Wendy turned on her, anger radiating from her face. “I only came to tell you Hunter called. The club should have the money ready by this afternoon. He wants us there now.”
Lakota and the others squeezed past Wendy in the narrow hallway on their way to the office. Wild Hair bumped Wendy, knocking her purse to the floor with a thud. The contents rolled across the floor.
“Dammit!” She bent down to pick up her belongings.
“Sorry, lady.” Wild Hair walked on without offering to help.
An amber pill bottle rolled to Shea. She picked it up. Her own name was printed on the label. It was her prescription for OxyContin from Dr. Sossaman. “What the fuck, Wendy?”
Wendy’s face turned red. “I was gonna give ’em to you. Geez!”
Terrance poked his head out of the office. “What’s wrong?”
Shea held up the bottle. “This is what’s wrong. She stole the prescription the ER doc wrote for my pain meds.”
“I didn’t steal shit. I picked them up for you.”
“That’s a load of bullshit. You picked ’em up for your damn self.” Shea slammed her against the wall. “I want you outta my shop, you lying junkie. You and Hunter deserve each other.”
Terrance pushed them apart. “All right, all right. Lets everybody calm down.”
Rage boiled inside of Shea. Flashes of childhood memories bubbled under the surface of her mind, but she couldn’t make sense of them. Her mother’s blood. Ralph’s trial. A guy in a suit saying what a good girl she was.
Wendy stood up with her purse, its contents recovered. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t give you your meds right away. I meant to. I forgot, okay?” She looked sincere, but Shea didn’t want to believe her. Once a liar, always a liar.
“Shea, you have something to say to Wendy?” asked Terrance, sounding like their father.
“I’m sorry you turned out to be a junkie.”
Terrance rolled his eyes. “Not helpful, Shea.”
“I just want my baby back.” Tears of desperation filled Wendy’s eyes. “Please come with me to the Church, Shea. I don’t want to go there by myself. Not with all the shit Hunter’s been doing.”
“Hunter’s your problem. Not mine.”
Wendy held up her interlaced fists in supplication. “This ain’t about me, Shea. It’s about my little girl. I can’t imagine what she must be going through. If you can’t do it for me, do it for her. Please.”
Guilt tugged at Shea’s heartstrings. “Fine. I’ll go.” Shea pocketed the Oxy. “Then once Annie’s safe, I don’t want to see your scrawny junkie ass in my shop ever again.”
“I promise.”
“One big happy family,” Terrance said with a half smile.
Monica’s scream rang out from the showroom. Terrance sprinted from the office with Shea on his heels. Monica stood behind the sales counter, eyes wide with horror. Her hand covered her mouth as if suppressing another scream. A cardboard box sat open on the counter.
“What’s wrong?” Shea asked.
Monica pointed at the box and twisted away from the counter.
Terrance stared into the box. “Oh shit.”
Shea limped up to the counter. Inside the box, a small bloody ear had been sealed inside a plastic bag. It took everything inside her to control her gag reflex. Her attempts to negotiate had cost poor Annie her ear, perhaps her life. “Where did this come from?”
Monica shrugged. “Delivery guy dropped it off a little bit ago. I just now opened it.”
“What’d he look like?” asked Shea.
“I don’t know. White. Maybe Latino. Bald. About thirty.”
Aguilar, thought Shea.
“What is it?” asked Wendy from across the room.
Shea rallied to control her writhing emotions. “Get some ice from the freezer in the office,” she said to Terrance. “We may be able to preserve it long enough for it to be reattached.” He nodded and ran to the office.
“Tell me.” Wendy’s voice cracked with fear.
Shea was torn between telling her the horrible truth or letting her suffer in ignorance. “It’s an ear,” she confessed, unable to meet her sister’s gaze.
“But not Annie’s ear, right?”
“I think it may be.”
Wendy crumpled to her knees. “No.”
Monica spewed into a trash can. Shea wanted to do the same. Lakota cradled Wendy on the floor.
Terrance returned with a large resealable bag full of ice and held it open. Shea lifted the bag with the ear by the corner and lowered it into the bag of ice.
