Wickedly Dangerous (Baba Yaga, #1)(30)
Baba vacillated between irritation that he’d dealt with the issue without her permission and gratitude that the motorcycle wasn’t as badly mangled as it had first appeared.
Eventually, gratitude won out and she managed to say, more or less graciously, “Thanks. You can tell Bob to fix the metal bits; I can take care of the paint job myself. I’d rather not be without the bike any longer than I have to.” She could feel the space where it was supposed to sit outside the Airstream like an empty socket from a missing tooth. “Tell him I’ll pay double if he can put a rush on it.”
Liam raised an eyebrow at that but relayed the message. A startled look flitted across his face at Bob’s reply, and he gazed at the phone thoughtfully for a moment after he hung up.
“He said you don’t have to pay him double, but he’d really appreciate it if you could make him an herbal remedy for his father’s gout. They share the garage, and when the gout is acting up, the old man is as grumpy as a hibernating bear.” Liam shook his head. “He said someone told him about you when he was in Bertie’s this morning and he was going to contact you anyway.”
Baba was pleased. It was probably irrational, but she felt better being able to barter for part of the work. When she was growing up, that was the way it was done. The previous Baba was paid in chickens far more often than in coin.
“Excellent,” she said, already thinking of which herbs she might use from her current stock and which ones she would need to forage for. “I’ll make him up something right away.”
Liam patted her leg, carefully avoiding the bruised bits that were already turning vibrant purples and blues, like a garden of pansies sprung up overnight. “Don’t worry about the bike,” he said, sympathy softening his tone. “Bob is a wizard with anything that has wheels and a motor.”
“I don’t need a wizard,” Baba said, rolling her eyes. Wizards tended to be annoying and smell like sulfur. Too many alchemical formulas and not enough bathing. “I just need a mechanic.”
“What?” Liam looked confused for a second, then laughed. “You have the strangest sense of humor.” A shadow wiped the smile away, leaving somber lines behind.
Baba braced herself, fingers clenched around the sweating beer bottle. One cold drop ran over a knuckle and hit the floor with a silent plop. In the woven carpet under her feet, a tiny lizard flicked its tongue out to catch the unexpected moisture. Why did she find him so attractive? He did nothing but annoy her. Well, bandage her wounds and annoy her. How was it possible he could make her feel like this?
“Look, we have to talk about this Maya thing,” Liam said, reluctance giving his deep voice a sharper than usual edge. “I don’t understand why you are so sure she is involved in the disappearance of all these children. Most crimes are motivated by love, money, or revenge—which one do you think this is?” He tilted his head, apparently willing to listen to her reasoning, although clearly not expecting to agree with it.
Baba tried to figure out something that would make sense to him. As an explanation, “She’s using magic and I’m pretty sure she tried to kill me with it,” wasn’t likely to go over well.
“Maya works for Peter Callahan,” Baba said slowly, feeling her way. “Big money there. And she told me that he has a lot of influence in this area now. I have a feeling that the kidnappings have something to do with one or both of those.”
Liam pondered this for a minute. “Are you suggesting Maya is stealing the children and selling them to raise money for Callahan’s drilling project? Or trading them to people who want small children for some kinky reason in exchange for influence in some way?” He looked doubtful, but was apparently giving the idea due consideration, in the manner of a lawman who isn’t willing to rule out any possibility, no matter how improbable. “There are a lot of very rich people involved with the oil and gas industry overseas. Do you think they’re shipping the kids out of the country? That would explain why there has been no trace of them.”
Then he shook his head. “No, no way. It’s just too Movie of the Week.” At Baba’s baffled look, he added, “Too far-fetched. Peter Callahan has a lot invested in pushing this fracking thing through—he stands to make millions if it all goes according to plan—but I can’t see him doing anything so drastic.”
He tapped one finger against his empty beer bottle before putting it down next to the first aid kit and saying in a low voice, “Peter Callahan might be a son of a bitch, but he has a young son of his own. I can’t believe he would be involved in selling children for some kind of twisted business advantage.” Baba hoped she was wrong too, but she had less faith in humanity than he did. Still, if that was what was happening, surely they’d be subtler about it.
But the children had to be going somewhere. If Maya wasn’t just killing them (and sadly, that was still a possibility), then what was she doing with them? A glimmer of an idea floated to the surface of her brain, like a will-o’-the-wisp in a swamp full of marsh gas; flitting to and fro, impossible to pin down. But something, nonetheless.
“Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way,” she said, trying to grasp the errant notion.
Liam grunted and shoved himself to his feet, fatigue showing in the long lines of his body and the shadows that hung under his eyes. “There is no we here, Ms. Yager. Let me be perfectly clear about that.” He met her glare with a steady gaze.