“I ain’t talking to no one but Rios.”
Cruz raised an eyebrow. “Detective Rios? I’m afraid she’s not here. We have—”
“Then fucking get her here. She’s the only one I trust.”
The EMTs lifted Jessica onto the gurney. Shea pushed past the deputies. “Where y’all taking her?”
“Cortes General,” Savage said as they pushed the gurney through the living room.
“How is she?”
“She’s lost a lot of blood. If we can get her to the hospital in time, she’s got a chance.”
Graham grabbed Shea’s arm. “Ma’am, I need to know who you—”
She snarled in the deputy’s face. “Shea Stevens. This is my fucking house and that’s my fucking girlfriend. I’m following her to the hospital. You wanna stop me, then shoot me.”
Graham and Cruz exchanged glances and Graham released her arm. “I’ll have Detective Rios meet you at the hospital.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
Chapter 52
As Shea’s motorcycle roared along the highway behind the ambulance, the darkness inside her rose once again, a miasma of guilt, anger, and hopelessness. Her chest felt squeezed as if by a giant hand.
Please don’t leave me, Jessica. I don’t deserve you, but you shouldn’t be the one to pay the price. Why wasn’t I there? Why didn’t I tell you every minute of the day how much you mean to me? Why did I let myself get distracted by all this biker nonsense? Oh God, please don’t die!
As an oncoming semi barreled toward them on the highway, Shea was tempted to swerve into its path. Rios’ll have one less CI to push around. The bike drifted toward the centerline. The distance between them narrowed. The truck blared its air horn. She ignored it.
A single thought pulled her back into her lane. What about Annie?
Who’ll take care of her? Julia most likely. And Annie would continue in her mother’s and grandmother’s footsteps. She’d fall for some asshole outlaw biker who’d treat her as his property. Just another Confederate Thunder old lady. A life of submission, violence, and drugs.
Shea would not let that happen. She would protect Annie from all that.
The ambulance stopped in the breezeway for the emergency room. Shea parked in the nearby lot and rushed through the automatic doors, pulling off her helmet as she went.
“Jessica…Taylor,” Shea said to the elderly man sitting behind the information desk. She struggled to catch her breath. “She was brought in…by ambulance…just a minute ago. I’m…I’m her wife.” It was a lie, but the guy behind the desk wouldn’t know.
“Taylor, you say?” He tapped the information into his computer. “Looks like she’s in surgery. I can have the surgeon come out and speak to you when she’s finished.”
“She’s still alive?” Her heart thundered in her chest.
“I presume. She’s in surgery.”
“Oh thank God! Yes, please.” Shea found a seat in the waiting room, feeling a glimmer of hope cut through the gloom.
Shea called Terrance. He picked up on the first ring. Emotion nearly cut off her air as she tried to speak. “Jessica…”
“What? What happened to Jessica?”
“Lizzie Black. She shot her.”
“Where are you?”
“Cortes General ER.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Hey, Havoc.” Savage took a seat next to her. Savage’s fellow EMTs stood talking to the guy at the information desk, just out of earshot. “You want me to call Labrys and let her know what happened?”
“Not right now.” Shea pressed her fists into her temples. “It’s all my fault.”
“Don’t say that. You didn’t shoot her.”
“Never shoulda gotten involved with this hex business.”
“You didn’t know this would happen.” Savage put her arm around her. “She’s gonna pull through this. Dr. Sossaman’s the best trauma surgeon in the county.”
The other EMTs approached looking impatient.
“Listen, Havoc. I hate to abandon you, but I still have three hours left on my shift. I’ll be back as soon as I can, all right?”
Shea nodded. “Thanks for saving her. That’s two I owe you.”
“Naw, it ain’t. You may be just a prospect, but I already consider you my sister. You hang in there, ya hear?”
Shea realized she was shivering as Savage and her team hurried out the ER’s automatic doors. A chilly wind blew in, causing Shea’s teeth to chatter.
