Barb’s hand was near her thigh, signaling that I was dealing with a liar.
Kristine focused her sad eyes on me. “I’m trying to find my daughter.”
“Why would you think she’s here?”
“I heard this is where women who are in trouble go.”
“How is she in trouble? Is it drugs? Is she transitioning from a life of prostitution?”
Kristine’s eyes widened, and she fought a frown. Finally, she shook her head. “No, she had a troubled marriage.”
“Oh, I get you. We do help women like that, but we don’t bring them here,” I said, gesturing at the apartment complex hidden behind high bushes and security fencing. “We have safehouses located outside of town for abused women. Does your daughter have kids?”
“Yes, and I haven’t seen them in weeks. I need to know they’re safe.”
I handed Kristine a card with the information for my mom’s office. “It’s possible your daughter is in a state-funded safehouse. These people should be able to locate her.”
“Are you sure she’s not here?”
“Why would we put an abused woman and children at a location with recovering addicts and former prostitutes?”
Kristine eyed the apartment, wanting to call bullshit on my lies. Yet, I sold them so calmly that she couldn’t help believing me. My appearance probably helped. I was wearing a blue maternity shirt, double braids, and my glasses. Nothing about me screamed scary biker bitch.
Glancing at the card, Kristine mumbled, “I was told this was the safehouse where my daughter would be.”
“Who told you that? Was it someone from this organization?”
“No, just people who were familiar with how it works.”
“We’re obviously very tight-lipped about where we house abused women and children. That’s why we keep them in rural settings, so they’re less likely to be spotted by the people they’re running from.”
“That makes sense,” Kristine said, seeming unsure as she glanced back at the man in the car parked up the street.
“Here, let me text the woman who runs the organization, so she expects you,” I said while texting Clint and Rock about the problem at the apartments. “Of course, you won’t be able to visit the safehouse where your daughter is staying. For safety reasons, we’ll have you meet her and the kids in a public place. We’ll also provide security to ensure that if you’re followed by her abusive husband, he won’t be able to harm your daughter, grandkids, or you.”
“These rules keep people safe,” Barb explained as a way to distract Kristine while I warned Clint that a woman was scoping out information for an abusive husband.
Kristine kept eyeing the apartment. “Can I just check inside?”
“This chick is lying,” Barb announced, keeping Kristine from signaling the man in the car. “I bet a pimp sent her to find one of his runaway girls. We ought to call the police.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Kristine scoffed. “I just want to see my daughter!”
“Look at a fucking picture!” Barb hollered while I sent an alert message to the entire club.
Barb had been a hooker for most of her life. The woman looked crusty and frail, but she’d survived far scarier threats than this dumb bitch trying to force her way into the apartment complex.
“I’m going to call the police on you!” Kristine shouted and backed away when she thought Barb might hit her.
Kristine seemed unsure what to do. She eyed the apartment’s entrance and then looked back at the man.
“I’m calling the police,” I told Kristine while signaling for Barb to get inside and find security.
“You should have helped us,” Kristine said as the man left his car. “Now, it’s too late. You’ve made Keith angry.”
I spotted a gun hanging from the young man’s hand. I shoved my phone into my purse and retrieved my pistol. Kristine called out to Keith, saying some shit about how we were hiding his wife. While his attention was on her, I hurried behind a car parked at the curb to use as cover.
With people on the street and Barb likely watching from behind the gate, I yelled, “He’s got a gun!”
