Her Bear In Mind (3 page)

Molly snatched up the business card.

“I think I like him.” she said to Sierra.

“It’s good that you approve.” Sierra replied. “Shall we be going?” she asked Joe.

“Of course,” Joe said. “You can give me the grand tour later.”

Joe swept her out the door of the apartment and down to the parking garage to his waiting Range Rover.

“So,” he asked as he pulled out of the garage, “are you really planning to destroy me?”

Feeling less sure of herself by the minute, Sierra paused before answering, “I haven’t decided yet.”

He smiled at her.

“Good.”

La Petite Maison was located in a charming little white house. The maître‘d greeted them enthusiastically and didn’t seem in the least perturbed that the Governor had not bothered to make a reservation. They were led up to their table on the balcony outside. overlooking the cobblestone courtyard below. The menu was almost entirely in French, the wine was fantastic, and the service was excellent.

Sierra waited until the bread course to ask, “So what were you doing out there in the woods?”

“Is this an interview or a date?” he asked.

“You tell me.”

He chose another
brioche a tete
before answering. “I would like to think you’re here because you’re beginning to enjoy my company, but I can’t flatter myself that much. Still, I suspect I am growing on you.”

“Are you trying to say that you’re here for a date and I’m here for an interview?”

“I am most definitely here for a date. And you’re still here for an interview, but I think maybe I can turn that around.”

“Does that mean you’ll answer my question?”

Their first course arrived; a perfectly seared sea scallop on top of a dollop of wild mushroom risotto.

“The truth is, I feel a lot more comfortable in the woods then I do at political functions or French restaurants with ridiculously small portions.”

“That’s it?” Sierra said, disbelieving. “You drove for two hours in the middle of the week to go on a nature walk?”

“I also fish.”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

He smiled at her mischievously. “What else could I have been doing?”

He was taunting her. He’d brought her to a $100 a plate restaurant just to taunt her.

“Ok.” she said. “It’s a date.”

“It is?”

“If this were an interview, you’d actually answer my questions.”

“Really? Have you interviewed many politicians?”

Sierra stood up to go.

“Wait!” He grabbed her hand. “Don’t go. I hear the chocolate soufflé is excellent, though also tiny. And if you stay, I’ll tell you where the money went.”

Cautiously, Sierra sat back down.

“It was a payroll advance for a camp employee. Her daughter’s sick and she really needed the money. It wasn’t a strictly above-board, but I wanted to help her out. That’s an honest answer.”

“That was one hell of an advance, Joe.”

“Like I said, sick daughter. The cost of health care is deplorable. Can we talk about something else now? You did say this was a date.”

“What should we talk about?”

“How about how you look in that dress? Or how I’d like to take you to the woods sometime to look at the stars at night, only this time you should wear better shoes, unless you’d like to roll around in the mud with me again, because that’s really been the highlight of my week. Or how
very
tiny this food is and we’re going out for steak and baked potatoes after this? I know a good place.”

Sierra wasn’t sure what to say. He was lying to her. She knew it. He was hiding things that went far beyond the standard skeletons politicians kept in their closets. And yet, all she could think about was how she’d really like to drive two hours into the woods with him just to look at the stars.

“The food is tiny,” she agreed.

“They’re practically child sized portions. I think the chef is actually trying to starve us.”  Sierra laughed. Joe reached across the table and held her hand.

Suddenly there was a commotion from downstairs. Loud, but still indistinct voices shouted at each other. After a moment Sierra recognized one of the voices as the maître‘d.

“-can’t go up there!”

“You intend to stop me, son?”

There was more shouting, loud footsteps on the stairs, and then the doors burst open. The man that pushed through them had shoulder length grey hair. He wore jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt that left his muscular, tattooed arms exposed. He had no shoes.

“Joe!” he shouted, “Are you ever going to get a damn cell phone?”

“This isn’t a good time, Eric.”

“You know him?” Sierra asked, bewildered.

“Yes.” Joe replied. “Eric is in…public relations. Eric, this is Sierra. She’s a reporter.” he said pointedly.

“A reporter. Are you shitting me with this?” Eric replied. “We have a problem with Brenda.”

“What kind of a problem?” Joe asked.

“The big hairy kind. The kind where you need to come with me right now.”

“Alright.” Joe said. He turned to Sierra.

“I’m so sorry. Can we try this again another time?”

“Will you tell me what this was about?” she asked.

“Probably not.” Joe said.

Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed her. The kiss was long, and hungry, and lit her body up like a shot of adrenaline. He pulled away and planted another small kiss on her forehead.

“Enjoy the soufflé.” he told her.

And then he was gone. Sierra sat back down in her chair, stunned. Their waiter reappeared and set something smelling of chocolate down in front of her.

“Soufflé, mademoiselle.”

