Iron Goddess (7 page)

Shea shook Wendy, who was snoring on the bed. “Get up! We gotta go.”

Wendy pushed away her sister's hand. “Let me sleep a few more minutes.”

Shea pulled her up by her arm. “Wake the fuck up, Wendy, or the Jaguars are gonna kill Annie.”

“What? Oh fuck, Annie!” She buried her face in her hands and wept.

“Get your shit together. We're meeting Hunter at the Bradshaw City Diner to figure out what to do.”

Wendy reached for the bottle of Oxy, but Shea snatched it. “Nuh-uh. You had enough of this shit.” She dashed to the bathroom.

“Hey! Give those back. They're mine.” Wendy stumbled after her.

“Oh really? Your name Bertha Daniels? 'Cause that's whose name's on the bottle.” She lifted the toilet lid and dumped the pills as Wendy made a desperate grab for the bottle.

“No, I need those!”

The pills swirled down the drain as Shea flushed it. “What you need is to get your shoes, so we can get outta here.”

Wendy pounded on Shea's back with her fists. “I hate you!”

Shea spun her around and pushed her out of the bathroom. “Yeah, you and everyone else.”

A knock on the front door startled Shea. She looked at Wendy. “You expecting anyone?”

Wendy shook her head.

“Hide in the bathroom.” Shea pulled out her Glock and crept to the door. “Who is it?” There was no peephole, naturally.

A male voice said, “Detectives Edelman and Rios with the Sheriff's Office. We're looking for Wendy Wittmann. Is she here?”

Shea secured the chain on the door, and opened it a few inches. The detectives from the interrogation room stood on the concrete walkway that ran along the second floor, backlit by the sulfur glow of a nearby streetlamp. “All right, give me a sec.”

She holstered the Glock, closed the door to unlatch the chain, and opened it again. Edelman stood in the doorway, with Rios a few feet behind him.

Edelman leaned in and took a quick scan of the room. “Mind if we come in?”

“You got a warrant?”

“Miss Stevens, we're not here to arrest anyone. We're trying to get Wendy's daughter back from whoever took her. Is Wendy here?”

If the kidnapper finds out we talked to the cops, he might hurt her,
Shea thought. On the other hand, if she turned the detectives away, they might suspect something was up. “Yeah, she's here.”

She stepped back to let them in and shut the door. Wendy stumbled out of the bathroom, hair disheveled, eyes unfocused. “Who is it?”

“The detectives are here to help get Annie back,” she said.

Edelman helped Wendy sit on the bed. “Ms. Wittmann, have you heard back from your husband on where your daughter is?”

Wendy looked at Shea, wide-eyed, as if expecting her to tell her what to say. “Um, maybe.”

“Wendy, we're here to help.” He pulled out a notepad and pen. “Anything you can tell us that can help us find her?”

Rios put a hand on Shea's arm. “Why don't you and I step outside, and let them talk.”

Shea knew this move. Divide and conquer. It made her all the more suspicious. Cops were always there to help until they weren't. She could refuse to leave the room, but again it might make them suspect the kidnapper had contacted them.

Shea followed Rios outside onto the concrete walkway. She leaned back against the railing, arms crossed, and stared casually at the detective. “How'd you know we were here?”

“We had one of our guys keep an eye on your sister after she left the Sheriff's Office.”

“Why? She didn't do nothing wrong.”

“We were concerned for her safety.” Rios smiled. “Now that I've answered your questions, how about you answer mine. When was the last time you saw Annie?”

“Never met 'er.”

The detective raised an eyebrow. “You've never met your eight-year-old niece?”

“Nope.”

“Why's that?”

“Until yesterday, Wendy and me hadn't seen each other for a while. After our fa—” She couldn't bring herself to say
father
. “After our mother was killed, Wendy went to live with a member of the Confederate Thunder. I didn't want to have anything to do with the MC, so I split.”

