Iron Goddess (18 page)

Sheriff's deputies emerged from a growing blockade of police cruisers. With weapons drawn, they chased after Shea and the girl. “Stop! Police!”

“C'mon or they'll catch us.”

Annie stopped resisting and ran with her. Shea led them down a gravel-strewn alley between houses, past garbage cans and endless piles of junk. They emerged onto the next street and cut across several yards, keeping to the shadows. Shea pulled Annie behind a line of juniper shrubs that concealed their presence, yet offered a decent view of the street.

Three uniformed deputies emerged from the alley, scanning the area with guns and flashlights raised. Annie began to sob. Shea wrapped an arm around the girl. “Shhh. Can't let 'em hear us.” Annie grew quiet, but trembled in Shea's embrace.

For fifteen tense minutes, the deputies searched the area, knocking on doors, looking behind bushes, and peering underneath cars. Deputy Aguilar sauntered into the yard where they were hiding. His flashlight swung back and forth, exploring the dark corners of the house's porch, then into the row of shrubs. With her heart thundering in her chest, Shea shrunk back further, sheltering her niece with her body. His boots crunched on the sandy soil a few feet away. Shea braced herself, ready to fight.

“Aguilar!” someone shouted from a few houses down. “Over here.”

Aguilar turned away from them and hustled down the street toward his colleague.

When the deputies were out of sight, Shea guided Annie through another alley, avoiding the fenced yard, to where the borrowed Harley sat. Annie stared at the bike, shivering despite the warm, humid night. “What're ya gonna do to me?”

“Do to you? Oh, sweetie, I'm your Aunt Shea.” She slipped the windbreaker on Annie and zipped it up, the sleeves dangling several inches past her fingertips. The bandage over Annie's right ear smelled rank with infection. She needed medical attention.

“You're Aunt Shea?” Annie's half-lidded eyes met Shea's for the first time. The girl had Hunter's chestnut hair and her mother's eyes. My
mother's eyes,
thought Shea.

“Yes.” Shea struggled for something more to say. Sorrow tightened her throat. “I'm…I'm so sorry about your mom.”

Annie hugged her, sobbing. “I want my mommy.”

“I know, kiddo. Me, too.” Shea wanted to make it all okay, but she didn't know how. She wasn't a parent. She was barely an aunt.

A helicopter hovered nearby, scanning the ground with its searchlight. The
chup-chup-chup
of its rotor blades grew louder.

“We gotta get you out of here. You think you can ride on the back?”

Annie nodded. “I used to ride with my dad.”

Shea put the helmet on Annie's head, careful not to cinch the strap so tight it pushed on Annie's wounded ear. She threw a leg over the bike. “Put your left foot on the peg, then grab hold of my arm.” Shea helped lift her onto the passenger seat.

Annie wrapped her arms around Shea's middle.

“Hold on.”

Shea started the bike and cruised up the street slowly, puttering north. There was no sign of life anywhere. No cars, no pedestrians, no lights in the houses. Not even a stray dog or cat. At a T-intersection, she turned left toward the downtown area. A police car parked on the side of the road sprung to life, flashers and sirens going.
Was the deputy behind her working with the kidnappers?
She couldn't take the chance.

With the blue lights flashing in her mirrors, Shea pinned the throttle. Annie's arms tightened around her. Shea hoped the girl could hold on.

At the next intersection, Shea whipped right onto a main road, sending up a cascade of sparks as the footpegs scraped the pavement, then gunned the motor to put some distance between herself and the law.

They emerged from the desolate barrio back into the hustle and bustle of Prospector Avenue's downtown bar scene. The police cruiser on her tail had become three.

In a car, she'd be screwed, but on the bike, she could use the traffic to her advantage. She squeezed between two lines of cars, leaving the deputies stuck behind. A few inebriated college boys cheered her on from the sidewalk.

A block later, she turned off the main drag and parked the bike in a small honor pay lot. Sirens wailed in the distance, but there was no sign of flashing lights anywhere. Shea climbed off the bike, leaving Annie on the passenger seat. She put a hand to the girl's forehead. It was warm. “You're burning up. We gotta get you to a doctor.”

“Mama always takes me to Dopey. He's nice,” said Annie in a lifeless voice.

“I'm not sure Dopey's gonna be enough, sweetie.”

Shea pulled out Oscar's phone and dialed.

“Hello?” Terrance sounded groggy. No surprise, considering it was well past midnight.