Not since she ran away at fifteen had she felt so alone. Yeah, go ahead and feel sorry for yourself. Never mind that Jessica is on death’s door.
She buried her head in her hands and wished for the first time in years that she believed in God so that she would have someone or something to pray to.
—
Shea was nodding off when someone called her name. Outside, night was falling. She looked up to see Rios standing in front of her. Anger surged through Shea’s body. “This is your fault!” she growled. “Jess wouldn’ta been shot if you hadn’t forced me to be your snitch.”
“Shea, I understand you’re angry. But I’m not the one who shot Jessica.”
“Lizzie Black mighta pulled the trigger, but you put me and my family in the line of fire.”
“You witnessed the shooting?”
“No,” Shea said, attempting to stop her hands from shaking. “I found…I found Jess in our bedroom. Place was trashed.”
“Did she say anything about what happened?”
Shea glowered at Rios. “She said Lizzie shot her.”
Rios made notes on a small spiral-bound pad. “I’m working with the FBI and DEA on the Stansbury cases. We’re processing the scene now and have a BOLO on Lizzie Black. Ms. Stansbury’s already in custody. I’m hoping she’ll flip on Ms. Black.”
“Whatever.”
“Shea, I know what it’s like to lose people close to you.”
“Oh really?”
“My parents were murdered by the Guatemalan government when I was a child. I lost my sister to heroin. And a few years ago, a drunk driver killed my girlfriend. No matter what happens, you will get through this.”
“Your girlfriend? You’re gay?”
“I am.” Rios sat next to Shea and put a hand on her arm. “Everything I’ve done has been to protect people and bring criminals to justice. I got you involved with this case because people were dying. The information I had pointed to the Athena Sisterhood. Obviously, I got bad intel.”
“And Jessica paid the price.”
“Shea, I will do everything I can to make this right.” Rios looked Shea in the eyes.
Despite her resentments, Shea could see the honesty and compassion in the detective’s eyes.
Dr. Sossaman approached wearing olive-green scrubs. Shea recognized her from the previous times she’d been to the ER. The doctor’s short dark curls peeked from underneath a matching surgical cap. Deep-set, hawklike eyes focused on Shea. “Ms. Stevens.”
“How’s she doing, Doc?”
Dr. Sossaman sat next to Shea, her face unreadable. “Jessica’s lost a lot of blood. There was significant damage to her small intestine. The risk of infection is very high. We removed one of the bullets. The other is lodged against her L4 vertebra.” Sossaman pointed to her lower back.
“We’re assessing how best to remove the remaining bullet without causing further damage to the spinal column. As is, there’s a good chance she may be paralyzed below the waist. But miracles do happen, so we’ll just have to wait and see.”
Shea found it hard to breathe. The guilt felt like a motorcycle lying on her chest. “Is she awake? Can I see her?”
“She’s sedated until we get a better picture of the damage. We have her scheduled for a CT scan. It will probably be a few hours before she can have any visitors.” Sossaman stood. “We’ll do everything we can for her. I promise.”
Shea nodded as Sossaman walked away.
“You probably won’t be allowed home un
til we’re done processing the scene. That may be awhile yet,” said Rios as she stood to leave. “But we will bring Lizzie Black and Chlöe Stansbury to justice.”
“Whatever.” All that mattered was saving Jessica. She rested her elbows on her knees, cradling her head, trying not to feel or think.
Movement by the sliding glass doors caught Shea’s attention.
Terrance and Elon walked in, both bundled up against the evening cold. Terrance wrapped Shea in a bear hug. Shea surrendered to it until the bullet wound under her arm caused her to pull away.
“How’s Jessica?” asked Terrance.
Shea shook her head. “Even if she lives, she may never walk again.”
“When will you be able to see her?”
“Doc says it could be hours.”
“Any luck finding this Lizzie Black woman?”
Shea shook her head. “Cops arrested Stansbury at her office. Lizzie wasn’t with her.”
“Aunt Shea,” said Elon. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep a better eye on her.”
Shea forced a smile. “It’s all right, kid. Annie’s safe. That’s all that matters.”
