Unnatural Mayhem: Mayhem Series, #5

By Sue Coletta

The Cat Burglar, the Killer, and the Shaman Unite to Fight For Earth's Precious Animals—No Matter the Cost.

Explosive news of a crow hunt rings out in the White Mountain Region of New Hampshire, and one hundred crows gather to put an end to it. With so many lives at stake—including Poe's—Shawnee and Mayhem must work together to stop the trophy hunters before they obliterate the local murder.

Taking on twenty-five experienced hunters armed with shotguns is no small feat. If they fail, Poe may lead his brethren to their death.

No matter what it takes, this group must be stopped.

But what if Shawnee and Mayhem aren't seeing the full picture? What if these men have secrets worth killing over?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crow Talons Publishing
• Release date: Mar 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987998083

Book preview

Table of Contents

With the fate of the Natural World at stake, can Shawnee and Mayhem stop trophy hunters before it’s too late?

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With the fate of the Natural World at stake, can Shawnee and Mayhem stop trophy hunters before it’s too late?

Explosive news of a crow hunt rings out in the White Mountain Region of New Hampshire, and one hundred crows gather to put an end to it. With so many lives at stake—including Poe’s—Shawnee and Mayhem must work together to stop the trophy hunters before they obliterate the local murder.

Taking on twenty-five experienced hunters armed with shotguns is no small feat. If they fail, Poe may lead his brethren to their death.

No matter what it takes, this group must be stopped.

But what if Shawnee and Mayhem aren’t seeing the full picture? What if these men have secrets worth killing over?

UNNATURAL MAYHEM

Mayhem Series, #5

Sue Coletta

Author Copyright: Sue Coletta

Publisher: Crow Talons Publishing

Cover Art: Cora Graphics (www.coragraphics.it)

Editor: Sharon Pickrel

Proofreader: Lucy Felthouse

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not given to you for the purpose of review, then please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.

This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DEDICATION

May Mother Earth guide your feet.

May Father Sky keep his arms around you.

May Grandfather Sun warm your cold days.

May Grandmother Moon keep the glow in your heart.

May the Star Nations light the way to the next destination,

and the Great Spirit always keep you shielded from pain.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The heartfelt message in the dedication is a Native American blessing.

Special thanks to all my consultants and sources who added realism to Unnatural Mayhem:

Angelfire

Hanksville.org

Navajo Cosmology

Explore Deeply

Navajopeople.org

Navajo Skies Guide

Legends of America

WikiHow

The Inn at Thorn Hill Restaurant and Spa

Silencer Central

Bay Nature

Hunker.com

Tech Republic

WildlifeProtectionSolutions.org

Spoon University

Xavier.edu

Indian Country Today

Defensive Carry

Null-byte.wonderhowto.com

Wildlife Protection Solutions

NRDC

TRAFFIC

Csrc.nist.gov

The Tony Hillerman Portal

Natural Deets

JacksonNH.org

High Mark Security Solutions

Openjournals.bsu.edu

Ya-Native

Americanindianmagazine.org

Mikkelaaland.com

National Geographic

Cornell.edu

To Bob, Bobby, Kathy, Berlyn, Scarlet, Joey, Dad, and Frank: Thank you for remaining my loudest cheerleaders. The endless hours spent at my desk—headphones on, music cranked—can’t be easy on you, yet you (almost) never complain. Love you all!

Last but not least, thank you, God, for blessing my life in unimaginable ways.

UNNATURAL MAYHEM

Mayhem Series, #5

Sue Coletta

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Chapter 1

"Only by going alone in silence, without baggage,

can one truly get into the heart of the wilderness."

—John Muir

Thursday, 9 a.m.

If the rumors were true, this trip might get bloody.

On the long drive north, Mayhem’s faithful crow companion, Poe, perched on his thigh, his gaze transfixed out the passenger window. Sulking would not benefit him this time. Jacy Lee asked for help with his granddaughter, Shawnee, and Mayhem could never refuse such a simple request. The trip would work two-fold. Not only could he aid a dear family friend, but he’d heard whispers about a particularly nasty hunt.

