Heartbeat, p.18
Heartbeat, page 18
MONDAY
Monday looked to be a normal day.
A normal day in a small Colorado town, Maya thought as she got out of the shower. The nerves she suffered with for days hadn’t settled, but she was determined to put them on the back burner. She wrapped a towel around herself, finished her morning routine, and began digging for something to wear.
Her cell phone rang. “Blake calling” She swiped the screen and hit speaker.
“Hey Blake!”
“Hey baby girl,” his voice drawled.
That was nice. Terms of endearment seemed to be big around town and Maya felt accepted when the “darlin’s” and “baby girls” flowed freely. She smiled as she thought of the friendships she’d made in her short time there, and that smile was in her voice when she spoke to Blake.
“Got that second part you asked for. Bring that heap of yours in and I can put it on today.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Maya, that was cute before. No way you are pulling that shit again at the shop.”
“Right,” she said sarcastically. “See you in twenty.”
She slid on her jeans when her phone dinged again. Seeing which phone it was, she froze. She pulled her cream tank all the way down and walked cautiously to the phone like it would bite her. There hadn’t been an update in a while other than ‘all clear.’ She lifted her secure phone and read:
BD: Inquiries about you have increased. GL has investigated East Coast establishments. Still in the dark in re: your location. Someone else is looking into you at Columbus Police Department. Hacked access outside of the network. Currently, CPD is unaware of breach. Access to several other files in the same breach shows assaults with identical MO as yours. Yours is still classified as Jane Doe and buried. Advise.
M: I may know who it is. Send me a copy of my file to provided email address. Give me until the end of the week to find out.
BD: Copy.
Maya sighed, zipped the phone back into the hidden compartment in her purse, and chewed her bottom lip for a moment. She had a good idea who was behind the hack and why, but she couldn’t believe they were being so damn annoying. She finished getting dressed, quickly logged into her computer, checked the shipping on her package, and signed out. They were costing her a small fortune with their antics. Her jumpiness grew as if she’d drank a giant cup of coffee. Closing her eyes, she breathed deep as she steadied herself, threw on gloss and mascara, grabbed her keys, and headed out the door.
A quick shot down the street put her in the shop's forecourt. She killed the engine, which stopped Jay Z from having “99 Problems.” Hopping down, she called to Doc who waved from the office. She swallowed her issues as usual and put on a cheerful face.
“Hey Maya honey,” Doc called. “Blake says you’re fixin’ to install on your own.”
She looked at Doc, took in his serious face, crossed arms, and warm brown eyes and told him the truth.
“I need to do it, Doc. I need to do something with my hands to take my mind off some things. You get me, right?
He studied her for a second. “All right then, pull into the third bay and help yourself.”
“Doc!” Blake exclaimed, making his way over to them, frustrated.
“The gal said she can do it, let her do it. Get her some coveralls Blake.”
Blake stared at his father, looked at Maya, and exhaled. His face full of resigned annoyance, he stalked over to his office.
“At least bring the truck in the garage for fuck's sake.” He looked back at his father and Maya. “Flash a dimple, and the man loses his damn mind.”
In a few minutes, Maya appeared, clad in huge blue coveralls. She suspected Blake selected the biggest ones to make her look ridiculous. Doc, Blake, and the boys at the shop snickered as she rolled the sleeves, wrapped a hair tie around each, and tucked the legs into her socks ‘80s style.
Maya blocked out Blake’s grumbles and spent the next several hours going over the truck, changing the oil, replacing belts, checking and replacing seals, etc. She lost herself in the work, the smells, and the sounds.
Her elderly neighbor Sir Ernest Q. Jones - his real name - taught her everything about cars. From the time she was seven until she was sixteen, he’d patiently answered every question, listened to every story, and taught her about the church of getting your hands dirty.
“Maya child, every ponder you’ve got to ponder can be worked out right here,” he would say, patting whatever broke down heap was leaking oil in his driveway. “And at the end of the day, when you’ve got grease caked so thick you can’t tell your hand from a carburetor, you might have figured it out.”
