The sweatshirt had sentimental value. That was something Megan would fetch herself. It also told me something else. If she was still in New Mexico, she was somewhere that required a sweatshirt, at least on occasion. New Mexico summers were hot. At the lower elevations, even with the heat escaping in the dry night air, you didn’t need a sweatshirt after dark.
But at the higher elevations, like in the East Mountain area and up toward Santa Fe, you might. The middle region near Ruidoso probably required a sweatshirt in the evenings, as did the western Gila wilderness. If they were still in the state, they were somewhere that required a sweatshirt. I told Melissa what I suspected and I also told her what Chris had discovered about Cody.
“But it could mean that they’re out of state, too,”
Melissa said slowly. But from her tone, she didn’t quite believe it. After all, she told me that when Megan called, the area code was always 505. Though that might have been a cell phone. But my gut told me otherwise.
“I’m not quite there yet. I have a feeling that she’s still in the state. Let me follow this up a bit and see what we can see. Chris is trying to get me in with the gang unit to look at photos of tattoos. If we can figure out who the artist is, then he or she might have a lead on other members of Cody’s group.”
Melissa sat down on the bed. She seemed physically drained. Faint dark circles showed under her eyes and creases marred her forehead.
“You need some sleep.” I stood studying her.
“I’m all right. I just really want to know where Megan is and that she’s all right.”
“Are you sleeping at night?”
Melissa’s jaw clenched. She rubbed her forehead with her right hand.
“You’ve got to get some rest, Meliss’. You’ve got to stay alert on this.”
She sighed.
“Has she called?”
“No. Not for almost two weeks this time. That’s got me worried.”
“It might not mean anything. When she does call, let me know. Try to write down things she says.”
“I keep a log.” Melissa sounded deflated. “I’ll bring it by so you can look at it.”
“Thanks. That might be helpful. You want something to drink? You’re not taking care of yourself and that’s not doing Megan any good.”
She looked up at me. “You sound like old times.”
She said it kindly.
My breath caught in my throat. “Shit, you’re right.
Sorry.”
Melissa stood. “For what?” She shrugged and went back into the living room. “I couldn’t help her then and I wonder if maybe I should just let her go now.” She stood staring at Megan’s computer.
“This is different. She’s with people who might actually—well, it’s different. If you’re using, you’re doing it to yourself. It’s different when others do things to you.” I didn’t bring up my suspicions about the possibility of abuse. Melissa had enough to worry about.
“But it’s her boyfriend. People get involved all the time with people their families don’t approve of. If there were an intervention for every partner a family didn’t like, nobody would ever get together. Maybe I should just back the fuck off.”
I chose my words carefully. “It’s your decision. If you think that’s the right course of action.”
“I don’t know what the right course of action is.”
She turned and regarded me. I felt an echo in my heart and attempted to ignore it. She watched me.
“What do you think?”
“Well—” I shifted. “Okay, here’s the deal. From what Cody was telling her in the e-mails leading up to her leaving, it sounds like he’s getting involved with potentially illegal activities. And that takes this out of the realm of simply a partner the family doesn’t like.
When you cross that line, it becomes everybody’s business whether you want it to or not. I think he and his groupies are doing stuff that’s not legal. And I have a feeling that they might be headed down a road that requires a Butch and Sundance kind of scenario.”
Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “You mean like a martyr thing?”
“Maybe. It’s not unknown among groups like this.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and we stared at each other for a while until she broke the silence.
“Why are you here?”
“Excuse me?” The question caught me off guard.
“You didn’t have to come. We haven’t seen each other since you left and you’re still angry in some ways. So why did you come?”
I looked at the floor, looked back up at her. I tried to latch onto a coherent thought and failed.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Please believe me when I tell you that if I thought there was any other way to do this, I would have done it.” “I do. It took a lot for you to come to Texas. And I guess I got to thinking that here I have this, oh, so useful knowledge—” I rolled my eyes in a weak attempt at humor. “It makes no sense not to try to help you and Megan.”
She smiled. It seemed genuine. “Ever the logical one. Sometimes that side of you drove me crazy.”
“Me, too. It’s hard being so good at what I do.” I paused and then grinned. “Joke. Ha ha?”
She managed a chuckle. Her body language was still tense. I envisioned her with giant porcupine quills all over her skin. That must’ve been what it was like for her trying to deal with me in the past. And now this shit with Megan was wearing her down and I really didn’t know what else was going on in her life.
“I have to get going,” she announced.
“Sure. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted, okay?”
“I know.”
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant so I just followed her to the door. “Try to get some sleep.
Really. I’m going to need your help and so is Megan. I need you to be able to kick ass if it’s required.”
She caught my eyes with hers. “Please don’t think you need to see this through. If this gets more dangerous...” She let that float between us.
“Hey, we’ll think about that when we get there. If we get there. Keep an ear open for your phone. Check your e-mail. And get some damn sleep,” I chided her gently. “I’ll talk to you later.”
She waved half-heartedly as she turned and headed toward the street. I watched her go, feeling ungrounded. I thought about seeing her in the Mercedes with Hillary that night three years ago and I felt nothing. Nothing except maybe the beginning of a headache. My phone rang so I went back inside and checked the screen. A local number. Ah. Judy.