“I hope we don’t remove any fingerprints,” said Terrance.
“Better that than Annie losing her ear for good.”
“Yeah.” A stern look darkened Terrance’s face. “I’m closing up shop until we can get this situation with the Jaguars figured out.”
“I’m with you.” Shea walked over to Lakota and Wendy. “How’s she doing?”
Lakota looked up at her, grim faced. “Not well. I think she’s in shock. She keeps saying this wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Wendy.” Shea squatted down in front of Wendy. “I know you’re upset, but we gotta go rescue Annie.”
Wendy looked up and their eyes met. Her face was flush with anguish. As Shea held her gaze, Wendy’s expression hardened. “I’m gonna kill those fuckers who hurt my baby.”
Shea gave her a hand up. “I’ll help you.” She turned to Terrance. “Do what you need to do to keep everyone safe.”
“Will do. Be careful out there.” Terrance ushered everyone back to the office.
Shea followed Wendy out the back door to the parking lot.
“You want me to drive?” Shea asked.
“I’m all right.” Her voice was monotone.
Shea climbed into the passenger seat. Wendy started the car with a roar and pulled onto the street, heading north. As they left Olde Towne, Shea caught sight of a dark SUV a few cars behind them, maybe a half mile back. She couldn’t tell if it was black, dark blue, or maroon. It wasn’t driving aggressively, but she suspected they were once again being tailed.
“What’s wrong?” asked Wendy.
“Remember that SUV chasing us the other day?”
“Yeah.”
“I think it’s back.”
Wendy glanced in her rearview mirror. “You sure it’s the same one?”
“No, but there’s a way to find out. Turn right up here onto Highway 134.”
“I wasn’t planning on going that way. I was gonna take the Ironwood Bypass.”
“Just do it. If I’m wrong, they’ll stay on 89. But if I’m right, they’ll follow us onto 134.”
Wendy slowed down and turned at the junction. The two cars immediately behind them continued straight on Highway 89. The SUV turned, following them. “Shea…”
“Yeah, I know. Speed up a little bit, see what they do.”
Wendy accelerated from sixty-five miles per hour to seventy-five. The SUV drifted behind.
We’re in the clear, Shea thought. The Mustang crested a hill and the SUV disappeared from view.
Wendy glanced back again. “They gone?”
“Yeah…wait, no, there they are. Shit.” The SUV reappeared, closing the gap between them. “Dammit. They’re after us.”
“What should I do?”
“We’ll have to lose them.”
“Who you think I am? Dale Earnhardt?”
“Just go fast as you can to I-17.”
“Whatever you say.” Wendy floored it. “Hope we don’t pass any cops.”
“Better the cops than the Jaguars.”
“You got your gun, right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Maybe you can get them to tell us where they got Annie.” Wendy wove past a cluster of cars in their way.
Shea gritted her teeth on each bump and swerve, trying to avoid hitting her leg or wrenching her neck whenever she glanced back. “You think these guys don’t have guns? Keep going.”
The SUV
continued to close the distance.
“There’s a red light coming up,” said Wendy.
Shea looked ahead. There weren’t any cars approaching the intersection. “Run it, then turn north onto the interstate.”
“Maybe you should take the wheel.” Wendy squinted while she flew through the intersection, then slowed down when they approached the interstate on-ramp.
“Don’t slow down! They catch us, we’re dead. Now punch it!”
Wendy complied, but without as much punch as Shea would have liked.
They merged onto I-17 North. A few miles in the distance, the road climbed up through a twisting mountain pass. “If we can make it to the mountains, maybe we can lose them. Those SUVs can’t corner for shit.”
The landscape of prairie grass dotted with thirty-foot junipers whizzed past in a blur, but the SUV stayed on their tail.
“Oh shit. Hang on!” Shea hunkered down and grabbed the oh-shit handle above her.
The SUV slammed their rear bumper. Shea’s head bounced off the headrest.
“What now?”
“Go faster!” Shea yelled. The SUV hit them again, harder this time.
