Furious (10 page)

S
EVENTEEN

Miranda was surprised when she was ushered to the hotel salon instead of being taken directly to a hotel room. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Gold-toned walls and creamy, plush furniture filled the waiting area. She stood next to her escort, no longer smiling. Exhaustion had set in. Her eyes were tired, and her jaw hurt from all that beaming. Too many sleepless nights, the long drive with Jasper, and now she was finally away from the farmhouse and there was nothing she could do but stand there and wait and see what happened next.

A tall, stone-faced female approached. Her name was Cecelia, and she would be her new charge. A quiet nod was exchanged between the two strangers, and once again Miranda was handed off. Cecelia walked a few steps ahead, her strides long, taking her through a frosted glass door and then down a wide hallway. The woman stopped at the first door on the right and gestured for Miranda to go inside and change into the robe that was neatly folded on the table inside.

Looking at the woman with pleading eyes, Miranda grabbed hold of her forearm and said, “I need help. Please help me.”

Cecelia gently removed her hand as she looked down her nose at her.

Miranda immediately saw the truth in her eyes—Cecelia knew exactly what was going on.

“Would you like me to call the manager?”

“No,” Miranda answered softly. “I’m just tired after a long ride. I’ll be fine.” She stepped inside the room. When two women in white lab coats entered a few minutes later, Miranda didn’t argue when she was told to strip and lay flat on the table. A water hose hung from the ceiling and for the next hour she was scrubbed thoroughly from head to toe. Afterward, warm oils were rubbed into every bit of her skin. A manicure and pedicure came next. And then hair and makeup before she was dressed in a royal-blue gown with a low neckline. The black dress she’d worn earlier paled in comparison.

It was Cecelia who led her into a private elevator and rode with her to the top floor. Miranda hardly recognized her reflection in the mirrored wall. The girl staring back at her looked like a grown woman from one of those expensive glossy magazines. Thick curls hung about her shoulders. Her lips had never looked so plump and red.

She followed Cecilia dutifully out of the elevator and to a suite at the very end of a long hallway. Cecelia used a keycard to gain access and then waited for Miranda to enter before shutting the door behind them.

The room was incredible: padded silk wall coverings, golden silk draperies, velvet fabrics, and beautiful wood furniture. Nothing like any living space she’d ever seen in her lifetime, not even in magazines or on TV. Miranda walked across plush carpet to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out at the sweeping views of the city. It was getting dark out, and the city lights twinkled back at her.

Cecelia went to the built-in bar and returned with a glass of champagne that she handed to Miranda. She never once made eye contact. “Enjoy your stay.” As soon as she left, Miranda set the fluted crystal glass on the coffee table, rushed across the room, and picked up the phone. An automated voice asked for a four-digit password.

She hung up and tried again. She hit zero, hoping an operator would answer. Nothing worked. She went to the door, jiggled the knob, her every movement frantic. Next she ran around the suite, opening drawers, looking for a key or the four-digit code needed to make a phone call. There had to be a way out of there!

She pummeled her fists against the bedroom wall, hoping someone in a room close by would call downstairs or come and open the door, but it was no use. Exhausted, she went back to the living room and plopped down on the couch, where she watched the tiny bubbles floating upward in the champagne glass. She took a taste. The bubbles tickled her tongue. She drank the rest in two gulps, nearly choked, then crossed the room and refilled her glass.

The door to the terrace was unlocked. She stepped outside and looked over the railing. The hundreds of people below, exploring the city, looked like tiny dots. They were all so far away. She wondered what it would be like to climb over the railing and jump off, end it all right now.
Splat!
Would it hurt? Or would it be over so quickly she wouldn’t feel any pain at all? She didn’t want to die, but neither did she want to live like this—trapped, scared, lonely.

She thought of her mom and what Jasper had said. Mom loved her. She never would have sold her only daughter for money. Her body suddenly felt oddly substantial, much too heavy for her legs. She stumbled back inside, using the wall for support. The glass dropped from her hand and rolled across the carpet, spilling its contents as it went. How many beatings would she get for that? She made her way back to the couch and dropped down onto velvet fabric. The room was spinning. She’d been drugged, she realized as her head fell back on the cushions before she drifted off.