Terrance pressed his head against Shea’s. “Please tell me you’ll let the cops handle this.”
Shea sighed. Exhaustion and sorrow clung to her. “The idea of trusting this to Rios goes against everything I know. But honestly, I don’t know what else to do.”
“That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say in a while.” Terrance stood up. “Come on. Let me take you home.”
“I can’t go home. FBI’s processing the scene for evidence of Jessica’s shooter.”
“My place then.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, T.”
“Least I can do, sister girl.”
Chapter 53
The next morning Shea pulled on her clothes from the day before and wandered into Terrance’s kitchen. He was sitting at the table, sipping coffee and reading the business section of the newspaper. Her motorcycle jacket was slung over one of the chairs.
“How you holding up?” he asked as he lowered the paper.
“I’m alive.” Shea poured herself a cup and sat across from him. “I’ll feel better when Lizzie Black is dead.”
“Girl, let the cops handle it. They arrested Stansbury, didn’t they? They’ll get Lizzie, too.”
Shea’s phone dinged. The screen revealed a text message from Rios. “Fuck!”
“What’s wrong?” Terrance arched an eyebrow.
“Stansbury’s out on bail. Wonder who they’re going to come after next. Lakota? Elon?”
“Shea, don’t talk like that.”
Memories flashed through her mind of Lizzie Black standing by the door of that shuttered gallery. The large plate glass windows reflecting the downtown square. Something bothered her about the image. Not something that was there, but something that should have been there but wasn’t. And then she had it.
Shea dialed a number. “Labrys? Get ahold of as many of the Sisterhood as you can. Tell ’em to meet me at nine o’clock this morning in the alley behind the Blue Coyote Art Gallery.”
“Blue Coyote? They went out of business months ago,” said Labrys.
“I know that. Just do it.”
“Why?” asked Labrys. “What’s going on?”
“I think that’s where Bonefish’s drug operation is.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’ll explain later. Just listen to me for once.”
“Excuse me, prospect. But I—”
“Fucking do it, Labrys, before Lizzie Black kills someone else.”
Shea tossed her phone into her inside jacket pocket. “I’ll be back later.”
“Shea, I wish you wouldn’t do this.”
“How many people should I let Bonefish hurt before I take action?” Shea rushed into the guest room, pulled on her boots and the Kevlar vest. She stuffed the Glock in her waistband and the Smith & Wesson in her ankle holster.
When she ran back to the kitchen for her jacket, Terrance stood and wrapped her in a bear hug. “Be careful, girlfriend.”
—
Shea’s pulse was firing like a machine gun as her motorcycle swerved around bags of trash and discarded pallets behind the north side shops of Ironwood’s square. A couple of doors past the rear entrance to the Tenth Inning, Shea spotted a metal door painted with the words BLUE COYOTE FINE ART GALLERY—DELIVERIES.
A black creeper van sat parked beside the door. The gallery’s name had been scraped off the side, but the outline of the letters remained visible. Shea spotted Labrys’ Roadmaster on the other side of the van and pulled up next to her.
Two other bikes thundered into the alley. Shea recognized Savage’s Harley Street 750, with Indigo riding on the passenger seat. Fuego rumbled in behind her on her Kawasaki Vulcan with Orphan on the back.
Shea adjusted her Kevlar vest, drew her Glock, and chambered a round. The other women gathered around her, all but Orphan with a gun in hand.
“I’m a little surprised to see you here,” Shea said to Indigo. “I thought you were afraid of going to prison.”
“I am. But after what happened to Jessica, to Pipes, to Richard, the time for sitting on the bench is over.”
“You sure this is the place?” asked Fuego, eyeing the door.
“Pretty sure. I saw Lizzie Black standing beside the front door a few days ago, smoking a cig,” Shea explained.
“The gallery’s been closed for months,” said Savage.
“And yet there’s no Realtor signs out front. When’s the last time a downtown landlord shut down a place without immediately putting up a sign looking for potential renters?”