CHAPTER 3

“Sierra, wake up. Your mom’s on the phone. She saw a picture of you on the Internet making out with the Governor and she wants an explanation.”

Sierra groaned and pulled the covers up over her head. It was too early for that conversation. That conversation needed to wait until at least 10:00 am. Or maybe noon. Or possibly never. Never sounded good.

After a few dazed bites of soufflé, she had taken a cab home, tip
-
toed past a mercifully sleeping Molly, and crawled into bed with a bottle of wine. She dreamed about Joe lifting her car again, only this time Eric had been there in the passenger seat, babbling about mysterious problems and someone named Brenda.

“I too, would like an explanation.” Molly said, holding the phone out to her. “You can’t hide under there all day. We’ll find you.”

Sierra grudgingly accepted the phone.

“Hi mom.”

After playing twenty questions, with her mother, Molly was up to bat.

“So who’s this skank Brenda?”

“How do you know she’s a skank?”

“Man drops everything like that, my money’s on skank. You should shank her.”

“Great advice, Molly. Thanks for that.”

But Sierra was a lot less curious about Brenda and a lot more curious about Eric. Tattooed, hippie type Eric who spoke to the Governor of Washington like an old friend. She doubted very much Eric could get a job scrubbing toilets in the capitol, much less in
public relations
.

Nothing seemed to add up, and none of Joe’s supposed answers made any sense. The missing charity money. The unscheduled trek into the woods. Eric. Brenda the skank. And her car. She swore he had lifted up her car…

Sierra shook her head to clear it, reminding herself to stop focusing on the crazy.

And that kiss…why had she kissed him? Why did she find herself attracted to a man who literally lied to her every time he opened his mouth?

She decided there wasn’t going to be a second kiss, or a second date for that matter. Not until she found out what was going on. Either he was going to tell her, or she would find out on her own.

And since Joe was unlikely to be forthcoming any time soon…

Sierra picked up the phone and dialed.

“Enterprise Rental Cars, how can I help you?” the voice on the other end said.

“Hi,” Sierra said. “Do you rent pickup trucks?”

*

Molly flat out refused to come with her this time.

“Last time we did this I had to walk a mile down some backwoods, creepy road hunting for cell coverage. No thank you.”

“But we’ll have a truck this time.”

“
No thank you
.”

This time, she put on running shoes and jeans. She pulled the gun holster down from the back of her closet, and tucked her .22 caliber pistol into it, covering it up with a light leather jacket. The gun had been a birthday present from her mother, who worried about her moving to the “big city”. Sierra made it out to the shooting range once a month or so, and wasn’t too bad a shot. She wasn’t that
good
a shot either, so mostly she hoped she never had to use it.

She decided to go after dark, hoping that might help her presence go undetected. She still had no idea what she was hoping to find, or who, exactly, she was worried might find her looking.

After sitting patiently through Molly’s unsuccessful attempt to talk her out of it, Sierra set off in the rented black F150 just before sunset.

Thankfully, she’d had her GPS on during the previous trip, or she never would have been able to find that unmarked dirt road again. Where the Prius had lurched on every bump, the F150 lightly jostled. It practically scoffed at the deadly mud bog that had sucked her in last time.

The road wound through the trees for another twenty minutes, twisting and turning until Sierra had no sense of direction anymore. The good news was it remained a single road, no veering paths she could elect to follow, or inevitably get lost on.

No road signs though. No markings of any kind. The longer it went on, the more curious Sierra became about where it was leading. Surely, the city had not planned this road (if you could even call the narrow, single dirt lane cutting through the words a road).  Yet someone had put it in. Someone was clearly also maintaining it. Here and there she spotted patches of gravel filling sinkholes. In some places, there were dirt piles and tree branches on the sides of the road where someone had recently cleared it. And the
many
sets of tire tracks looked fresh. It was like a glorified driveway. A single road with no turns could only mean it went to a single place, and this place was alarmingly well off the beaten path.

Suddenly, she could see lights up ahead through the trees. Sierra immediately shut off the headlights and killed the engine, not wanting to attract any attention. She hopped out of the truck and continued down the road on foot. She could only pray that no one else would be coming or going down the road any time soon. The foliage was too dense to pull the truck off the road, let alone to try to hide it. Her sneakers squished softly in the mud as she hiked towards the lights. She noticed after a while the lights were flickering like bonfires or torches. There was a lot of noise filtering towards her now, too. Voices. People shouting. Yelling in…fear? Anger? No…cheering. It was the unmistakable roar normally associated with sporting events. And something else too. A different kind of roar. More like animals.

Sierra slipped into the trees next to the road as she drew closer.

The road led out into what looked like a small housing project. There were at least thirty nondescript houses lined up in rows. The houses had a rough look to them, more like cabins, but without the charm. They were mostly unpainted, rough wood the constant rain had turned black, and green with moss. Were there people living out here?

