Furious (23 page)

Faith headed back for her car.

Her shoulders shook, and she stopped suddenly before slowly sinking to her knees as she realized today was not the day she would feel Hudson’s and Lara’s arms around her. She would not bury her face into the crooks of their necks and breathe in their sweet innocence. Today would not be that day.

Thunder boomed in the distance.

The first drop of rain hit Faith at the same time she felt Rage’s arm slide around her shoulder and pull her upright. Together they walked the rest of the way to Faith’s car. Rage helped her into the passenger seat and without a word took her keys, walked around to the other side, and climbed in behind the wheel. She looked at Faith as if she might say something, but no words came forth. Instead she turned on the engine, kept her eyes on road, and drove off.

T
HIRTY
-E
IGHT

As instructed, Richard Price parked his car near the water fountain outside Aster’s ten-thousand-square-foot house overlooking Folsom Lake. This was his first time he’d ever met the big boss at his residence. He looked into his rearview mirror, straightened his collar, and said confidently, “I want out.”

And that was the truth.

He knew his chances of being let go were slim, but he’d always had a way with negotiating, especially if he agreed to give him a large share of his past earnings. Knowing that Aster was more careful than most and would never take him out at his own house, a place where he and his wife entertained and his children played, gave him the confidence he needed to go through with it. If Aster refused his request, he would walk away knowing his time was limited. But he wasn’t worried. In the event that happened, he would leave tonight. Papers were in order: passport, new ID, everything he needed to make a new life for himself on a faraway island.

One thing was clear. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with the human trafficking business. The moment he’d hung up the phone yesterday after Patrick called to tell him Aster wanted to talk to him first thing in the morning, he’d known what he needed to do. Instead of going into the office, he’d spent the day at home making videos and documenting everything that had gone on over the past five years. When he was finished, he’d ended up with a fifty-page Word document that he filed in a private Dropbox account. He’d also printed out a copy along with enough documentation to fill two binders with the names of the men in charge in addition to photos, any and all known addresses, and phone numbers for every trafficker he’d met along the way. He also included a list of names of their highest-paying clients, which included bankers, businessmen, lawyers, and political figures.

On his way to El Dorado Hills, he’d stopped at the post office and sent the hard copy to his sister in Florida, asking her not to open the file and to keep it in a safe in case he needed it in the future.

He’d talked to an old friend and high-powered criminal defense attorney. They had a telephone conference set up for next week to discuss the possibility of turning himself in. He wondered how Aster would feel about that.

The clouds were dark and swollen but had yet to break open. Only a misty drizzle covered his windshield. No need for an umbrella. Richard climbed out of his car and made his way around the side of the house to the pool as instructed.

A dog barked, making him tense. He hoped Aster didn’t have guard dogs running around the property. He followed the stone path until he came to a long, rectangular pool surrounded by marble statues and healthy palms imported from the Canary Islands, no doubt.

Aster sat within an outdoor kitchen area complete with rustic ceilings and lots of old-world chandeliers hanging over a dining table and chairs. There were tarps laid out and scaffolding where work was being done. Patrick, the same man Richard had seen last time he’d met with Aster, was there, too, leaning back in his chair a few seats down from the boss. Something about him annoyed the hell out of Richard. Where did Aster find these guys?

Richard tugged at the tie around his neck as he joined them at the table. “You have a beautiful place here. What a view.”

Aster merely smiled. “Have a seat, Richard.”

He pulled out a chair and took a seat.

“I called you here today because I wanted you to know how badly you fucked up.”

Richard felt the blood rush to his head. “How so?”

“Remember Faith McMann?”

As a matter of fact, he did. She was the reason he could no longer sleep at night. Knowing he was responsible for her husband’s death and her children’s kidnapping didn’t sit well with him. Nobody was supposed to die. The wife and kids were never to be involved. He’d fucked up in more ways than one, but Aster didn’t need to know the particulars of how it all went down.

“It wasn’t Craig McMann who took my money,” Aster said.

Shit.
Richard straightened, trying to cover the dread seeping into his veins. “I know.”

