Wendy’s phone rang. “Speak of the devil.”
Shea pointed to the door. “Take it out in the hall. The nurses don’t allow phone calls in the ICU.”
Wendy rushed out of the room and down the hall to answer the call.
Shea took a final look at Derek. “Get better, kid.” A lump formed in her throat. Her eyes met Jessica’s. “Let’s go see what Hunter is saying to Wendy.”
Chapter 21
Shea and Jessica caught up to Wendy, who was by the elevators yelling at Hunter on the phone.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Hunter?”
Shea grabbed the phone from her. “Hey, asshole! Remember me?”
“Well, look who’s still alive. I thought for sure the wetbacks got you.”
Her grip tightened. “Almost did, thanks to you.”
“Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”
“I guess you’ll find out. You notice the security camera at the warehouse? They’re gonna know you took their hex.”
“That’s why I want Wendy here. Club’s on lockdown.”
Shea looked at Wendy. “He wants you at the Church.”
Wendy leaned over and yelled at the phone. “Tell him to go fuck himself.”
“Hear that, asshole? You screwed things up. I only hope Annie’s still alive.”
“Long as I got their dope, they ain’t doing nothing to Annie.”
“You’d bet your child’s life on that?”
He didn’t say anything. Maybe he realized he wasn’t so smart after all.
“What’s your plan to get Annie back now?” she demanded.
“We’ll pay the ransom.” Defeat dampened the tone of his voice. “But there ain’t no way we can get four million dollars. A few hundred thousand, maybe.”
“I tried negotiating with the kidnapper. He ain’t budging.”
“Try harder.”
“You try harder to get the four million. We only have one shot at this, so don’t fuck it up.”
“You giving me orders, bitch?” he asked, getting back a little of his fire.
She hung up and tossed Wendy the phone.
“The kidnappers want four million dollars?” asked Jessica. “That’s insane! Who has that kind of money?”
“The Confederate Thunder. At least the kidnappers think they do.”
“Why would they have four million dollars?”
“Because they are the biggest crank dealers in the state.”
“He gonna get the ransom?” Wendy asked when the elevator doors opened.
“So he says,” said Shea, keeping a wary eye on her sister.
“What about the Jaguars’ heroin? They’ll want that back, too, right?” Agitation and fear colored Wendy’s face.
“I reckon. I’m surprised we haven’t heard from the kidnapper about it. Maybe he don’t know yet.” A new possibility occurred to Shea. “Or maybe the Jaguars ain’t the ones who got Annie.”
“Not the Jaguars? If it ain’t them, then who’s got her?”
Shea shook her head. “I don’t know. For now, Hunter needs to put the ransom together.”
“You said something about a church,” said Jessica. “What church?”
“It’s what the Thunder calls their clubhouse,” Shea said. “Hunter wants everyone affiliated with the club there. The MC’s on lockdown. Guess he’s expecting blowback from the Jaguars.”
“All the more reason for you to let the cops handle it.” Jessica looked worried.
“We can’t.” Shea stared at a smudge on the stainless steel doors. “They’ll kill her.”
“And if you don’t, they’ll kill you.”
“It’s a risk we gotta take. I grew up around punks like this. I can handle myself.” The doors opened. Wendy strolled out of the elevator toward the building’s exit. Shea limped along as fast as she could, every step increasing the pain. Jessica put her arm around her and helped her to the parking lot. They found Wendy standing by her Mustang.
“Where are we going now?” asked Wendy.
“I wanna pick up my bike from the motel and go home.” Sympathy eroded Shea’s resentment toward Wendy. “You’re welcome to crash at our place if you want. Beats staying in that shitty motel or at the Church with your old man.”
Wendy offered a grim smile. “Thanks, I’d like that. I can give you a ride to the motel. I’ll grab my stuff and you can pick up your bike.”
Jessica looked down at Shea’s leg. “Can you ride?”
The anesthetic the doctor had injected into her leg was wearing off. But she didn’t want to leave her bike at the motel any longer than necessary. “I’ll manage.”