Fuego patted the side of the van. “¡Órale! Check this out. This van is spotless. After the weather we’ve been having, you’d think it’d be filthy just sitting here. Someone’s been using it for something.”
“Let’s quit chatting,” said Indigo, “and do this before they all run out the front door.”
Labrys pulled her Glock out of a fanny pack holster.
Shea glowered at her. “Put that damn thing away!”
“Excuse me?”
“You shot a fucking hole in my wall the other morning. Right now, you’re more a danger to us than Lizzie Black.”
Labrys shrugged when the other women gave her curious looks. “What? It was an honest mistake. Could’ve happened to anyone.”
Fuego shifted her weight. “La Jefa, all due respect, you’re kinda new at this. Maybe you keep yours holstered unless the shit hits the fan.”
“For safety’s sake,” added Savage.
Labrys’ mouth formed a thin line of discontent. “Fine.” She slipped her Glock back into the fanny pack and zipped it shut. “Satisfied?”
“Yeah,” said Shea, relieved that at least she wouldn’t die from a bullet in the back.
“What about me?” asked Orphan. “I don’t have one.”
“You know how to shoot?” asked Shea.
“Took a few courses awhile back. Pawned my Springfield a few months ago to pay bills.”
“La Jefa, why don’t you give Orphan yours,” suggested Fuego.
“Not a chance.” Labrys crossed her arms. “It’s mine. I will not be left defenseless just because this prospect couldn’t handle her finances.”
Shea rolled her eyes in frustration and pulled the Smith & Wesson from her ankle holster. “Here.” She handed the compact pistol to Orphan. “Just be sure to place your shots. It’s small and’ll ride up on you if you’re not careful.”
“Thanks, Havoc.”
“So what’s the plan?” asked Indigo, looking a little nervous.
“Two of us should go around front, make sure they don’t get away if they’re in there. But keep your guns hidden until you absolutely need them. The stores on the square don’t open for another hour or two, but there may be early risers wandering around. The less attention we have, the better.”
“I’ll go.” Fuego patted Labrys on the back. “You wan
na join me?”
Labrys frowned. “Yeah, I suppose. I’m beginning to wonder who’s running this club.”
Fuego patted Labrys on the back. “You are, La Jefa. We’re just here to keep you safe.”
When the two of them had sufficient time to get around the building, Shea approached the door. Orphan, Indigo, and Savage circled around her, weapons drawn.
Shea pounded on the door and took aim. Despite the chill, a bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face.
After a few moments with no response, Indigo said, “Maybe no one’s home.”
Shea tried the door. It was locked.
“I guess we don’t get to see what’s behind door number one,” joked Savage.
“Hold on.” Shea holstered her pistol and pulled a lock pick set from her jacket’s inside pocket. After teasing the tumblers for a couple of minutes, the lock’s cylinder turned. She rotated the knob and prayed there wasn’t a security system as the door opened. No blaring alarm. No persistent beeping.
“Holy cats!” said Indigo, giving Shea’s shoulder a nudge. “Girl’s got some skills.”
“Benefits of a misspent youth.” Shea couldn’t help grinning. Nice to be appreciated.
Shea stepped inside and found a light switch. The place had a distinct odor that was equal parts burned plastic, cotton candy, and chemical solvent. Along the walls, plastic bins filled metal shelves, each marked with a letter. A large machine dominated the center of the room.
“What the hell is all this?” asked Savage as she examined the bins.
“I know what this is,” said Orphan sullenly. She pointed to each category of bin. “K is Special K. P is poppers. E—ecstasy. L—acid. M—weed. They had me selling this stuff at the clubs.”
“What’s this big machine here?” Shea looked closer and saw a catch tray full of black pills stamped with a pentagram.
“It’s for pressing hex into pill form.”
Savage unlocked the front door and let Labrys and Fuego inside. Shea rifled through the office until she found what she was looking for.
“Órale, this is like a million bucks’ worth of shit,” said Fuego. “What should we do with it?”
Athena Sisterhood Page 30