The White Mountain region of New Hampshire blossomed with color. Deep purple lupines speckled open fields, wildflowers bursting with burnt orange, gold, and vibrant reds—an ideal spot to teach a feisty feline important life lessons. The one obstacle was Poe. Almost three hours scrolled by without a single note from him. After his mother’s final departure eleven months ago, he hadn’t shown the least bit of enthusiasm for much of anything. In truth, he and Poe both carried scars from that fateful night, tearing him up in ways he never thought possible.

In front of the log cabin in Jackson, rich cedar and pine wafted through the vents, the ruralness of the area conjuring fond memories of his and Kimi’s weekend trips. After sliding the shifter into Park, he stroked Poe’s sleek, feathered back. We’re here, buddy.

Sloughing off Dad’s loving touch, Poe soldiered to the passenger seat, lowered his bill to his chest feathers, and peered up at him, dark eyes full of sorrow and pain.

I understand your malaise. I truly do. The last time he and Poe came here, they bid farewell to the purest soul on earth, Mayhem’s beloved, his reason for waking each morn. Sometimes in life, however, we need to swallow our emotions and forge ahead. I thought you’d be happy about this trip.

Poe cocked his head, as if to say, Seriously?

Food rewards worked wonders for motivation. Thus, Mayhem reached into the pocket of his leather blazer and withdrew a Ziploc baggie of seedless black cherries, one of Poe’s favorite treats. Would you like one before we head inside?

From two fingers he dangled a cherry by the stem, and Poe inched closer, his gaze volleying between Dad and the fruity bribe. Stupid, he was not. Poe also understood the implications of accepting. If he indulged, the petulant behavior would need to cease. Black cherries, however, were almost impossible to resist. Leaning forward, he gobbled the bribe of its stem.

Care for another?

This time, Poe did not hesitate, fruit juices dripping out the edges of his bill.

My good boy. His voice crooned, fingertips dancing across Poe’s feathery crown. They’re really quite succulent. Wouldn’t you agree? When he offered another, a third cherry disappeared down his gullet. Please preen your plumage before we proceed.

No one understood good grooming habits better than Poe. Cleanliness ran through his DNA. At birth, crow hatchlings defecated into fecal sacs—Mother Nature’s diapers used by many birds. Some species instructed their young to defecate over the rim of the nest, but that act alone might attract predators. Much more efficient to carry the membranous sacs away. If one were to stumble across a crow’s nest—highly unlikely for various reasons—they’d find an odorless, spotless, and bacteria-free zone.

In the Caddy, Mayhem adjusted the rearview mirror to check the long, dirt driveway framed in tall pines, ash, and maple trees, the log cabin hidden from the main drag. They should arrive any minute. If you hope to gain the upper hand, I suggest we enter first. Unless you wish to extend an olive branch to Shawnee and begin on common ground?

Poe leaped onto Dad’s forearm. The obvious message meant he wouldn’t dream of going easy on her.

All right, then. When he opened the driver’s door, Poe snatched the baggy off his lap and took flight. Mayhem chuckled under his breath. Little rascal. From the backseat, he lifted out the covered dish filled with food to honor his loving wife—a Chippewa tradition practiced for a solid year after the passing of a spouse.

A mustiness rode the stagnant air inside the cabin. Holding open the door, Poe soared inside and circled the natural wood ceiling, flew up the open staircase, and cleared the second floor.

Two car doors slammed out front. Mayhem slid open the living room window. Neither Jacy Lee nor Shawnee noticed him. Both locked in a verbal disagreement.

"I don’t understand why you can’t stay with me, Shicheii."

Jacy Lee palmed her fair cheek. Cherry-red streaks glimmered in the sunlight across her long, raven hair halfway down her back. Mourning Dove, you know why.

Yeah, yeah, Poe’s attuned to his environment. She swatted at the air as though erasing her remark. "Big deal. He hates me, Shicheii. Like deep hatred, down to his hollow bones. If you leave me alone with him, there’s no telling what he’ll do. Overly dramatic as usual, she flung out her hands. What if he kills me in my sleep?"

Come now, child. Jacy Lee stroked her upper arm, trying to soothe her. Paranoia is not a good look on you.

But—

Jacy Lee silenced her with one flash of his palm, and his granddaughter relented, dropped her chin, and followed him into the cabin like a lost puppy.