“Dude, I'm sorry to call you, but I'm in trouble.”

“Again?”

“Wendy's dead. But I've got Annie with me. You still got her ear on ice?”

“Yeah.”

“Meet me at Cortes General ER. And keep an eye out for cops.”

“Cops? Why?”

“Willie's involved in the kidnapping. I don't know who to trust at this point.”

“You've got to be kidding.”

“Wish I were, T. This whole thing is fucked up.”

“Where are you?”

“Downtown Ironwood. I should be at the hospital in about thirty minutes.”

“All right. I'll meet you in the ER.”

“Thanks, man. I'm turning off this phone in case the cops are tracking it. If I don't see you when I get to the ER, I'll give you a call.”

As she hung up, an alert sounded on the phone. When she clicked the icon, an AMBER Alert appeared asking people to be on the lookout for Annie. “Great.”

Shea turned off the phone. “Annie, you think you can hold on a little longer?”

“I'll try.” Her face glistened with fever. She looked barely conscious. A sharp turn on the bike could pitch her off.

Shea considered having the girl sit in front of her, but that would make driving nearly impossible. “I have an idea.”

Shea climbed back onto the bike. “Okay, now wrap your arms around me.”

Annie's arms only reached two-thirds of the way around. The overlong sleeves of the adult-sized windbreaker dangled and fluttered in the slight breeze. Shea tied the sleeves in a knot around her own waist. “Don't slip out of this jacket.”

Shea started the engine and crept along side streets to avoid traffic until she got to Sycamore Highway leading south to the hospital. Then she opened up the throttle.

At ninety miles an hour, the wind made Shea's eyes water as she raced along the moonlit landscape. Her heart ached for her sister.
Why did I bring her along? Why couldn't I protect her? How could I leave her in the middle of the fucking barrio?
Maybe it was karma, some sort of twisted divine punishment for killing Oscar. Or for defending Ralph so many years earlier.
What a fuckup I am!

She screamed into the wind until her lungs ached and her body shook from sorrow. When she was cried out, she reached back and felt Annie's arm. She had to make this right, even if it meant going back to prison and losing everything she'd worked for.

A half hour later, the bike squealed to a stop in front of the ER entrance. “Annie? You still with me?”

She didn't respond.

“Annie?” Shea reached back and shook her. “Annie, wake up.”

The girl slumped to the side. Only the tied windbreaker sleeves kept her from falling to the pavement. Shea honked the bike's horn. Two Cortes County EMTs in navy blue T-shirts rushed through the automatic sliding doors. Terrance ran behind them carrying a small cooler.

“You need some help?” asked one of the EMTs, a young Hispanic man whose name, L. Cruz, was stitched on the shirt. Cruz grabbed Annie from the left, while his partner, a woman with V. Liu stitched on her shirt, held her up from the other side.

“Her ear's been cut off and she's running a fever.” Shea untied the windbreaker's sleeves.

“I got her. Cruz, grab a gurney.” Liu lifted her off the bike. Cruz rushed inside.

“I have the severed ear in here.” Terrance held up the cooler.

Cruz returned a moment later with a gurney. They laid Annie on it, took the cooler from Terrance, and rushed her inside. Shea pulled the motorcycle into a nearby parking space and followed Terrance past the waiting area to a small examination room with a sliding glass door. A nurse in cornflower-blue scrubs attached EKG leads across Annie's chest, then swiped a thermometer across her forehead and took her blood pressure.

A nurse with coffee-colored skin and a seventies-style afro opened up a laptop near Shea. “Hi, I'm Emma, one of the RNs. Are you the mother?”

“I'm her aunt.” Shea wiped the tears from her face.

“Where's her mother?”

Shea's chest tightened as she recalled the image of Wendy's shattered face.

“Out of town,” said Terrance when Shea didn't respond.

“And her father?”

“Not sure. They recently separated,” Shea said, struggling with her emotions.

“Will you give consent to treat?” asked Emma.

“Yeah.”

“The child's name?”

“Annie Stev—” Shea shook her head to ward off the fatigue. “Wittmann. Annie Wittmann.”

“Age?”

“Eight.”

Emma typed the information into the laptop. “Birthdate November 14?”

“I guess so. How'd you know?”

“She's already in our system. Can you tell me what happened?”

“She was kidnapped a few days ago. We rescued her, but the kidnapper cut off her ear and sent it to us. We've kept it on ice.”

Emma frowned and stopped typing. “Have you notified the police?”