Jessica shrugged. “I’ll head home and throw something together for dinner.” She kissed Shea. “Be careful. Keep the sunny side up.”
Despite the throbbing in her leg, Shea chuckled. “I think you mean, ‘Keep the shiny side up.’ Biker talk for ‘Don’t have an accident.’ ”
She followed Wendy to her car and climbed into the passenger seat.
—
They arrived back at the motel at five in the afternoon. Shea retrieved her pistol from the glove box, wrestled herself out of the car, and hobbled toward her bike.
While Wendy grabbed her suitcase, Shea pulled on her helmet, zipped up her jacket, and threw her leg over the bike with a grunt. The engine roared to life and she hit the highway heading south to Sycamore Springs, with Wendy following behind in the Mustang.
The constant braking at intersections aggravated the stiffness and discomfort, making Shea want to grind her teeth. Once they got clear of the stoplights in Bradshaw City, the open road gave her leg a break.
The summer air, scented with the ginlike aroma of juniper, cooled while the late-afternoon sun dipped below the mountains. The sensation of flying low over the landscape calmed her. Wind therapy, as bikers called it. Her mind drifted, sorting out the chaos.
The kidnapper’s Hispanic accent and threats of hanging Annie from a bridge had led Shea to believe he was a Jaguar. But then why hadn’t he called about the stolen hex? And who had her bikes? Goblin had said one of the guys talked like a cop. Why would a member of the Jags team up with a cop for a heist? None of the pieces fit together.
She thought about Jessica’s suggestion of calling the detectives. God knows, I’m out of my depth. Oscar Reyes had her business card and had probably seen her face on the security feed. How long before they tracked her down? Had she put Terrance and their employees at risk?
On the other hand, the kidnapper knew the detectives had met with them. If she told them what she knew, the kidnapper might find out. Then what would happen to Annie? She didn’t want to think about it. Her best bet was to wait for Hunter to call to confirm he had the ransom.
Once she reached Sycamore Springs’ Olde Towne, she stopped at the Rexall Drugs across the street from Iron Goddess. The lights were on in the motorcycle shop’s showroom. She thought about checking in with Terrance, but her leg was getting worse by the minute. She wanted to pick up her pain meds, go home, and zone out.
Wendy poked her head out of the window of her car. “Why are we stopping?”
“Gotta pick up the pain meds for my leg.”
“Can’t we get ’em tomorrow?” She looked impatient.
“Not if I wanna sleep tonight. Just chill. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Shea limped past the unmanned front register and the displays for sunscreen and bath products.
“We’re closed.” Her friend Aracelli was sweeping the floor near the pharmacy counter, her back to Shea. She turned around. “Oh, Shea! I was just locking up.”
“Do a favor for a friend?” Shea limped over to her.
“What’d you do to your leg?”
“Road rash.”
“Ouch!” Aracelli winced.
“You mind filling a prescription for pain meds before you close?”
“Sure.”
Shea reached into her outside jacket pocket. The prescription wasn’t there. She checked the ou
tside pocket on the other side. Empty. She checked the pockets inside her jacket and in her shredded jeans. It wasn’t there either. “Crap!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Can’t find the damn scrip.” Was it with the rest of the paperwork the hospital gave me? “Never mind. I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“Sorry. You want something over the counter?”
“No, I’ll be all right.” She walked out wanting to kick something. If her leg hadn’t hurt so much, she would have.
“Follow me,” she told Wendy as she hopped back onto her bike.
Chapter 22
As Shea zigzagged down the switchbacks of Sycamore Mountain, the wind grew warmer until it became a blast furnace across her chest. The air in her helmet grew stuffy, but opening the face shield even a crack would only let in more heat. The increasing temperature intensified the throbbing in her leg into a steady drumbeat of pain.
When the hill leveled out, she turned right onto a side street. Homes nestled in the shade of twisted mesquites, sweet-smelling sycamores, and cottonwood trees that filled the air with fairy fluff. This wasn’t like the pretty suburban neighborhoods down in Phoenix populated with carbon-copy houses, manicured shrubs, and yards covered with monochromatic crushed rock.