Perched on the kitchen table, Poe stood firm, his wings caped wide, dark eyes glowering at Shawnee.

Halfway into the living room, she stopped dead—paused—and jabbed her head at Poe. What’s that about? she asked Mayhem.

Intimidation tactic would be my guess. Raising his fedora, Mayhem smoothed back a strand of hair that had fallen loose from his braid, then extended a hand to his lifelong friend. Nice to see you, Jacy Lee. Shall we head out?

Flat palms flew straight out in front of Shawnee. Wait—

Is there a problem? said Mayhem.

Yeah, there’s a problem. Your freakshow over there wants me dead, and you know it.

Snickering inside, he forced down a grin. Regardless of how long we stay, that is unlikely to change, I’m afraid. You did knock him out of mid-air, after all.

Her stiff shoulders collapsed. I’ve told you a bazillion times it was an accident.

I understand that, however, it’s in Poe’s nature to hold a grudge. One cannot change their true character. The instinct’s been implanted in his kind for millennia.

Leaning aside, Jacy Lee hushed, Perhaps we should let them reacquaint for a while before we leave.

Rocking back on his heels, he could barely comprehend his old friend’s hesitancy. If the rumors are true, you do understand that time is of the essence.

I do, Cheveyo.

There weren’t many people who could get away with using Mayhem’s birth name—he preferred the anonymity of his epithet—but he’d known Jacy Lee most of his life. As a tribe elder and a powerful, spiritual Medicine Man, Jacy Lee had earned the highest level of respect. Shame he’d only reconnected with his granddaughter eleven months ago. Had they re-established their bond sooner, she’d act more grounded in their culture, centered, and a lot less feisty. Alas, the separation was the only way to keep her safe. Without that heart-wrenching decision to sentence her to a solitary life as an orphan, she would have never reached her thirties.

With an exaggerated exhale, he relented. All right. I suppose a few minutes won’t set us back too far.

I’m starving, Shawnee whined. Maybe we could all have breakfast together before you split? Without waiting for a response, she darted for the door. I’ll grab the groceries from the backseat.

The moment she left the cabin, Poe relaxed his wings.

Good boy. Mayhem crooned, ruffling his chest feathers. You are cognizant of the fact that holding an impressive stance all weekend will drain your body of energy, are you not? I realize you want to make a bold statement, but I’d be remiss if I neglected to mention, by presence alone, you already have the upper hand. Thus, the stance is a bit over-the-top. Wouldn’t you agree?

Poe’s wings slumped forward.

Jacy Lee slapping a frying pan on the stove perked up Poe’s mood, and he leaped off the table, fluttering down to the kitchen island. Like many animals—wild or domestic—crows viewed food as love. Humans often felt the same.

We feasted at celebrations. We feasted at ceremonials. We feasted at funerals. It’s a trait shared throughout the Natural World. Food’s the great equalizer. Nothing spelled love quite like a home-cooked meal.

With both arms stuffed full of grocery bags, Shawnee poked her head in the doorway. Mr. M., you better get out here. Something’s goin’ down.

When Mayhem hustled out to the porch, an emerging sea of black flapped toward the cabin. Oh, my. Jacy Lee, he called out as Poe flew to his shoulder perch, talons gripped tight to his leather-clad shoulder. This magnificent display proved the rumor mill got it right.

Your training will have to wait, child. Jacy Lee stroked his granddaughter’s arm. We have work to do.

Chapter 2

11:45 a.m.

All these crows swirling above me didn’t exactly calm my nerves, especially with Poe squawking at decibels unfit for human ears. He leaped off Mr. Mayhem’s black leather-clad shoulder, joining the local murder circling overhead, screeching back, engaged in a heated discussion of some sort.

Someone wanna fill me in? Facing Mr. Mayhem, I jutted a thumb over my shoulder. What’s wrong with ’em?

Right then, Alanis Morissette belted out Ironic in the breast pocket of my grandfather’s short-sleeved button-down shirt, the song muffled by his traditional buckskin vest and a gazillion angry voices calling back and forth. But Shicheii stayed focused on the murder of crows, growing in numbers by the second.

I shook my hand at him. "Shicheii—"

Mr. Mayhem nudged his elbow, and my grandfather tore his gaze away from the cloudless sky amassed by black wings, flapping, soaring, dipping. Your phone is ringing, Jacy Lee.