“Hey, stranger!”
“K.C., it’s been too long. I got your message. Do you have some time tomorrow?”
“Yep. What time?”
“Swing by around ten. Do you have pictures?
“Yep again. I’ll bring them and pick your brain.
How about this—I’ll meet you for a late breakfast.
Flying Star in the Heights?”
“I like that even better. See you there at ten. I’m looking forward to it. Bye.”
“Bye.” I closed my phone. Good. Judy might have something. Then I’d swing over to Cody’s aunt’s house. I’d have to think of a good cover story for that.
Almost six-thirty. I’d go buy some beer for Jeff and Sage’s barbecue. After today, I definitely needed one.
Chapter Seven
I GOT BACK to Megan’s around seven-fifteen with two six-packs of beer. One was Rio Grande Desert Pilsner, a local beer, and the other was Fat Tire, a Colorado brew. As I got out of my car, I heard voices, laughter, and music coming from the back yard and I smelled burgers grilling. A few people stood on the front porch chatting. I went around back, carrying the beer.
“Hey,” Jeff called when he saw me. “Grab a burger!”
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said.
Jeff flipped one of the patties, checking it. “Oops.
Not quite ready. How about a beer instead?”
/> I held up the two six-packs and he grinned.
“Excellent. There’s a cooler on the porch and you can stash some in the fridge.” He motioned with his spatula at the back door. Two young men were standing near the grill, holding bottles of Tecate. Jeff motioned from them to me. “Guys, this is K.C. She’s chillin’ at Megan’s while she’s out of town.”
They smiled and tipped their beers toward me.
One introduced himself as Rob and the other as Mike.
I climbed the steps onto the porch and opened the cooler. There was room for one six-pack. I stuffed the six bottles of Fat Tire into the ice and then entered the house. The doors stood wide open and I heard voices inside. I stepped into a mud room/laundry room. The kitchen was just beyond, and through that, I glimpsed what was probably a living-dining room, where a few people were chatting.
The kitchen was a funky 1940s-looking place but it had new appliances. The linoleum was clean but needed updating and the countertops looked like the original ones, edged in chrome. A man and woman stood near the kitchen sink, engaged in some kind of intense conversation. I smiled politely and focused my attention on the fridge as I took the bottles out of the carrier and slid them on their sides onto the bottom shelf.
“Hi.”
I looked up. A woman who I gauged to be about Jeff’s age if not younger stood watching me. Even from my angle, I could tell she was athletic and toned, exuding youthful health and enthusiasm. She wore baggy khaki shorts, a blue sleeveless tee, and sport sandals. Chaco brand, by the looks of them. Wavy light brown hair hung loose to her shoulders and her soft brown eyes seemed to twinkle when she smiled, little laugh lines appearing at their corners. I labeled her “nature girl.” Typical New Mexico gearhead. I’d probably find mountain bikes and backpacks in the living room.
“You’re K.C.” Her eyes sparkled. “I’m Sage.” She stuck her right hand out. I stood up and wiped my right hand on my shorts before taking hers. A nice, firm handshake. Nice, firm hands attached to nice, firm arms.
I looked at her, surprised. “Good to meet you.
Thanks for the invite.” I stared into her eyes for what seemed an inappropriate amount of time for a first meeting, holding a bottle of Rio Grande in my left hand. So this is Sage. A perfect name for her. I tried to bury the thought that bubbled to the front of my brain. Major hottie. And there’s something beyond the physical here. Yikes. Don’t go there. I shut the fridge to interrupt my train of thought.
“No problem. So what’s the K stand for?”
I looked at her, a little confused.
“Megan said your name is spelled with a K and a C. What does the K stand for? Megan said it didn’t stand for anything, but she always thought you might be teasing her.” Sage reached behind her to the counter space next to the fridge and picked up a bottle opener.
“No, I wasn’t pulling her leg. It doesn’t stand for anything.”
She took the bottle of beer out of my hand and opened it and then handed it back. “Nothing?”
She had me slightly unbalanced. “Nope. My mom has a weird sense of humor. It says K period C period on my birth certificate. She figured I could fill in the blanks later if I wanted.”
Sage giggled. “That’s really cool. Where’s your mom now?”
“My folks are in Arizona.”
“Well, let me think of something for your name.”
I took a sip of beer, looked down into Sage’s eyes.
She was about two inches shorter. I grinned. “Don’t worry about it. Many have tried. Letters have served me well this long, they’ll keep it up.”
She grinned back. Sage was super cute. I shut that thought down immediately. She was also roughly ten years younger and probably straight. Jesus. I was lusting after Jeff’s girlfriend. Live-in girlfriend.
“Jeff said you were asking about Cody.”
Well. Doesn’t waste much time.
She reached around me and opened the fridge. She pulled a bottle of Rio Grande out and opened it. “I like this stuff,” she said after she took a drink. “I tried it for the first time last month.” She tossed the bottle cap onto the counter next to mine. “Jeff doesn’t have a problem with Cody but I do.”
“Oh?” I moved away from the refrigerator as another guest opened it, smiling apologetically.
