“Got your email,” my sister said conversationally. “Figured between you and that kid of mine, we’d find what I’m lookin’ for real quick.”
“Find what?” I nudged my phone with the toe of my boot in an effort to flip it over. The angle wasn’t quite right, and instead of flipping it over, it slid further under the dash.
“Doesn’t surprise me that you don’t know. One thing that doesn’t suck about my kid is she sure knows how to keep her damn mouth shut. My man and I got our hands on some pretty important information that a lot of people would pay a lot of money to get. Kept it on a flash drive. Flash drive went missing.”
“What does this have to do with Waylay?” This time the nudge was just enough to flip the phone over…and unfortunately turn the screen on. The glow was not subtle.
“Oh-ho! Nice try, Goody.” My sister leaned down and reached for the phone. The car swerved off the road onto the berm, headlights shining on a long run of pasture fence.
“Watch out!” I ducked as we smashed right through the fence and came to a stop in the grassy horse pasture. My head smacked against the dashboard, and I saw stars.
“Whoops!” Tina said, sitting up holding my phone.
“Ouch! God, you haven’t gotten any better at driving, have you?”
“Orgasms and undies,” she mused, scrolling through my texts. “Huh. Maybe you got more interesting since high school.”
I leaned down so I could use a shackled hand to prod my aching forehead.
“You better not have hurt Waylay, you irresponsible ignoramus.”
“Vocabulary’s still workin’ just fine. What the hell do you take me for? I wouldn’t hurt my own daughter.”
She sounded insulted.
“Look,” I said wearily. “Just take me to Waylay.”
“That’s the plan, Goody.”
Goody was short for Goody Two Shoes, the nickname Tina had saddled me with when we were all of nine years old and she wanted to see how high we could shoot arrows into the air with our uncle’s crossbow that she found.
I wished I had that crossbow now.
“I cannot believe we’re related.”
“Makes two of us,” she said, tossing her cigarette followed by my phone out the window.
She cranked the radio and stomped on the accelerator. The car fishtailed wildly on the damp grass before careening through the gaping hole in the fence.
* * *
Thirty minutes later,Tina turned off the pothole-ridden road that cut through a rundown-looking industrial section of a D.C. suburb. She pulled up to a chain link fence and laid on the horn.
Subtlety was not my sister’s specialty.
I’d spent the entire drive thinking about Waylay. And Knox. About my parents. Liza. Nash. Sloane. The Honky Tonk girls. About how I’d finally somehow managed to make a home for myself only to have Tina show up and ruin it all. Again.
Two shadowy figures dressed in denim and leather appeared and wrestled the gate open with an ear-splitting screech.
I needed to stick to my strengths and play it smart. I’d get to Waylay and then find a way out. I could do this.
We pulled through the gate, and Tina brought the car to a stop in front of a loading dock. She lit another cigarette. Her fourth of the trip.
“You shouldn’t smoke so much.”
“What are you? The lung police?”
“It gives you wrinkles.”
“That’s what plastic surgeons are for,” Tina said, hefting her significantly larger fake breasts. “That’s the problem with you. Always too worried about the consequences to have any fun.”
“And you never gave the consequences a thought,” I pointed out. “Look at where that got you. You abandoned and then kidnapped Waylay. Abducted me. Not to mention stole from me on multiple occasions. Now you’re moving stolen products.”
“Yeah? And which one of us is having more fun?”
“Actually, I’ve been sleeping with Knox Morgan.”
She eyed me through the smoke. “You’re shitting me.”
I shook my head. “I am not shitting you.”
She thumped the steering wheel and cackled. “Well, well. Look at little Goody Two Shoes finally loosening up. Next thing you’ll be jumpin’ on the pole at amateur night and shoplifting scratch-offs.”
I seriously doubted that.
“What? Who knows? Maybe you loosen up enough we might find that sisterly bond you were always whining about,” Tina said, slapping my thigh with what might have been affection. “But first, we gotta get this business taken care of.”
I held up my handcuffed hands. “What kind of business can I take care of with sex cuffs on?”
She reached into the pocket of her door and produced a set of keys. “Here’s the thing. Need you to do me a favor.”
“Anything for you, Tina,” I said dryly.
“I bet my man a hundred dollars I could get you here without knocking you out or forcing you. Told him you were a natural-born sucker. He said there was no way I could get you to march on in there all free will and shit. So here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna uncuff you and take you upstairs to my man and kid. You’re not gonna tell him about these.” She ruffled the purple leopard fur on the cuff closest to her.
My sister was an idiot.
“If I uncuff you and you try to run or if you open your tattletale mouth up there, I’ll make sure you never see Waylay again.”
An idiot with a surprising grasp of what motivated people.
She grinned. “Yeah. I knew you’d like her. Figured she’d like you too, seein’ as how you’re into all that girlie shit. Knew you’d be the best place to park my kid till I was ready to hit the road.”
“Waylay’s a great girl,” I said.
“She ain’t some whiny tattletale like some people,” she said, shooting me a pointed look. “Anyway, I win my bet, you get to spend some quality time with the kid before we head off to our payday.”
She wanted to take Waylay with her. I felt an icy sickness settle in my gut but said nothing.
“We got a deal?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Yes. We have a deal.”
“Let’s get me my hundred bucks,” Tina said cheerfully.
I counted three more swarthy degenerates, all with guns, inside the warehouse. The first floor had nearly a dozen flashy vehicles parked inside. Some were under tarps, some sat with their hoods up and doors open. On the other side of the loading dock were boxes of TVs and what looked like other stolen goods.
It was cold, and I wasn’t dressed for it.
“Let’s go, Goody. Got shit to do,” Tina said, leading the way up the metal stairs to the second floor, an area that looked like it had once housed offices.
My sister threw open the door and strutted inside. “Mama’s home,” she announced.
I hesitated outside the door and sent up a silent prayer to the good twin gods. I was scared. I would have given anything to have Knox or Nash or the entire Knockemout Police Department with me. But that wasn’t going to happen.
I needed to be my own hero tonight or I was going to lose everything.
I straightened my shoulders and crossed the threshold to do what I did best, triage the mess. There was heat inside, thank God. Not much, but enough that at least my lady parts wouldn’t freeze. There was also a distinct odor of old takeout food, most likely coming from the stack of pizza boxes and to-go containers on a long folding table.
Dingy glass windows overlooked the warehouse floor and the exterior. Against a third wall was a futon topped with what looked like very expensive sheets and no fewer than six pillows.
There were two rolling racks of designer clothing that created a makeshift closet. A dozen pairs of high-end men’s sneakers and loafers were organized on another folding table.
The floor was sticky. The ceiling had holes in it. And there was a thick layer of grime on the windows.
I itched to find the Lysol and start scrubbing until I spotted the table stacked nearly a foot high with bundles of cash.
“Told ya,” Tina said triumphantly, hooking her thumb in my direction. “Walked right in, didn’t she?”
I stopped short when I recognized the man in the large, leather office chair in front of the flat-screen TV.
It was the red-haired guy from the library and Honky Tonk. Only this time, he wasn’t dressed to blend in. He was wearing a flashy pair of jeans and a bright orange Balenciaga hoodie.
He was rubbing a cloth over an already gleaming handgun.
I gulped.