She asked him once if he always figured it out in a day. “Nope, been working on the same problem for thirty years child, ain’t figured it out yet, but when I do, the good Lord will give me something else to think about.”
He’d never told her what it was he was working out. When he died a little after his eightieth birthday, she wondered if he’d finally figured it out and, with no more ponders to ponder, the Lord called him home. When she’d done everything down to replacing the wiper fluid, her stomach signaled it was time to go. She hadn’t solved much of anything, but maybe tomorrow. She looked longingly at the engine one of the guys was rebuilding.
“Don’t even think about it,” Blake grumped as he walked past.
Welp that answers that.
As she was finishing up, a Harley pulled into the forecourt. She reached into the cab of her truck and pulled out a bag of M&M’s as a peace offering to Blake. Walking out to the forecourt, she tossed back some water.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” a large biker spat out, looking at Maya with contempt.
She stopped short, confused. She’d never seen the man before in her life and she would’ve remembered that scruffy blond beard, bald head, and big physique that said he fed on a steady diet of junk and beer. He looked closer to delivering a baby than she was.
She continued to beeline to Blake, the biker’s gaze blazing through her.
“You let pussy in your garage?”
Pussy?
Maya looked around, still slightly confused, more uneasy, and shifting closer to angry. Blake’s body tightened next to her. Not wanting the drama, she placed her hand on his arm, dragging his attention from the biker to her right away.
“I’m finished. Thanks, I—”
“What kind of shop lets pussy in the garage?” the man continued on loudly.
“When your name’s up on that sign? Then you can question me.” Blake pointed to the large “C.J.B. Harley Inc.” sign in Old West font looming large over the parking lot.
“The old man know you got pussy in the garage?” Harley man asked, jerking his head toward the office.
Maya had enough. Jangled nerves and the quest for consecutive normal days thwarted, she took the challenge not meant for her.
“Asshole. Stop calling me that.” She placed her hands on her hips, feet wide apart, her gaze furious.
The man leaned in, narrowed his eyes, and proclaimed, “Pussy don’t touch my bike.” He jerked his thumb toward himself.
“The way you look, I’m not surprised,” Maya shot back.
Blake and a couple of the fellas chuckled.
“What you say bitch?” he asked as he stalked toward her.
Blake stepped in front of her. “Biscuit, cool down. Now.
“You takin’ up for that bitch?” Biscuit’s head jerked in surprise. “I’ve been coming here for fifteen years!”
“Yeah, and you’ve been a pain my ass for all of ‘em,” Doc said, stepping out of the office.
Maya remembered herself and decided to stop partaking in or creating any more drama, especially with a pot-bellied biker named Biscuit.
What kind of biker name is that? Biscuit? Might as well call himself Pancakes or Apple Strudel. She stood behind Blake and slipped out of the coveralls.
Stepping out from behind him, she offered Blake the coveralls and the candy. “That’s for the trouble.” She nodded to the treat.
Blake looked down and cocked a half-smile. “No problem, baby girl.”
“All I’m sayin’,” Biscuit said, pushing his luck, “is no bitch is touchin’ my bike. Even one with tits like that.” Leering at her chest, he grinned.
Rage Maya tried to keep buried bubbled to the surface a bit.
“No bitch?” she exclaimed. “How does that explain your bitchass Biscuit?” She flicked her hand, indicating him. “Your doughy ass is the only bitch I see, and yeah, your tits are fantastic.” She cupped her hands out in front of her like she was cradling breasts.
The men roared with laughter. Biscuit took in the defiant woman in front of him, looked at the men laughing, and popped, lunging at Maya. Blake deftly tugged her back behind him, using his finger hooked in her belt loop, and getting this close to the biker’s face, his voice deadly.
“You sure you want to make that move?” Blake growled, sounding more beast than man. There was an arctic blast in his voice that clearly communicated his words were a promise, not a threat.
