secure the shirt and held one end of the makeshift bandage. “This will hurt a bit.”
Shea’s leg trembled as the doctor unwrapped the improvised bandage. When she got to the point where the T-shirt was pulling off her chewed-up flesh, the pain forced a string of obscenities from Shea’s lips. She gripped the edge of the hospital bed, struggling for breath.
Jessica took her hand. Shea struggled to compose herself while the doc examined the wound.
“Not too much dirt or debris, but I want to rinse it with saline to make sure we got it all out.”
Dr. Sossaman injected a local anesthetic at several spots along the length of the wound. “This should help.” She picked up a bottle with a long tapered tube on top and let a stream of saline flow onto the wound.
Despite the anesthetic, the saltwater trickling over the exposed nerves burned like fire. Shea clinched her teeth. “Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.”
“It’ll leave an ugly scar, but you should live.” The doctor squeezed ointment onto a large bandage and covered the wound.
Shea smirked. “Just adding to my collection.”
Dr. Sossaman wrote out a prescription for oxycodone and handed it to her. “Take one of these every four to six hours as needed for the pain.”
“Thanks. Any word on how my friend Derek is doing?”
“He’s still up in ICU, last I heard. I think Dr. Rinku Patel is taking care of him.”
“How do I get there from the ER?” Shea’s recent trauma muddled her memory of her previous visit.
She pointed. “Around the corner, take your first right, then down the hall to the elevators. ICU’s on the third floor. Follow the signs.”
“Thanks.”
After settling up with the hospital cashier, Shea hobbled down the corridor, with Wendy and Jessica in tow.
“Where’re we going?” asked Jessica.
“To see a friend.” Her leg hurt less than it had. Maybe the local was kicking in.
At the ICU nurses’ station, she checked in with an RN named Marcy, according to her name badge.
“How’s Derek Williams doing?”
Marcy looked up his information on the computer in front of her. “Are you family?”
“Yeah, he’s my cousin,” Shea lied. “Why?”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but Mr. Williams is in a coma.”
Sorrow consumed Shea. “What happened?”
“He had a seizure due to extreme blood loss.”
“He gonna live?”
“We’re doing everything we can for him.” Marcy gave her an apologetic smile. Shea didn’t want sympathy. She needed reassurances he would come out of this alive.
A husky man with dark skin, a wreath of graying hair, and dressed in a white lab coat sat on the other side of the nurses’ station typing at a computer. Shea hobbled over there. “Dr. Patel?”
Marcy chased after her. “Ma’am, the doctor is occupied at the moment.”
She
a ignored her and planted herself in front of the doctor. “Are you Patel?”
“Yes,” he said with a slight Indian accent. “Can I help you?”
“You’re taking care of my friend Derek Williams. He was shot.”
He scratched the top of his balding head. “Yes, I remember.”
“Is he gonna make it?”
“He’s in a coma right now.”
“When will he come out of it?”
“It’s hard to say. He’s had a terrible trauma. He lost so much blood, his whole system has been impacted—his heart, his brain.”
“Did he say anything? Did he say how he got shot?”
“Not that I’m aware of. The police visited with him shortly before he went into the coma. I don’t know if he told them anything or not.”
Anger and sorrow pressed on her chest, making it hard to breathe. What had he said to me? “They made me?” Who? Who made him?
“Is there anything else I can do for you? I am very busy.”
“No. Thanks.”
Pressing against the crush of emotions, she walked to Derek’s room and sat next to his bed. A large ventilator tube was taped over his mouth. A tangle of IVs and vital monitor leads were attached all over his body. On the plus side, his face had more color than when she’d seen him last. Seeing him, her leg hurt less. “Hey, kiddo, you gotta wake up and tell me who did this to you, so I can go kick their ass.”
Jessica kneeled down. “You okay, babe?”
Shea forced a grim smile. “I’ll be all right.”
“Someone shot your friend?” Wendy’s eyes darted around the room.
“Yeah. You know something about it?”
“No, why would I know anything?” She shifted from one foot to another, as if there was someplace else she wanted to be. “You don’t think Hunter shot him, do you?”
“Whoever shot Derek robbed my shop and took the good stuff. They know motorcycle gear.” Shea ran her fingers through her hair. “And Hunter? I don’t trust him as far as I can spit. So yeah, he’s high on my list of suspects.”
Iron Goddess Page 11