“Your father was president of the Thunder before he went to prison, right?” Rios had been doing her homework.

Shea stared down the walkway at the other rooms. “Yeah.”

“Wendy looks all beat up. Care to explain that?”

Shea didn't. With most of her employees being ex-cons, she didn't want them looking into the confrontation with the Thunder at Iron Goddess. “Ask her.”

“I'm asking you. Did her husband, Hunter, do that?”

“Yeah, I reckon.” Close enough to the truth.

“They having marital problems?”

“Like I said, I reconnected with her yesterday. Now her kid's gone. It ain't like we're gossiping about boys and braiding each other's hair.”

“Shea, when children go missing, it's often a relative who has them. You think Annie's father has her?”

“No. We called him a little bit ago. He's looking for her, too.”

“Have either of you heard from whoever took Annie? Maybe a ransom demand?”

Shea thought about telling the truth, but the truth might get Annie killed. “Nothing so far.”

Rios tilted her head. “You'd tell me if you had, right?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“A lot of families get scared, especially if the kidnapper says not to contact police. But Annie has a much better chance of getting home safely if we're here to help coordinate. Kidnappers know how to play on your fears and use that power to get what they want. We shift the power in your favor because we know what works and what doesn't.”

The detective made sense, but it wasn't enough to overcome Shea's distrust of cops. “I hear what you're saying.”

“Good. So I'll ask you again: have you or your sister heard from whoever took Annie?”

“No.”

“If that changes, get in touch with me right away.” She handed Shea a card with her name, Detective Antonia Rios, on it. “Any time of day or night, give me a call.”

“I'll do that.”

“One other thing, I heard about what happened at your shop yesterday.”

Shea's pulse quickened. “What'd you hear?”

“About the break-in. How's your employee doing?”

Shea shrugged. “Critical condition. You involved in the investigation?”

“No, Sergeant Foster assigned that case to someone else. You think it's related to Annie's abduction?”

“Why would it be?”

The motel room door opened. Edelman appeared shaking his head. “You ready?” he asked Rios.

“Yeah, we're done.” Rios pointed to the business card in Shea's hand. “Call me if you hear something.”

“Right.” Shea tucked the card into her wallet and watched them drive off in a navy blue sedan into the hazy, predawn light. Once they were out of sight, she dashed into the motel room. Wendy sat on the bed, staring at the floor.

“What'd you tell him?” Shea asked.

“Nothing.” Wendy's eyes darted around the room, avoiding Shea's gaze. “He asked if we'd heard from the kidnapper, and I told him no. But I ain't sure he believed me.”

“Let's hope he did. Don't need Buzzkill's goons getting in the middle of this mess. C'mon, let's go meet Hunter.”

For ten minutes, Shea nagged Wendy to get her out of the motel room and into the passenger seat of the Mustang. The egg yolk of a sun had crested the horizon, painting everything in a golden glow. Aside from Wendy's Mustang and Shea's bike, only a black Nissan SUV and a red Toyota pickup with an NRA sticker remained in the hotel parking lot. Not a lot of the Getaway's guests spent the whole night there, Shea noted.

Shea didn't like leaving her bike in the empty lot, but Wendy didn't seem fit to drive. Her skin was clammy, and her pupils dilated. Her voice rattled with congestion. Shea hoped whatever Wendy was coming down with wasn't contagious.

Shea turned the key in the ignition. “Buckle up, Bug.”

“Bug? You ain't called me that since we were kids.”

The nickname had slipped out without Shea realizing it, and it pissed her off. She didn't want any more trips down memory lane. “Just put your damn seatbelt on.”

“You ain't the boss of me.” She crossed her arms and stared at Shea with a smug expression.

Shea wanted to slap her stupid. “Suit yourself.” She threw the car in reverse and stomped on the gas. The Mustang jolted backward out of the parking space. Wendy's head bounced off the glove box, leaving a red mark, but no blood.

“What the fuck?”