Eye-to-eye with Blake was not something most men wanted to be, so Biscuit smartly retreated, passed a face-saving glare through the people standing outside, and stalked to his bike. Hopping on, he brought the custom Harley Road King to life with a roar. He cast a tight turn around the forecourt and sped away.
“Hey darlin’ you good?” Blake asked as he touched her arm. She jerked it away instinctively, still staring at the space the rude biker had vacated.
Maya was tight. Her teeth clenched, hands balled at her sides, a headache formed like a band wrapping around her skull, and she was still freaking hungry.
“Maya.”
She blinked at him and took in his concerned face. “Are you good, baby girl?” His warm brown eyes searched hers, a deep frown creasing his brow.
She took a deep breath and nodded, more out of politeness than anything. “He pissed me off.”
White teeth rimmed with an overlong salt and pepper beard grinned at her. “I think the feeling was mutual.”
She sighed, looking guilty. “I’m sorry I cost you business.” She looked over at Doc.
“He’ll cool off and come back,” Doc said as he walked away.
“But he’ll still be mad,” Blake warned.
“Why?!”
“‘Cause I was thinking of hiring you. Part-time of course.”
“Really?” Maya was shocked and pleased.
“You do good work. You’d have to get certified to be full time here. How are you at school work?”
Maya snorted with laughter. “I do all right. Can I think about it?” A job meant money coming in, but it also meant paperwork and going into a system somewhere. She’d have to plan that carefully.
“Sure darlin’.”
Maya nodded to him and moved back to her truck. She backed out as Caine came in for the afternoon shift. He tipped two fingers. She waved, and ducked her unsmiling face, blasting Amy Winehouse’s “You Know I’m No Good,” as she peeled out.
Blake waited for Caine to unfold himself from the ‘Stang before he started talking.
“I can see why y’all like her. That girl is salty and sweet. Smart too. She ran Biscuit down,” Blake told Caine, chuckling. “Had the whole place laughin’.”
Caine watched his sister as she drove away. “How did he take it?”
“Not well, you know how he is. He’ll be all right though.” Blake looked closely at Caine. “What’s up brother?”
“Somethin’ I gotta tell you, Blake,” he said, looking at his friend and business partner.
A few minutes later…
Maya purchased a big salad to go from the diner and drove over to Jake’s. She reached across the passenger seat, popped open the glove compartment, and took out two slightly warm, meaning awesome, packets of M&M’s. As she grabbed an empty plastic food storage container, she swore as she noticed a wrench sat on the passenger seat. She slid the wrench into her back pocket to remind her to drop it back off and walked into Jake’s.
Maya threw a wave and gave a “hey everybody,” as she slid onto a barstool next to Regina. Jake came from around back with a keg on his shoulder, moving the heavy item like it weighed no more than a case of beer. Once again, she marveled at how freakishly handsome he was, like seriously hot. Her teenage dream standing right in front of her.
He was in a tight black tee, one arm rolled, revealing an intricate black tattoo. The man was, what, in his mid to late forties’s and put many a twenty-year-old to shame. He looked like at any moment he could be on the field with a pro team. His linebacker body was still good and firm, with tight abs and thick muscular thighs. His six-foot-four-inch frame meant his beautiful face always stood shoulders above everyone else. Hazel eyes sparkled and his meticulously trimmed full beard emphasized his square jawline. Boy, married or not, you were required by ovary oath to admire this man at least once or twice... or three times.
He grinned at Maya. She grinned back a little too hard.
“What do you want, baby girl?”
Sigh.
“I’ve got a huge craving for peanuts and pork rinds and I’d also like something to drink with no caffeine to go with my salad.” She plopped her grub on the bar along with the M&M’s and plastic ware.
“Seriously?” Leslie asked, coming over from bussing a table. “That salad looks like a sandwich without bread.”