Hm? His brow furrowed. I don’t have a phone, Cheveyo.

No, I said, half-expecting a dial tone by the time his fingers reached under the vest. You have mine, remember? Can I have it, please?

Oh, I apologize. When he passed me the cell, I hustled into the cabin, hoping to drown out Poe and his crew.

After checking the caller ID—an unfamiliar number—I covered one ear to block out the ruckus outside. Hello?

On the line, Maggie wept. Can you come get me, Shawnee?

Come get you? Get you from where?

I’m at Becca’s house.

I ducked to peek out the window, crows flying in from all directions, adding to the bedlam. Who’s Becca?

My friend from school. You met her at softball.

The little redhead with freckles?

Yeah.

Strolling toward the kitchen island, I could barely hear myself think, never mind unscrambling the ramblings of a nine-year-old. Did you two have a fight?

No.

Mags, don’t make me guess. I’m dealing with enough shit as it is. Is it hot in here or is it just me? I tugged my T-shirt away from my chest, billowing the material in and out. Where’s your mom? Austyn wasn’t her birth mother, but she was definitely her mom. Once I rescued Maggie from the same scumbag pedophile who abused me years ago, Austyn adopted her. And Maggie thrived in her care. What happened at Becca’s that makes you wanna leave?

Uh, she said, hesitant. "Are Dedenaan and Shicheii there?"

Long story short, Dedenaan meant grandfather in Chippewa, Shicheii meant mother’s father in Diné aka Navajo. Yeah, they both are. We’re in Jackson at the cabin. Why? Maggie wasn’t stupid. She knew they were the most spiritual, loving badasses on the planet, and all three of us would do anything to protect her.

Can you pick me up? I can’t stay here. She cried harder, shredding several layers of my heart. Please, Shawnee. I need you.

Okay, okay. What’s the address?

I don’t know. Panic laced her crackling words. I can’t stay here.

It’s alright. We’ll figure it out. I switched ears. Whose phone are you on?

The landline.

Perfect. I’ll trace it. Are you safe?

Yeah, I guess, but—

While pacing back and forth between the kitchen and living room, my breath knotted around my ribcage, the blood in my veins reaching a boiling point. Did someone put their hands on you? I jogged toward the screen door that led to the porch. Outside, the crow calls intensified, all my tiny body hairs rising at once. I will fuck... them... up!

No one touched me, Shawnee.

Oh. My adrenaline slammed into a brick wall, my anger waning, dialing back my heated tone. Did you and Becca have a fight? Is that why you wanna leave?

No.

Dropping my forehead into a cupped hand, I slumped over the kitchen island, one elbow resting on cool granite. Mags, you gotta give me somethin’. I can’t just leave for no reason.

"I can only tell Dedenaan."

Seriously? What the fuck? Since when does she put Mr. Mayhem above me? Fine. Whatever. I slapped open the screen door and shook my iPhone at him. Maggie needs to talk to you.

He raised the cell to his ear. What a pleasant surprise, Little Rain.

Again, long story, but my grandfather renamed us when we learned about our heritage, our shared ancestral roots.

I am acutely aware of that, thank you. And so is Poe. For a brief period, he aimed the mic at the crows. I’m afraid the news has caused a bit of a ruckus around here. He paused, listening. I see. And you are at this man’s home as we speak? Another pause. Not to worry, little one. We shall leave now. Covering the mic, his gray, almost translucent eyes focused on me. Do you have the address?

Not yet. It’ll take two seconds, but I need your laptop.

Check the trunk. He handed me the keys to his Cadillac CTS. Dry those tears, Little Rain. Pause. Good girl. See you soon.

The crows whipped into an all-out frenzy, circling, cawing, and squawking like war was about to break out.

When Mr. Mayhem passed me the phone, a dial tone hummed in my ear. Mags didn’t wanna talk to me?

Apparently not. He leaned aside to my grandfather. Little Rain knows.

Knows what? I said, but they ignored me, entranced by the massive gathering of crows, trees veiled in black wings.