The rugged, untamed lots here each spanned a few acres, some dominated by horse corrals and the fragrance of manure. After a half mile, the road took a dogleg left, then paralleled a low ridge crested with boulders the size of automobiles.
Shea’s house sat at the end of the lane. She pulled into one of the few paved driveways in the neighborhood and opened the garage with the remote in her jacket. The late-afternoon sunlight revealed her stable of a dozen custom motorcycles and cabinets full of tools. She parked in the one empty spot.
Her right knee refused to bend when she tried to dismount. Her arms strained to pull her body closer to the handlebars to get enough room to slide her foot around. The effort left her winded. While she caught her breath, Wendy parked her Mustang next to Jessica’s car on the side of the house.
“Geez, got enough bikes?” Wendy locked up her car.
“What can I say? I like motorcycles.”
“Your garage is as big as the rest of the house.”
“I didn’t need the third bedroom, so I knocked out the wall to make room for more bikes.”
Wendy’s face darkened. “Hunter called.”
“What’d he say?”
“He’s not sure he can come up with four million. He wants you to get the kidnapper to lower the ransom.”
“How much has he got?”
“Couple hundred grand.”
“Shit.” Her brain was a train wreck of ache, hunger, and exhaustion. Concentrating took more effort than she could spare. “Every time I tried to negotiate, he threatened to hurt Annie. Hunter’s gotta come up with the money somehow.”
“What if he doesn’t?” Wendy stared out at the horizon, arms wrapped around her like she was keeping something from escaping.
“We’ll figure something out.” Shea hugged her for the first time in seventeen years. It felt strange, but comfortable. “We’ll think better once we’ve had something to eat. Come on, let’s see what Jess is cooking.”
Her home was a bit snug on the inside—two small bedrooms, a compact kitchen, and a living room with seating for five, if you didn’t mind getting cozy. Shea’d ripped out the carpeting in the living room years earlier and replaced it with rugs on the bare slab. It helped keep the place cool and she could pull a bike inside if she needed to work on one of her bikes away from the summer heat.
As they walked in the door, the aroma of curry, meat, and onions filled the air. Jessica stood in the kitchen to their right. Meat sizzled in the wok on the stove.
“I hope no one’s allergic to peanuts. I’m making Thai beef,” said Jessica over her shoulder.
“Sounds delicious, hon.” Shea led Wendy to the living room. Mismatched rugs covered the concrete slab. An oversized recliner sat at one end, next to a leather love seat, with a glass and brass coffee table in the middle. A projection TV occupied the far corner.
Wendy took the recliner, Shea’s usual spot. Shea resisted the urge to say anything and instead plopped down on the love seat, resting her hurt leg on the coffee table.
“What’s Thai beef?” whispered Wendy.
Shea shrugged. “Dunno, but Jess is a damn good cook.”
Moments later, Jessica handed Wendy and Shea warm plates covered with strips of beef swimming in a spicy brown sauce over rice. “Bon appétit,” she said.
Shea took a bite. Her mouth exploded with a combination of fiery chile paste, garlic, lime juice, and peanut. The beef melted on her tongue. She groaned with pleasure and for a moment forgot about the pain in her leg.
“Good?” Jess carried over a plate for herself, nestling next to Shea on the love seat.
Shea nodded, too focused on eating to speak. Not a grain of rice remained when she set the plate on the coffee table.
While her stomach was now full, the ache in her leg had grown worse. She could have used the pain pills the doctor had prescribed. She wondered if Wendy still had any of the Oxy Hunter had given her at the restaurant. She also wondered if maybe her sister had palmed the prescription when Shea wasn’t looking.
She took a deep breath, grimacing as she pulled herself to her feet. If she couldn’t have pain pills, there was always vodka.
Jessica looked up from her dinner. “You need something?”
“No, I got it. Butt’s getting sore from sitting, anyways.” She limped to the kitchen and pulled a frost-covered bottle of vodka out of the freezer. The icy glass surface was so cold it made her hand ache holding it. “Anyone else want some?”