“Oh yeah, isn’t it awesome?” She unwrapped her salad and dug in. Jake tossed her a small blue bag of bar nuts and pork rinds and laughed as she licked her lips and poured both packages into the plastic ware. She added the soft M&M’s, closed the green top, and shook it. Now Regina and Leslie were watching her in amusement. Snatching the lid off, she dug in, getting all three ingredients in a bunch and popping them into her mouth.
“Mmmm. Heaven. Try it,” she said, passing the mixture down to Regina and going back to her salad-wich. “Gotta get some of everything in one bite,” she informed them.
Regina popped the mix in her mouth and chewed. “Damn, this is good.”
Leslie and Jake tried a bit.
“Girlie, that sounds like a pregnancy craving,” Regina said.
Maya choked on her food.
Regina whacked her on the back while Leslie jumped to get her water. Jake leaned in, and, after she swallowed painfully and got her bearings, quietly asked, “You all right?”
Maya nodded, then mouthed an embarrassed “Yeah.” Leslie reached out and gave her a squeeze. Maya figured Jake would share her situation with his wife and gave her a squeeze back. Jake walked back to the backroom of the bar for something, and Maya nursed her food more carefully.
“Why do you have a wrench in your pocket?” Regina asked with her gap-toothed smile. She was either curious or checking out Maya’s ass—which one was debatable when it came to Regina.
“Oh, I forgot to leave it at Blake’s. I was there this afternoon,” she said, reaching back and dropping the heavy tool onto the battered wooden bar carefully.
“You fix Harleys?” Regina asked, her eyes wide.
“No, I tinker around on cars. My neighbor taught me when I was a kid.” Maya sipped the juice Jake brought her. “I’d love to learn about bikes.”
“Not sure too many men will let you fix their bike,” Regina said into her beer.
“Yeah, I figured that out today,” she mumbled to no one, shaking her head.
Maya absentmindedly, nervously, flipped the wrench over and over on the bar. Her salad sat half-eaten as she chewed on the straw from her drink. Leslie looked at the door.
“Hey Biscuit, what’s got your shit stirred?”
Oh damn.
As heavy footsteps approached, Maya tried disappearing by concentrating hard and staying still. It didn’t work.
“This bitch.” Spoken from right behind her.
Oh damn. Damn.
“Now Biscuit,” Regina said, sliding closer, but miraculously keeping her ass on her stool.
“You need that sweet ass taught a lesson. I bet you like it rough, too.” Biscuit grabbed Maya’s shoulder and spun her around roughly on the stool.
Before she could think, her body reacted.
Maya was not coping. For weeks, her brain and body tried to heal. For weeks she tamped back the emotions, released them only under duress, then quickly buried them again.
The dreams, the talks with Heart, finding out about her family, learning a new place and people. Covering her tracks…
It was all too much.
Her brain and body stayed primed for a fight these last weeks. She thought she was making progress, but mentally she was at her end.
And. She. Snapped.
She snapped in a way she never imagined. Tears, shaking, crying... that she could understand. But this? This was different.
Biscuit saw a soft target. What he did not count on was stepping on a landmine covered in curly hair and soft, feminine curves.1
I bet you like it rough too…
Maya was back in the precinct in Columbus.
I bet you like it rough too…
They were taking photos of her injuries and smirking.
I bet you like it rough too…
They were leering at her.
I bet you like it rough too…
Maya didn’t remember grabbing the wrench as he yanked her around. But vaguely in the back of her mind, she heard a woman scream, “No.”
Maya also didn’t remember bringing the heavy wrench across Biscuit’s face and neck area with all the strength she had in her.
It felt like she was watching a Hi-Def movie.
Biscuit flail back in surprise. She watched, outside herself, as a woman on a stool launched herself in an attack, bringing the wrench down again and again. Hard metal met soft flesh again and again.
A woman in distressed screamed, “NO!” over and over and over… Then Maya was in the air. A powerful pair of gentle, iron-solid arms wrapped around her, pulling her back. Slowly. Gently.