Leading a shitload of his compadres to the porch, Poe shot me an I-will-kill-you look before landing on his dad’s outstretched forearm. The others landed on the railing, lined up wing-to-wing, all glaring at me as the dangerous face in their midst. Thanks to Poe, they recognized me from the Crows’ Most Wanted poster implanted in everybody’s mind. Younger crows who weren’t even alive when I accidentally slapped Poe had a deep hatred instilled in their impressionable minds, along with a mental snapshot of my face.

As Poe leaned forward, his chest heaved with each hard breath, staring into his father’s eyes, communicating about something. Not quite telepathy, as I understood it, more like subtle facial expressions—so subtle it’s difficult to catch—combined with an indescribable soulful connection, each communicating in their native tongue to create a universal language. Much like how one species warns another of a potential threat.

I am cognizant of the stakes, thank you. Are you all right? His thumb stroked Poe’s bill with the gentleness of caressing a newborn’s tender cheek. At this moment, one could never tell he’d slaughtered dozens of people, maybe even hundreds. Please calm down. I understand how hard this news must have hit, but I hate to see you so dismayed. The good news is, we now have a starting point.

The crows on the railing all cawed at once, and I jumped back. What the fuck’s wrong with ’em?

Mr. Mayhem scowled. Language, please.

Sorry, but I don’t know what’s happening, and no one’s tellin’ me anything.

I wonder, he said, tapping a stiff finger against his chin, why you seem incapable of puzzling this out on your own?

He’s right, Mourning Dove. My grandfather—my flesh and blood!—sided with him. Take a moment to study your surroundings. What do you see?

Well, a shit— I mean, a boatload of crows pissed off about somethin’.

Correct. Shicheii swept a hand toward the sky. What would arouse this much chaos?

A threat.

Very good, child. He mussed my hair. What sort of threat?

Err...

Perhaps rephrasing the question will help, Mr. Mayhem suggested. What do crows protect above all else?

Their kind. Their species.

She’s learning, old friend. He patted my grandfather’s shoulder, and Shicheii beamed with pride.

That she is. Her mother had the same brilliant mind. Remember?

Indeed, I do. Though unlike this one—Mr. Mayhem jabbed his head in my direction— your daughter adored and respected corvids.

That she did, Cheveyo. That she did.

With side glances at me, Mr. Mayhem cleared his throat. She could also follow instructions.

Right, my bad.

I leaped off the top stair of three and jogged to the Caddy. Three crows followed, landing on the roof, eyes narrowed, scowling while I unlocked the trunk. What the hell’s happening here? I snatched the laptop out of its leather case, spun, and sprinted back to the porch. As long as I stayed close to Mr. Mayhem, the crows wouldn’t dare attack me. Would they? Poe obeyed his dad, but that didn’t mean the others had to. Or maybe Poe hired the local murder to take me out. Hard to tell which at this point.

Seated at the outside table, a gazillion beady eyes watched my every move, crow feet encroaching on my personal space, black wings encircling me, my knee bobbing up and down as I reverse-searched the phone number Maggie called from. The residential address emerged, and I squinted at the screen. What’s she doin’ in Tamworth?

Hovering over my shoulder, Mr. Mayhem said, She’s visiting a friend, dear.

No, I know. I tsked my tongue. But Becca lives in Gilford. They’re on the same softball team.

Perhaps her parents divorced? The white man doesn’t appreciate the sanctity of marriage like our People.

I jerked back. That’s not true. My dad loved my mom.

Good for you for defending his honor. Shicheii’s even tone soothed me. Cheveyo, it’s unfair to judge the actions of many by the actions of few.

You’re right. My apologies, Cat, he said, using the pet name he and his wife used for me. Your father was an honorable man.

Thank you. Rather than jot down the address, I snapped a photo of the screen. Maggie’s a good forty-five minutes from here.

Then we best hit the road. He lowered Poe to the table, and the little bastard stalked toward me with an unnerving stare, my restless knee bouncing 90 mph. Text me the address, please.

Those words cattle-prodded me, and I shot out of the chair. Wait. What?

You don’t understand my request? It’s fairly straightforward, dear.

No, I do, but—

Before I could protest, Shicheii palmed my cheeks, kissed my forehead. We shouldn’t be too long.

What? Y’mean, you’re goin’ with him? But Maggie called me. She’s expecting me to show.