Sierra crouched low and hugged her body against the buildings, trying to avoid the windows. It didn’t look like anyone was home. She suspected they were all out cheering for whatever event was taking place. Sierra pressed on towards the noise. Between some of the houses, a large space had been devoted to a vegetable garden. She spotted grape vines, rows of corn, and tomato plants. There was even a little pot growing in one corner. The garden could have easily fed all the people who lived in these houses. It was then that she noticed several fruit trees scattered among the buildings. There was a well next to the garden and a distillery propped against one house. It appeared that this was a self-sustaining community. She thought of hippie communes. Then she thought of cults. Did these people just want to live off the grid, or did they have something to hide?

Sierra ducked behind a trash can and peered over the top, finally able to see the source of the noise.

Men, women, and children were gathered in a circle around a pit. The area was lit up with tiki torches and the light of the full moon. Most of them looked a lot like Eric. Lots of tattoos, blue jeans and boots or no shoes at all, and torn up clothes. Lots of long hair in braids or dreadlocks. They were drinking PBR’s and cheering for the action down in the pit. A lot of them were waving money and placing bets. The kids were either watching the action down in the pit or playing on the outskirts of the crowd. Some of them were clutching sparklers. There was a mom sitting at the edge of the pit, breast-feeding a baby while scolding another child.

Sierra craned her neck to see what they were all looking at.

Bears. Two of them. Seven foot tall, 500 pound black bears. The larger of the two, one with deep black fur, let out a roar and launched itself at the smaller white one. The white one dodged, then slashed his claws at the larger opponent.

They were fighting, Sierra realized, in horror and amazement. Like medieval bear baiting, these people had captured wild bears just to watch them kill each other. It made Sierra sick to her stomach. The formally friendly, community sporting event vibe she had gotten from the scene before seemed perverse now. This was animal cruelty any way you spun it. No better than dog fights.

She looked away as the black one pinned the white, baring his long yellow teeth at his throat. She didn’t want to see the end.

Is this what Joe was hiding? Bear fights? Illegal gambling? Is this what the charity money went to? Bile rose in Sierra’s throat as she recalled kissing that monster the night before. She should have trusted her instincts about him.

The fight was clearly over. There was muttering from the crowd about the next round. Cheers and applause came from the victors and the unlucky bettors surrendered their cash.

“Look, I’m good for it,” she heard one man say to another. “I left my wallet in the house. I’ll be right back.”

The man started walking right towards her. Struck with a terrible vision of being thrown in the bear pit, Sierra frantically searched for a place to hide. Desperate, she ran around the corner and let herself into the darkened house, praying no one was home.

She shut the door quietly behind her and looked around.

The house had a small kitchen with scrubbed wood table currently taken up by a jigsaw puzzle. Kid’s artwork adorned the refrigerator. The living room had a stained floral patterned sofa and a glass topped coffee table. There was an old cathode tube style TV.

And in the middle of the living room was a cage.

And in the cage was a little girl.

The girl was about six. She was wearing footie pajamas with frogs on them. She had dark skin and her hair was pulled up in two po
o
fy pigtails. Whoever put her in the cage had provided her with a sleeping bag and pillow, but the girl wasn’t sleeping. She was staring up at Sierra with big eyes.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Sierra. What’s your name, sweetie?”

“I’m Brenda.”

*

“I don’t know you.” Brenda said. “Are you from outside?”

“Yes.” Sierra told her. “Brenda, who put you in this cage?”

She was afraid to ask why she was in the cage.

“Mean people took me away from my mommy and daddy. They said they had candy. Then they locked me in here and they didn’t give me any candy.”

“Has anyone hurt you?” she asked.

“Not yet. But they said they would. Please help me, Sierra. You have to let me out.”

Sierra examined the cage. The bars were inch-thick steel. There was a massive lock on the front.

“Brenda, sweetie, do you know where the key is?”

“The mean people keep it on top of the refrigerator.”

Sierra rushed over to the refrigerator. There was the key, just like she said. Sierra shoved it into the lock and pulled the door open. Brenda scrambled out of the cage and hugged her.

“Thank you, Sierra.”

Startled, Sierra returned the hug.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetie. I’m going to get you out of here.”

She took Brenda by the hand and carefully opened the door of the house. No one was outside. It sounded like another fight had started. Hopefully that would keep everyone distracted. It wasn’t far back to the woods to their right. If they ran for it, they could hide in the trees and make their way back to the truck. She would take Brenda straight to the police, and then she’d lead the police right back here along with every photographer on staff at The Post. She was going to nail that lying bastard Joe to the wall with this.

“Let’s go this way!” Brenda said, and darted off towards the fight.

“Brenda!” Sierra called in the loudest voice she dared. “Come back! That’s the wrong way.”