Wendy’s hand shot up like the teacher’s pet. Shea frowned, not surprised in the least.
“Jessica?” She held up the bottle.
“No thanks.”
She poured three fingers’ worth into a glass for herself, and two fingers for Wendy. With the bottle tucked under one arm and a glass in each hand, she returned to the love seat, careful not to spill any of the precious liquid.
“How long you two been together?” Wendy asked as Shea’s cat, Ninja, crept out of the bedroom to investigate the strange human who’d invaded her house. Wendy reached out to pet her, but the cat scampered away. “Fraidy cat!”
Shea looked at Jessica. “What, about three months now?”
“Closer to four, I think.”
“And already living together?” Wendy asked with an air of mock judgment. “How scandalous.”
“I recently moved up from the Valley,” said Jessica, referring to Phoenix. “I’m hoping to find a place of my own soon. They opened some cute condos up in Ironwood near the university.”
Shea rolled her eyes. “I keep telling ya you’re welcome to move the rest of your stuff in here. I’ll make room.”
Jess made a face. “I’d prefer something a little less industrial. It’s like living in an oversized storage unit.”
“I thought you yuppie types were into that whole reclaimed, urban-industrial style,” said Wendy.
Shea threw a cat toy at Wendy. “Don’t be starting nothing.”
“Geez, I’m teasing.” She looked at Jessica. “I’m teasing. Really.”
Jessica took a sip of Shea’s vodka, made a face, and walked to the kitchen. “I don’t know how y’all drink that stuff.”
Shea emptied her glass and poured herself another three fingers. Wendy stuck out her glass. Shea gave her a shot’s worth. Her sister made a face and Shea added a little more.
Jessica fixed herself a glass of wine from the fridge and sat back down. “How did you meet your husband, Wendy?”
“He was a prospect for the club when we met. I thought he was cute. He made me smile.”
“What’s a prospect?” Jessica asked.
“Prospective member,” Shea said.
“Oh, like a pledge to a fraternity.”
Wendy laughed and c
hoked on her vodka. “Only not as dorky.”
“Hey, my brother’s in a fraternity.” Jessica crossed her arms, frowning.
“Then I guess you know. Pretty little frat boys with their dorky polo shirts and penny loafers and Daddy’s gold card. Bunch a pansy-ass dicks, if ya ask me. Bikers ain’t like that, not even the prospects.”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “No, of course not. Bikers wear stupid little leather vests, nasty-ass beards, and chains on their wallets.” Venom poisoned her tone.
“Like you would know, bitch.”
“More than you, you backwoods redneck.” Jessica stood up, as if poised for a fight.
Shea made a T with her hands. “Yo! Time out, ladies. No fighting while I’m injured.”
“Whatever.” Jessica slammed her glass onto the coffee table and stormed to their bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Chapter 23
Part of Shea wanted to chase after Jessica and apologize for her sister’s rude remarks. She settled for glaring at Wendy.
“What’s her problem?” Wendy asked, as if nothing had happened.
“Listen, I don’t mind you staying here, but don’t piss off my girlfriend.”
“Sor-ry!” She held up her hands to emphasize her fake apology. “Didn’t know y’all were so touchy.”
The vodka was settling into Shea’s brain, taking the edge off the pain. Her mind drifted to other subjects. “If Annie’s eight years old…”
“I got pregnant when I was fifteen.” Wendy blushed and stared at the dark screen on the TV.
“How old was Hunter?”
“Nineteen.”
“Nineteen? That’s statutory rape.”
“I know. Monster wanted to kill him when he found out, but I told him we were in love. So the Thunder threw us a big-ass, leather-and-lace biker wedding.” She poured herself another glass of vodka. “God, that was beautiful.”
“How’d Mr. Wonderful turn into such a psycho?”
“When Hunter became the club’s sergeant-at-arms, he got more secretive. I mean, I know he can’t always share about club stuff, but it got to the point we didn’t have shit to talk about. Sometimes I didn’t see him for days.”
Iron Goddess Page 12