E
IGHTEEN

Faith heard the creak of the wood floors outside her bedroom door. There was a knock before the door opened. Russell Gray’s broad frame filled the doorway, the glow of the yellow bulb in the hallway casting an eerie brightness over him. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

She shook her head, then turned back to the computer, intent on learning everything she could about setting up a website and offering a reward for any tip that led to finding Lara and Hudson.

Her father’s footsteps were light as he entered and came to stand beside her. “Throw on some shoes and a sweater and come with me.”

It was late. She had so much to do. Her shoulders drooped.

“It will only take a second. I want to show you something.”

Dutifully, she followed him out of the room and down the stairs. She didn’t question where they were going. But she was surprised when he took her through the kitchen, opened the back door, and led her across the grassy backyard to his barnlike workshop. As children, they weren’t allowed to enter. It was Dad’s private workplace. The last thing she expected to see when he opened the double doors was her mom, siblings, and brother-in-law, but there they were, sitting on folding chairs that surrounded a sturdy metal table in the center of the workshop.

Since she’d grown, of course she’d seen inside his workshop, but the room appeared much bigger than she remembered. There was a bathroom in the back corner. One of the walls was covered with a large map of California and Sacramento. There were also poster-size pictures of the men she’d painted on her living room walls back home. The other wall was covered by a giant whiteboard.

She raised a questioning brow.

Dad rested a hand on her shoulder. “We want to do everything in our power to help you find Lara and Hudson.”

“You’re not alone,” Colton told her. He got up from his chair and walked to the map and explained the symbols. “The red X’s designate known pedophiles in the area. Blue dots represent friends, neighbors, and teachers, anyone who knew Lara and Hudson personally. Yellow highlights indicate schools, grocery stores, dance classes, soccer fields . . . all designating locations where the kids have been before.”

Jana came to her feet. She was wearing one of Steve’s flannel shirts and sweatpants. Her hair was pulled back in a rubber band. It was first time in a very long time Faith could remember seeing her dressed in casual clothes and without makeup. “I wanted you to know that I’ve created a private hotline. Once you get your website up with the hotline number, my job will be to screen the calls as they come in.”

“Thank you,” Faith said. “I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.” Jana gestured toward Mom. “Mom’s in charge of staying in touch with Detective Yuhasz, getting updates, and letting us know when and if there’s anything new happening with the case.”

“We’re going to have to ask you to do everything you can to stay off the department’s radar while we try to figure out where to start,” Colton said. “It won’t help matters if you get thrown back in jail.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, Faith had no words.

“We wanted you to know that we’re all in this together,” Dad said. “There are lots of people in the community who want to help. Mom has arranged for a candlelight vigil to be held Sunday night at Granite Bay High School.”

“It will give you a chance to thank everyone who’s been calling and offering support,” Mom said.

Her voice wobbled; tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“OK,” Dad said. “You have electricity and Wi-Fi. If it gets too cold in here, there’s a portable heater stored in the closet over there. This will be our command post. We’ll meet here as often as we need to.”

There was a list on the whiteboard:

WHO TOOK LARA AND HUDSON?

Pedophile

Neighbor

Random Kidnapping

Trafficking

H&M Investments

“After shooting practice in the morning, I’m going to talk to your neighbors,” Dad said. “Get a brief statement from anyone who might have seen or heard anything, find out if there were any witnesses other than Beth Tanner.”

“Once you have a website up and running,” Steve said, “we can all help distribute flyers with the pictures of the men you drew along with information on how someone can contact us and remain anonymous.”

“We also need to dig deep into Craig’s life,” Dad cut in. “Did he have any friends outside of home or work? What projects was he working on? Did he talk to anyone at the gym or have any romantic—” He stopped midsentence, looked suddenly uncomfortable as if he might have said too much.

“Go ahead,” Faith said. “It’s OK.” Dad had spent years in the army until an injury to the head had forced him to retire a few years earlier than planned. He’d been a commander, leading the troops. Of course he would think this way. “Put it all out there,” she told everyone in the room. “This is about finding the kids. Craig would understand.”