“Yeah,” said Shea. “They were there when we rescued her.” Technically true, but she opted not to elaborate.

“Temp's 105.3 degrees,” said the other nurse. “BP 80 over 50. Heart rate 130.”

“Will you be able to save her ear?” Shea asked.

“We'll certainly try. We'll have to stabilize her first.” Emma peeked under the bandage on Annie's ear. Her nose scrunched. “Her wound is infected. We need to get the doctor in here.” She rushed out of the room while the tech set up an IV.

Emma returned a moment later with Dr. Sossaman. The doctor did a double take when she saw Shea. “You're in here again?”

“My niece, Annie.”

Sossaman inspected the wound, lifted each of Annie's eyelids, and shined a penlight in them. “She's in shock.”

An alarm on the vitals monitor began beeping. Dr. Sossaman turned to Shea and Terrance. “You two will need to step out of the room while we try to get her stabilized.” The doctor made requests for medications from the nurses.

Terrance opened the room's sliding glass door for Shea. They stepped into the hallway, letting it close behind them.

“What the hell happened?” Terrance put an arm over Shea's shoulders as they sat down in a couple of chairs against the wall.

“Borrowed a bike from one of the Thunders' prospects. By the time we arrived, Hunter had sent one of their guys into the drop house in my place. Then Willie pulled up and went inside.”

“Willie? What was
he
doing there?”

“He's in on it. Maybe the break-in at Iron Goddess, too. The guy who called with the ransom demand was sitting in Willie's police cruiser, probably keeping an eye on Annie.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Everything went to hell. Bullets were flying in all directions. Wendy and I found Annie in the trunk of Willie's cruiser, but when we tried to make a run for it, someone shot Wendy in the head.” Shea pushed back against another wave of sorrow while her eyes watered.

“Shea, I'm so sorry.”

“Suddenly the whole place was crawling with cops.”

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught Shea's attention. Detectives Rios and Edelman approached the nurses' station at the other end of the hall. A tech pointed at Shea and Terrance. The detectives walked toward them.

“Shea Stevens, we need to talk to you,” said Rios.

“Stall them,” Shea said before bolting down the corridor.

Shea dashed toward the main part of the hospital, making random turns at hallway intersections to throw off her pursuers. In the quiet, early morning hours, the pounding of her boots echoed down the empty corridors.
Gotta get these things off!

She ducked into a single-stall restroom, frantically kicked off her boots, and tucked them under her arms. A peek out the door revealed no one in sight, but distant voices suggested someone was coming. Leaving the vent fan and light on, she engaged the lock, shut the door from the outside, and took off in her stocking feet, hoping they'd think she was holed up inside.

The corridor emptied into the elevator bay, where all three elevators sat open for the night. Shea reached into one and slapped the sixth- and seventh-floor buttons, then ducked out before the doors closed. A sign led to a nearby stairwell, where she dashed up the stairs, gasping for air.

At the third floor, she glanced down the corridor. No sign of cops. No voices or the
clap-clap-clap
of leather soles on linoleum. She pulled out Oscar's phone and sent a text to Terrance:
I see you, Derek.
Would he figure out the code?

After another look down the length of the corridor, she slipped her boots back on and strolled casually to the ICU ward. Without looking up at any of the nurses, she slipped into Derek's dark room and drew the privacy curtain, taking a seat in a chair by the bed.

“God, I wish you'd wake up,” she whispered.

Derek cleared his throat and opened one eye. “Huh?”

“You're awake?” For the first time in days, a ray of light split the gloom in her mind.

“Yeah.” His voice was weak and raspy. Both eyes opened. “What're you doing here? What time is it?”

“Two or three in the morning. I'm happy to see you conscious for once. I thought we'd lost you.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” A halfhearted grin played across his face.

“Who did this to you?”

He rubbed his face with his hand, pulling against the pulse oximeter taped to his index finger. “Guy named Reyes.”

“Oscar Reyes?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would he shoot you?”

He frowned. “I fucked up.”

“Whaddya mean? How'd you fuck up?”

The door opened. Shea whipped around, fearing the cops had found her. Terrance stood in the doorway. “Took me a minute to figure out your text. Hey! Look who's awake.”

“Derek was just telling me why Oscar Reyes shot him.”

A pained expression colored Derek's face. His eyes watered. “I got busted again. Meth. Cop gave me a choice—go back to prison or do him a favor.”

“What favor?”