“Oops.” Shea pulled out of the parking lot and cruised toward the diner, ten miles away. The black SUV pulled out behind them. Shea wondered if it was the deputy who'd followed Wendy to the motel, though all the other Sheriff's Office vehicles were painted either gold or white.

Shea's phone rang. She pulled it out. “Yello.”

“Hey, babe,” said Jessica, “I got an AMBER Alert on my phone. Any luck finding Annie?”

“She's been kidnapped. We got a ransom demand a little while ago.”

“Oh, the poor kid! Have you told the cops?”

“Kidnapper said no cops. We're handling it ourselves. Me and Wendy are meeting her old man for breakfast.”

“Mind if I join you? I'd like to meet your sister and her
old man
.”

“I don't think that'd be a good idea.”

“Why not? You're not ashamed of me, are you?”

“Ashamed? Why would I be ashamed of you?”

“Because I'm black.”

“No, that ain't it at all. It's…” She glanced at her sister. Wendy stared out the window, head resting against the glass. “Wendy's old man is a redneck biker and not a big fan of people of color. I'm afraid he'd say something disrespectful to you, and I'd have to kick his ass.”

“Uh-huh.” She didn't sound convinced. “You couldn't make it to lunch or dinner yesterday, but you got time to hang out with your racist brother-in-law?”

“It ain't by choice, believe you me. I'm trying to get Annie back. I know I owe you for standing you up for dinner last night.”

“And lunch.”

“Yes, and lunch. How about dinner tonight?”

“Okay, but no more rainchecks.”

“I promise.” Shea hung up.

Wendy coughed and sniffled.

“You coming down with something? You look like shit.”

“I'd be better if you hadn't flushed my stuff down the john.” She gave Shea a resentful look. “Who's that on the phone?”

“Jessica.”

“Who's Jessica? Your roommate?”

“Sorta.”

“What's sort of a roommate?”

“She's my girlfriend.” Normally coming out to someone was no big deal for Shea. But discussing her love life with her sister made her uncomfortable.

“You mean a friend that's a girl, like a bestie, or—”

“She's my lover.”

“Oh.” Wendy perked up and looked at her. “Holy fuck! You're a dyke?”

“What? The short, spiky hair and clothes stained with engine grease didn't give it away?”

“I don't know. I thought you were…”

“Butch?”

“A tomboy. You and Daddy were always doing stuff together.” Wendy grew quiet for a moment, eyes cocked as if remembering something. “Is that what made you gay? Doing all that boy stuff with Daddy?”

“No, dingbat, that ain't why I'm gay. I did stuff with Ralph 'cause Mama was all into shopping and manicures and shit.” Shea made a gagging gesture. “Boring.”

“Then why do you like girls?”

“I don't know. Just do. Why do you like boys?”

She giggled. “ 'Cause, you know, they're hot.”

Shea shrugged. “I think girls are hot.”

“Maybe you haven't met the right guy.”

“Maybe you haven't met the right girl.”

“Huh. Never thought of it that way.” Wendy twisted her face in thought, then snorted. “My sister's got an old lady.”

Four miles later, the black SUV remained behind them. To see if it was tailing them, Shea made a last-second left turn onto a side street. The SUV squealed its tires and tipped onto two wheels through the turn.

“Geez, Shea. Drive much?” whined Wendy.

“I told you earlier to put your seatbelt on.”

“Why?”

“We're being tailed. Now put your goddamn seatbelt on.”

Wendy twisted around to look behind them before snapping on her seatbelt. “The black one?”

“Uh-huh.” Shea pressed the accelerator and weaved past a few cars. “Please tell me you got the eight-cylinder Mustang and not the six.”

“Why?”

“If we're gonna outrun these guys—”

“I got the six. It was cheaper.”

“Fuck.” Shea considered her options. “This is gonna get a little bumpy.”

The SUV honked and flashed its lights at the cars separating them. The drivers gave way and soon the SUV was back on their tail.