“We need to ask the hard questions, including whether or not Craig had any romantic involvement with other women,” Dad finished. “Did he use narcotics?”

“No way was he involved with other women,” Jana said bluntly, and just those few words lifted Faith’s spirits.

“I’d like to add Emily Carver’s name to the list of people to talk to,” Faith said. “She’s the woman I met at the correctional facility. She and her mother have been antitrafficking advocates for years. I’m hoping her mother can shed some light on where we might look.”

“I’ve got to get going,” Colton said as he lifted himself from his chair. “I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.” He pointed to the other side of the room. “I put a list of truck stops on the cork board—the main stops where lot lizards hang out.”

“Lot lizards?” Jana asked.

“That’s what some of the drivers call the young boys and girls who approach them at the rest stops when they’re sleeping inside their semitrailers. I think we should talk to some of the kids, see what we can find out.”

“I’m going to fill the coffeepot,” Mom said, heading for the exit.

Colton said goodbye and followed her out.

Into the wee hours of the night, they all tossed out ideas for motives: theft, sex, narcotics, random acts of violence, a business deal gone sour. At one point, while Dad and Jana read articles on the national website for missing children, Steve pulled Faith outside under the pretense of getting some fresh air and said in a low voice, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ll be in and out of town on business over the next few weeks. Colton’s trucking business is growing, and he doesn’t have a lot of time. Your dad is still going to physical therapy, and Jana is seven months pregnant.”

“And?”

“If you’re serious about finding Lara and Hudson, it’s my opinion that you’re going to need to recruit more help.”

N
INETEEN

Pain. Miranda felt pain. Her brain was fuzzy, muddled.

The discomfort between her legs was excruciating. She moved her head from one side to the other. Her eyelids were thick and heavy with sleep. She was back at the apartment where she’d grown up. She could hear the rats scurrying through the walls. Had her mother’s boyfriend gotten into her room after all? She tried to scream, wanted him to stop, but no sound came forth.

Her lips were dry and cracked. She was so thirsty.

Finally she managed to open her eyes and focus enough to see gold painted walls in the foreground. It all came back to her then: the salon, the luxurious suite in San Francisco, the champagne. As her vision cleared, she noticed two young men, one on each side of the bed. They stood straight and tall, pale bodies with black leather strips wound around their hairless chests.

As the pain began to subside, the boy on her right slid a piece of leather between her teeth. And then it came again, an object, hard and unforgiving, being shoved between her legs, pushing through to the center of her being.

She clenched her teeth. Her body arched—the pain searing and hot, too much to bear. She was being ripped apart from the inside out.

Biting down on the piece of leather, her eyes bulging, she lifted her head and saw Mr. Smith sitting on a decorative chair at the end of the bed, facing her. He was naked, all shriveled white skin and saggy chest pulled down by gravity. Two young females, not much older than Miranda, stood by his side wearing black lace panties and matching bras. One ran both hands through his sparse silvery hair, dramatically, lovingly, her body moving gracefully as if she were turned on by the mere touch of him. The other woman leaned close and slid the tip of her long pink tongue over his shriveled chest. Grasped in his hands was an object she couldn’t make out—the source of her pain.

His frail arms shook, and his forehead was covered with a light sheen of sweat as he looked at her, his expression cruel as if she’d personally done him wrong.

“Stop! Please!” she gritted out.

Her words merely spurred him onward, his eyes wild as he shoved the object inside her and then used his other hand to push the young woman’s head lower into his lap, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as Miranda screamed her way into oblivion.

The next time Miranda awoke, the room was empty.

She had no sense of time. No idea how long she’d been lying on the bed unconscious. Nobody had bothered to throw a sheet over her naked body. There was blood smeared across her stomach and thighs. Her body was bruised and battered. Her head throbbed.

Seconds passed before she realized she was no longer bound. Scrambling off the bed, she fell to the thick, plush carpet, then clawed at the mattress and pulled herself to her feet. Every muscle screamed in pain. Her mouth felt swollen, her eyes, too. She stood still on wobbly legs and waited for the dizziness to pass before she went to the door.