“I’ve got the pedal to the floor. Maybe I should do one of your fancy U-turns.”
“Not at this speed. You’d flip us. Get to the mountains. We can make it.” The twisties were still half a mile away.
The SUV pulled into the lane to their left and rammed them from the side. Wendy screamed, struggling to stay on the road. The right shoulder of the road fell away as the highway rose up toward the mountains.
“Hit the brakes!”
“What?”
“The brakes! Do it!”
She slammed on the brakes. The Mustang shuddered while the antilock brakes struggled to keep the wheels from skidding. The SUV blew past, then locked up its brakes with a high-pitched scream and a cloud of dust.
Wendy turned to her. “Now what?”
Shea glanced in the rearview mirror. There were cars approaching from the south, so going in reverse wasn’t an option. Ahead of them, the SUV was now backing up.
“Hold tight. When I tell you to, floor it.”
The truck stopped forty feet away. The driver’s door opened and Oscar Reyes climbed out, a yellow bandana on his head representing his membership in the Jaguars.
“Okay, go!” Shea yelled.
Wendy hit the gas and ducked down, peeking over the dash. Oscar jumped back in as they flew by. Shea looked back. The SUV roared to life and came charging after them again.
Ahead, the road climbed steeply. Soon they’d hit the first tight turn up the side of the mountain. Shea hoped Wendy could control the car enough to not go flying off the cliff.
“Shea…”
Shea turned back in time to see the SUV pulling up beside them once again, this time on their right. Oscar was gesturing wildly and shouting something but Shea couldn’t make it out over the road noise.
He turned the wheel and hit them, pushing them across the median. Wendy swerved onto the southbound lane. An oncoming semi blew past—horn blaring—a split second before they skidded across the southbound lane toward the far shoulder. The SUV kept coming. Shea grabbed the wheel to help Wendy keep them on the road. The car shook violently. The wheels screamed as they were swept sideways by the SUV’s superior weight and engine.
The left wheel slipped off the side of the road. The car spun, then careened down the steep hill, flipping sideways over boulders and mowing down yucca. Shea clung to her seatbelt through a roller coaster of crunching metal and shattering glass. The airbags blew in front of her and on her side as the car came to a heart-pounding stop. Everything went black.
Chapter 26
Shea found her nine-year-old self wandering aimlessly outside Victor Ganado’s home. Ralph had chased her off while he and the Jaguars’ president talked business inside. It was a cool day, the sky royal blue, the air filled with the sweet fragrances of citrus blossoms. She preferred playing outside anyway, when the weather was pleasant.
The fenced-in lot next to the house caught her attention. Discarded machines of all types—cars, motorcycles, mowers, bicycles, even a snow machine—were jam-packed into rows like a rusty wonderland of hidden treasures. She spied a 250 cc minibike about three rows in. Ralph had been looking for one for her to learn on. This might be the ride they’d been hunting for.
She paid no heed to the KEEP OUT and NO TRESPASSING signs. Ralph had taught her those signs were for other people. That sort of thing didn’t apply to them. The Stevenses were biker royalty. They could do what they wanted, go where they wanted, whenever they wanted.
The fence was twice as tall as she was, crowned with three strands of barbed wire. No problem. She grabbed the welcome mat from Victor’s front door and tossed it over the barbed wire. It took a few attempts, but she nailed it on the third try. With her heart racing, she climbed up the chain links, up and over the mat covering the barbed wire, then down the other side where she stepped onto the hood of a rusted out VW Rabbit with all but one window busted out.
She hopped down. The broken windows tempted her mischievous side. She picked up a rock and threw it at the VW’s remaining window. It cracked but didn’t shatter. She picked up the rock again, threw harder, and was rewarded with a loud crash. “Yes!”
Satisfied, she walked down the row, tapping on various surfaces with a green paloverde stick, noting the different tinks and thunks each object made.