“Who is it?” Wendy asked, the fear obvious in her voice.

“I thought it might be the deputy who followed you to the motel. But now I wonder. Seems a little aggressive, even for one of Buzzkill's goons.”

“Why would they be following me? We just talked to them.”

“I ain't real keen on finding out.” Shea swerved into a shopping center parking lot, dashing across lanes, dodging grocery carts, and sending pedestrians scrambling. The SUV didn't let up. It smashed grocery carts out of its way and scraped paint with a parked Audi.
Definitely not a deputy,
Shea thought. That worried her more.

Running out of the parking lot, she pulled back onto the road, making sure the SUV followed. It did. At the next intersection, she pulled hard on the parking brake and turned the wheel to swing a bootlegger's turn, a trick she'd learned when boosting cars. The car spun around, heading the way they'd come, and whizzed past the SUV.

“Holy shit, that was some move! D'we lose 'em?” asked Wendy.

Shea glanced in the rearview mirror. “No sign of them.”

Before she could congratulate herself, a sheriff's cruiser pulled onto the street behind them and turned on its flashing lights. “Damn, just can't win today.”

She considered running from the cop, but they wouldn't have stood a chance. It was one thing to outrun a single patrol car, quite another to outrun a police radio. She pulled over to the curb as the black SUV whizzed by too quickly for her to read the license plate.

The cruiser parked behind her, blue lights flashing. “Wendy, where's your registration?”

“My what?” Her sister seemed jittery. Her face was flush and sweaty. She let loose with a fit of coughing.

“Your vehicle registration. You know, the little paper they give you when you pay for your tags every year or two.”

Wendy searched through the glove box, tearing through the papers like a Tasmanian devil. Shea glanced in the mirror to see Willie walking up to the car. She rolled down the window, not sure whether to be worried or relieved.

“Willie, how is it everywhere I go, you show up? You fire all your other deputies?”

“You tell me how every time there's trouble, you're in the middle of it. Where you two going?”

“To meet Wendy's husband for breakfast.”

“Breakfast with Hunter Wittmann? The man you accused of killing the Ortega woman and kidnapping his own daughter? Am I missing something?”

She felt like she was back in the interrogation room. “Turns out it wasn't him.”

“You sound convinced. Why the change of heart?”

“ 'Cause we talked to him on the phone. He thought we had Annie.”

“You tell this to Detectives Edelman and Rios?”

“Yeah, we told them. Geez, what's with the third degree? I thought we were friends.”

“I hate to break it to you, but right now you're our main suspect.”

“How could I kidnap my own niece if I was still there when you guys arrived? Don't they teach you guys anything at deputy school?”

“Listen, I'm not in charge of this investigation. Edelman and Rios are. I'm sure they're following up on every lead. You heard from the kidnappers?”

“No.”

He kept her gaze a minute longer than she was comfortable with. “You hear anything, you let us know.”

“Yeah, yeah. We free to go?”

“Not so fast. You mind explaining that little stunt you pulled back there?”

“Did you not see the black SUV chasing us?”

“Now why would someone be chasing you?”

“How the hell should I know? Why'd someone break into Iron Goddess and shoot one of my guys? Why'd someone kidnap Wendy's kid? This world's gone fuckin' crazy. For all I know, Buzzkill's framing me.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Why would the sheriff want to frame you?”

“Maybe he resents me making something of myself.”

“That's absurd. Now show me your license, insurance, and registration.”

“Fine.” She handed him her license and the insurance card for her motorcycle. “This is Wendy's car. She's looking for the registration.”

Willie leaned down to look through the window at Wendy, who had papers strewn all over her half of the car. She sniffled and coughed as she gazed absently at a wrinkled receipt. Between the bruises on her face and her feverish complexion, she looked messed up. “You all right there, Wendy?”

“Her daughter's been kidnapped, Willie. Of course, she's not all right.”

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.”