Slowly, silently, she turned the knob, surprised when the door came open and relieved to see that the suite was empty.

Her heart hammered against her chest.

The blue gown she’d been wearing when she’d first entered the room lay in a heap on the floor near the couch. Before she had time to put the dress on, she heard a noise outside the main entry door. Frantically she looked around, grabbed a bronze statuette from a side table, and hid behind the door.

A maid walked in with an armful of clean towels.

Miranda swung hard and fast, making contact with the side of her head.

The maid crumpled to the floor.

Miranda grabbed the door before it could close, using the statuette to prop it open. Thinking fast, she stripped off the maid’s uniform and put it on.

She saw the woman’s chest rise and fall and was glad to know she hadn’t killed her.

The shoes came off next. They were a size too big. In fact, the whole outfit was loose, but it would work. It had to.

There was no time for hesitation or making plans, she thought as she exited the hotel room, walking at a good clipped pace until she reached the elevators.

As she waited for the doors to open, she realized it was a bad idea.

The stairs. She would take the stairs.

Heading back the way she’d come, praying nobody would show up, she pushed through the door to the stairwell, didn’t take a breath until the door clicked shut behind her. By the time she reached the nineteenth floor, her legs were shaking. But she couldn’t stop now. She had to keep going.

Freedom called out for her.

If her legs gave out, she would crawl out of this place. Holding on to the iron rail, she took a step at a time.

The stairwell was empty.

She didn’t pass anyone until she reached the tenth floor. It was a woman. She refused to make eye contact.

At the third floor was a sign for the pool. She needed to find a restroom and wash herself off before she attempted to make her way through the lobby and onto the street. Head bent forward, eyes downcast; she pushed through the door and followed a stone path.

The sun had decided to come out today, and there were people everywhere, sipping drinks in the heated pool or enjoying lunch overlooking the bustling city. She shouldn’t have come this way. It was much too risky. She nearly tripped on uneven stone. A man grabbed for her elbow to help steady her. She pulled away, walking faster until she found a restroom. Somebody was taking a shower, while another lady touched up her makeup at the sink area. Miranda headed for the wall of lockers, nearly cried when she saw an open locker with clothes hanging inside. There was a floppy hat and a bathing suit cover. She grabbed cash and sunglasses from the purse inside. There was no way she could use the sink area now, so she hurried back the way she came. In the stairwell again, she changed into the bathing suit cover, rolled up the maid’s uniform, and tossed it into the garbage on the way down. Sunglasses and the hat covered most of her bruises. She made her way to the bottom floor and stepped out into the parking garage.
Thank God.

“Miss!” someone called as she walked across the concrete floor. “Can I help you?”

Following the exit signs, she kept walking, refused to slow. Whoever had called out didn’t bother coming after her. Spine stiff, gaze straight ahead, she walked past the line of cars waiting to get out of the garage. She was ready to run if need be. But nobody took notice of her. Nobody cared, and this time she was thankful for it. The moment she stepped out into the crowded sidewalk she was just another person in a sea of hundreds. A cabdriver stood near the hood of his taxi. “Where’s the nearest bus station?” she asked.

“Where are you going to?”

“Sacramento.”

“You’ll need to take a train. It’ll cost you eighteen dollars to get you to the station on Market Street.”

She counted the wad of money she’d shoved into her pocket. Sixty-three dollars. The hotel loomed over her, a sinister reminder that she was running out of time. She told the driver OK and then climbed into the backseat. A pedestrian stopped to ask the driver for directions. Up ahead she saw a man wearing a dark suit and aviators exit the hotel. He looked around, his movements frantic as he rushed from car to car, peering into windows, making his way to the cars parked at the curbside.

She leaned over the front seat and told the driver she was in a hurry. She held her breath until he finally climbed in behind the wheel. By the time he merged into traffic, the man in the suit was only a few feet away, peeking inside the window of a car just ahead. She felt his gaze on her as they drove by.