“He has bad energy. I saw it a mile off. I told Megan to be careful with him, but she didn’t listen.”
Sage’s brow furrowed and I quickly took a swallow of beer because she looked adorable.
“What did you think was bad about him?”
“Melissa said you’re a professor.” I must have had a bewildered expression on my face because she elaborated, patiently. “And I can tell you are because you ask questions that try to get me to be more specific within the context of analysis rather than judgment.” Her eyes seemed to spark mischievously.
I chuckled nervously. “All right, yes. I am and I do. It’s a habit. So what’s the deal?” I was still off-kilter. But I didn’t mind.
“He’s an asshole and a racist fuck.”
I was taken slightly aback but I found her frankness appealing. I waited for her to continue.
“I saw his freakin’ tattoos. He thought he was being all discreet, wearing those stupid long-sleeved shirts all the time. I saw him outside Megan’s one morning a couple of months after they met. He was on the phone and he had his shirt off. When he saw me watching him from that window—” she gestured at a window that overlooked the back porch, “—he went back inside fast. Asshole.” She took another sip of beer. “And his loser friends came around a lot, too.
They didn’t even try to cover their tats.”
“All guys?”
“Yeah. White. Of course.” She shook her head with disgust. “Megan fell for their bullshit. I could see it happening. She used to hang with me all the time but after Cody, that stopped.”
“Did she stop on her own or did Cody tell her to?”
Sage thought about that. “Both, probably. They were having some kind of argument last fall. He was really yelling at her about Melissa—called her ‘that fucking dyke sister’ of hers.” Sage’s eyes registered anger. “I was gonna go over there and kick his ass, talking about Melissa like that. Then he said something else and she said something like ‘but Sage’s my friend,’ and he started yelling about dykes corrupting white women or some asinine shit like that. Please.” She made a disgusted noise before continuing. “I think all women could use a little lezzie corruption, thank you very much.” She grinned wickedly. My heart fluttered. So Sage was, at the very least, bi. Or maybe she just didn’t care about labels.
Still, she was with Jeff. Maybe she was just letting me know that she was okay with the whole “gay thing.”
Why the hell did I care, anyway?
“So how long have you lived here?” I asked, trying to shift the conversation.
“Two years. Same as Megan.” Sage looked sad, then. “I thought we had gotten to be pretty good friends. She told me about her addiction problems and I told her if she needed to talk, just let me know.
But she seemed okay. She hadn’t used the whole time she’s been here, as far as I can tell, and she didn’t seem to have a problem around other people if they were drinking. And then Cody showed up and she started getting weird.”
“Jeff said about a week ago you saw a couple of Cody’s friends hanging around.”
She grimaced, distaste clear on her features. “Roy and...what’s the other guy? Timmy or something juvenile like that. Total losers.”
“What do they look like?”
“Roy’s about thirty. A little too old to be playing white man rising, if you ask me. He’s blond and he has blue eyes. He’s probably all proud that he looks like some little Aryan youth. He’s about six feet tall.
The other guy is about your height. He has dark hair and dark eyes. Oh, and a really nice beer gut. A fine example of manhood.” She snorted then and grinned.
I had to smile back. Her demeanor w
as infectious.
“What were they doing here? Has Cody been coming around?”
“Nuh-uh. Not that I’ve seen. I told them to get the hell out of here or I’d call the cops.”
“Really? You said that?”
“Hell, yes. Assholes. Timmy or whatever his name is smokes and he was throwing his damn butts into the yard.”
“What’d they do?”
“What they usually do. Called me a bitch and left.”
“So you’ve had dealings with them before?” The thought of someone calling Sage a bitch rankled me, though she could clearly take care of herself.
“Well, duh,” she said, laughing. “I told Cody to fuck off, too. I told him to leave Megan alone, that she was too good for him.”
“When?” Holy shit.
“About the time Megan left.”
“What’d he do?” I found myself admiring her and worrying about her at the same time.
“He thought he was all menacing and shit, getting into my face. I know his type. My dad was like that and when he tried shit with me, I told him the same thing. My dad backed down and so did Cody.” She shrugged. “He told me if I wasn’t a woman, he’d knock my teeth out and I told him to fucking try it. I’d kick his ass into next year.” She giggled, but I saw a flash of anger in her eyes. “Bastard. He tried to stare me down but he blinked first.” She stopped then, thinking. “Megan left the next day.” She looked at me, intense. “Megan’s not really taking classes, is she.”
It wasn’t a question. I debated how much to tell Sage and decided she wasn’t the type to accept BS
from anyone. I shook my head.
“She’s with him.” Sage said it quietly and her fingers tightened around her beer bottle.
“Yeah. Melissa asked me to help find her.”
“Fuck,” Sage said softly. “Megan told me after I first met her that you research racist assholes.”
“She talked about me?”
“A lot. She said after you and Melissa broke up, she almost started using again.”
Oh, that hurt.
Sage must’ve seen the expression on my face. “Oh, no. She understood why you left and she told me she didn’t blame you. Don’t feel guilty.” She squeezed my right forearm with her left hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
Land of Entrapment Page 9