“You gotta understand. I can't go back to prison. My mama—she's on the dialysis. Without me around, she'll die.”

Anger eroded her sympathy for him. “What'd you do, Derek?”

“Let them into Iron Goddess.”

Shea clenched her fist and pounded the bed railing. “Who's
them
?”

“The cop. Foster's his name.”

“Willie?” She shook her head.
Why would he do this to me?
“Who else?”

“Reyes and another big-ass Mexican named Tiburón. Oh, and this skinny kid—don't remember his name—had a teardrop inked by one eye. They're all Jaguars.”

Terrance crossed his arms, glaring at Derek. “Why's Willie working with the Jaguars?”

“He ain't. It's a deal Foster and another cop got going. Jags don't know nothing about it.” He coughed and winced in pain. “Somehow Foster recruited a few Jaguars.”

“What deal?” Shea asked.

“They're growing poppies here in Arizona to make heroin. Avoids the risk of smuggling it over the border.”

“That explains the poppy field Wendy and me stumbled onto,” said Shea. “So why rob Iron Goddess?”

“Needed money for chemicals and equipment. Foster knew I worked for you, figured he could make an easy buck selling your bikes and gear. Told me to help him or he'd make sure I did serious time.”

The feeling of betrayal overwhelmed Shea. She raised her fist to pummel him, but Terrance grabbed her arm before she could.

“Where are the bikes now?” Terrance asked. Shea paced the room like a caged animal.

“Don't know. Never told me.”

Shea turned and pointed a finger at Derek. “Terrance and me gave you a second chance, you little piece of shit. You betrayed us.”

“I didn't have no choice. I had to protect my mama.”

“Maybe if you weren't using again, none of this would have happened,” growled Terrance.

“If it's any consolation, I smashed the door to set off the alarm. Hoped the cops would get there in time to stop 'em.” Derek's vitals monitor started beeping. A block on the screen flashed red, warning that his heart rate was too high. “That's why Reyes shot me.”

“I heard the sheriff's deputies stopped by your room.” Shea wondered if they would try to do the same to Annie. “How far up does this go in the Sheriff's Office?”

“Just Willie and another deputy, far as I know. Never got the other guy's name, but he was with Foster when they came in my room.”

“What'd he look like?” Shea asked.

“White, I think. Maybe Mexican. And bald. It's all kinda fuzzy.”

Mexican and bald? Must be Aguilar—good ol' Deputy Commando.
“What'd they say?”

“Willie asked if I'd told anyone about what happened. Don't remember much after that. Doc says I went into a coma.”

“Sounds like they tried to finish you off.” Shea stared out the window at the nurses' station. Dr. Patel was talking to someone just out of view. “And now Annie's downstairs fighting for her life with a couple of Buzzkill's detectives running around looking for me.”

“Who's Annie?”

“My niece. Your buddies kidnapped her and cut her damn ear off.” Her chest tightened. “Oh shit.”

At the nurses' station, Dr. Patel took a few steps back and Detective Rios came into view.

“Fuck! It's that female detective.” Shea glanced around the room looking for a place to hide. In the bathroom? No, too obvious. Under the bed? No room. Cabinets? Again, too obvious. She would have to make a run for it.

“Hold this for me.” Shea handed her Glock to Terrance, not wanting the weight and bulk of it to slow her down, much less get her in further trouble should they catch her.

Shea slipped open the door and duck-walked around the other side of the nurses' station. Her knees tightened with each step.

“Ms. Stevens, stop!” Rios doubled back to intercept her. Shea charged full-out down the corridor, knocking over wheelchairs, carts, and other equipment in her wake, anything to put more distance between her and the detective.

Shea made for the stairwell just past the elevator bay about fifty feet away. She pushed her battered body to its breaking point as she closed the distance. A tech rolled a patient on a bed out of an elevator in front of her. She veered left to avoid them, lost her footing, and slammed into the opposite wall, tumbling into a heap on the floor. Rios was on her instantly, cinching handcuffs around her wrists. Shea struggled to regain her footing, but Rios put a knee in her back, driving Shea's face down on the disinfectant-scented linoleum.

“Shea Stevens, you're under arrest for the kidnapping of Annie Wittmann.”

“Fuck you! I'm the one who rescued her.”

“You have the right to remain silent—”

Shea threw her weight to the side, rolling out from under Rios, then kicked the detective against the wall. Shea scrambled to her feet, but not before Rios drew her weapon. “Don't move!”