She was halfway to the minibike when a low rumble disturbed the quiet. She looked around the sea of abandoned junk, but didn’t see anything. Then she heard it again—a throaty growl. She turned down a different aisle and came face-to-face with a black dog as tall as her chest. All the dogs she knew were friendly. Their only threat was covering her in slobber. This dog was different. It held its head down, teeth bared, eyes aflame.
Instinct did for her what experience couldn’t. She swung the stick in front of herself to fend off the dog. It barked several times and snatched the stick out of her hand.
Adrenaline flooded her system as she ran. The beast was almost on her when she rolled under a nearby car. The dog growled, then hunched down and crawled toward her on its belly. She scrambled to the other side, leaping over a riding lawn mower. When it emerged from under the car, she threw a broken tricycle at it. It dodged the trike and kept coming. She ran toward a golf cart, clambering onto the roof.
As she caught her breath, the dog grabbed her pant leg. Shea clung to the roof of the golf cart with all her strength, but her sweaty palms couldn’t get enough purchase. She landed face-first on the ground with the wind knocked out of her. She flipped around onto her back, but before she could get to her feet, the dog leapt onto her chest. She punched wildly at the monstrous mouth full of teeth snapping at her. She grabbed hold of its throat, but it overpowered her easily.
Powerful jaws sliced into her face. Pain exploded in her head. She continued punching, but it had no effect. Blood obscured her vision.
All at once, the growling faded and her screaming stopped. The rapid heartbeat hammering in her ears remained the only sound. Every beat screamed for her to wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
—
Shea opened her eyes, the memory of teeth tearing at her flesh replaced by the Mustang’s seatbelt pulling against her chest. The roof had caved in, the windshield cracked but still in place. The world outside had taken a ninety-degree turn clockwise. Steam hissed from the cracked radiator.
She remembered tumbling down the hill. “Wendy?”
Blood speckled Wendy’s face and the deflated driver-side air bag. Sand filled the view outside the driver’s window. The car had landed on its side. Shea shook Wendy’s shoulder. She groaned. “What happened?”
“We crashed. Can you undo your seatbelt?”
“What?” Wendy’s eyes were unfocused, jaw slack like a large-mouth bass.
“Your seatbelt. Can you get it open?”
Wendy stabbed at the button. “It won’t le
t go.”
“Crap.” Shea reached down but couldn’t get it to release. “Hold on a sec.” She pulled out the knife clipped inside her waistband. The spring-assisted blade opened with a sharp clack.
Wendy looked worried. “What’re you doing with that?”
“Cutting your seatbelt.”
Using the serrated edge at the base of the blade, Shea sawed through the seatbelt. Wendy dropped a few inches to the ground as the seatbelt gave way.
“You okay?” Shea asked.
“My head hurts.”
Shea tucked the knife back into her waistband. With one hand on the oh-shit handle and her feet braced against the side of the footwell, she pressed the seatbelt release. It opened.
“We gotta get out of here.” Shea assessed their options. The windshield was cracked but not shattered. There wasn’t enough room to kick it out. Their best route was up through the passenger-side door.
She stepped onto the center console and tried the door. It wouldn’t open. No surprise, considering how much damage it had sustained from rolling down the hill. But the window was gone. She reached through, her arms, back, and legs protesting as she wriggled up through the window.
Standing on the door, Shea inspected their surroundings. They had rolled two hundred feet down a steep hill. At the top, the SUV sat parked on the side of the road. Oscar was already a third of the way down the hill, struggling to maintain his balance on the steep, uneven slope.
“Wendy, we need to leave.”
Wendy shook her head. “Let me lay here awhile.”
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Shea feared she might have a concussion. “The guy who ran us off the road is halfway down the hill already. If we stay here, he’ll kill us. Gimme your hand.” She leaned down into the car, reaching for Wendy.
Wendy took Shea’s hand. “I’m scared.”
“Yeah, me, too. Step on the console. Careful with the broken window. The glass can still cut you.”
Wendy’s skinny frame made her ascent easier as Shea pulled her out of the smashed Mustang.
“My beautiful car.” She tucked a string of hair behind her ear with a blood-smeared hand as she sat on the crumpled fender.
Iron Goddess Page 14