They exchanged a look I didn’t understand, and my grandfather nodded in agreement.

As much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news, said Mr. Mayhem, tossing his long braid over one shoulder, Little Rain asked for us to come alone.

I could barely process those words. What? Why?

"We do not have time for a drawn-out tête-à-tête, I’m afraid. Text me the address, please."

Do as he says, child. The little one’s waiting. Again, Shicheii framed my face in his hands—his go-to move to strengthen and renew our bond. Use this time with Poe to—

Every muscle in my body stiffened. You’re leaving me alone with him! My gaze wandered back to Poe, standing tall and proud in the center of the table, and I swear that freakshow winked at me. "Shicheii, please... They’ll kill me the second you pull outta the driveway."

That’s overly dramatic, even for you, Cat. A sly smirk emerged on his lips. Think of this as a good thing. Adversity builds character.

He’s right, honey. Use this time to mend past regressions.

Stunned, my jaw slacked as they strode toward the Caddy. Two car doors slammed shut, and I gaped as the tires peeled out. When the taillights trailed out of view, I rotated my head toward the table, the bones in my neck creaking. Reveling in my torment, Poe cocked his head, his beady-eyed glare deadlocked on me. If I lived another ten minutes, it’d be a miracle.

Ca-caw!

Chapter 3

"There is a power in nature that man has ignored.

And the result has been heartache and pain."

—Anasazi Foundation

1:30 p.m.

Flaring his nostrils, Mayhem pulled curbside outside a pretentious white colonial with tall columns siding an oversized door. Aside from the disgraceful conversation Little Rain overheard, this was not a healthy environment for an Indigenous child. The place reeked of old money and white entitlement; no doubt garnered from the less fortunate.

Perhaps I should handle this, Cheveyo. You seem heated.

I am not heated. Through gritted teeth, he forced a grin. Not to worry, old friend. He got out, soldiered to the ridiculous front door, and slammed the brass knocker against its plate.

A fair-skinned, red-headed man opened the door, and Mayhem tipped his fedora. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Worthington. I’m here to pick up little Maggie.

Becca’s friend? But she’s supposed to spend the night. Grimacing, his voice rose in intensity and volume. My daughter’s been looking forward to this sleepover all week.

Plans change, Mister Worthington.

"Dedenaan, you came!" Little Rain charged toward the door, but the man grabbed her by the upper arm, preventing her escape, anchoring her in place on the marble floor—just out of reach.

Release her. His upper cheek twitched. Now.

Mr. Worthington jarred back, his gaze tracing him up and down. Excuse me? Who do you think you are, coming to my home, spouting orders?

Mayhem swung open the screen door between them. If you don’t remove your hand from my granddaughter, this can and will get ugly real fast. Shall we do this the easy way or the hard? The choice is yours, Mister Worthington. I must warn you, however, time is not on your side.

The man let go, and Little Rain dove into Mayhem’s arms. Another tip of the fedora. Till we meet again, Mister Worthington.

When he turned to head down the stairs with Little Rain anchored to his hip, the man called out, I’m calling her mother.

That would be a mistake, but you do what you feel is necessary.

Once he turned his back, Mr. Worthington mumbled, Fuckin’ Tonto.

Halfway down the walkway, heat erupted in his chest, and he stopped—dead—lowering the little one to the pavers. "Go to Shicheii," he told her, then rotated toward the white man spouting racial slurs, an inferno incinerating his insides. He took one step toward the stairs—slow, methodical, deliberate—and the coward slammed the door. Under different circumstances, the spineless move would not deter him, but he promised Jacy Lee he’d curtail his anger. Respect for an elder outweighed an insatiable hunger for revenge.

Before Mayhem returned to the curb, he slowed the fury coursing through his veins, straightened his leather blazer, and strode to the Caddy.

In the passenger seat, Jacy Lee smiled. Thank you for showing restraint, Cheveyo.

Good things come to those who wait. He glanced back at the house before pulling into the street. When he checked on Little Rain in the rearview mirror, she wasn’t there. Instead, her tiny frame squeezed between the front seats, her elbows resting on the center console. Young lady—

She scooted back and buckled her seatbelt.

Thank you. Now, have you called your mother?

Big brown eyes tilted downward. "She knows where I