“You knew that Joe Henderson stole from us, then pointed the finger at his partner?”

“Yeah. Joe was the guy I’d been doing business with. When I asked him about the two million dollars, he assured me it wasn’t a problem and that he’d look into it.”

“And so did you?”

Richard shifted uneasily in his seat. “Of course. But Joe kept giving me excuses until I sent my men over to rough him up and tear apart his house to see what they could find. That’s when the rat bastard blamed everything on his so-called friend.”
Rat bastard
was putting it mildly. A sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. He knew that Faith McMann and her kids were simply victims of circumstance, but he’d hoped to keep it from Aster.
Shit.
Things weren’t unfolding here today as he’d hoped.

“How did you find out?”

“You should know better than most that I’ve got friends in all the right places, including the brother of an FBI agent working the case.”

Richard said nothing.

“So what do you suggest we do about this?”

“I think it would be best if we got those kids back to their mother.”

Aster stared at him for a moment as if to gauge whether or not Richard was serious, which he was. Then Aster smiled, a wide grin that revealed straight white teeth. He lifted both hands in the air as if surrendering. “Just hand them over? Sorry, big mistake. Here’s your kids, lady.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Richard said. “I could make arrangements. Nobody would know any of us had anything to do with it.”

The grooves in Aster’s face deepened. “Don’t be a fucking idiot. Those kids are worth half a million in the international market. If they weren’t worth so damn much, I would have killed them already. Until it’s safe to smuggle them out of the country, I’m keeping them under the radar. And another thing . . .”

Richard kept quiet, waiting for the pompous ass to continue.

“One of my men was shot in the leg by a friend of Faith McMann’s, an ogre of a man who was recently snooping around the liquor store on Del Paso. Coincidence?”

Richard sighed.

Across the table, Aster’s sidekick Patrick didn’t say a word as he picked up the firearm from the chair next to him and calmly attached a suppressor to the muzzle.

In the kitchen window, Richard saw the faint outline of Aster’s wife as she put water in a vase. She smiled and gave a quick wave before sauntering off.

He felt safer knowing Aster’s wife was only a few feet away. “I want out,” Richard said, tired of Aster’s intimidation tactics and subtle threats.

Aster smiled. “Who doesn’t?” He waved a hand toward Patrick. “Patrick, do you want out of the business?”

Patrick nodded.

“See? We all finally agree on something.”

“I’ll finish what I’m working on and then I’m out,” Richard went on. “I’ll give you fifty percent of my earnings for the past year.”

“Very generous of you,” Aster said, “but the answer is still no.”

Patrick moved his hand so that it sat atop the gun.

Richard pushed himself to his feet. “Why don’t you think about it?”

“I have,” Aster said before nodding at Patrick, who then stood, raised the gun, and fired a bullet into the middle of Richard’s forehead.

Stunned, Richard wondered if he’d really been hit. He felt nothing more than a sting, and then blast off, his body went cold and his legs folded beneath him as an image of his sister receiving the package he’d sent flashed within his mind. His last thought before he hit the ground was that he should have included a note wishing her a happy birthday.

T
HIRTY
-N
INE

Faith lay in bed wondering if Craig could possibly have had anything to do with money being laundered . . . or stolen for that matter. The notion didn’t compute. She wouldn’t allow her mind to go there. She slid out of bed. She needed to get back to the client list, find a link to the men who took Lara and Hudson. She turned on her computer.

Twenty-three new messages: mostly condolences from well-meaning strangers who wanted Faith to know she was in their prayers, but also an e-mail from a young man who was offering help if she sent money first. For her convenience, he took PayPal.

Overall, the response to her plea for help in finding her kids was awe inspiring. One hundred thousand people had liked her Facebook page and were keeping a lookout for Lara and Hudson. Small groups had been formed in Yuba City, Grass Valley, and Elk Grove. Complete strangers were doing what they could to raise awareness and help find her children. Her case was gathering national attention.

She gingerly touched the knot on her forehead and prayed someone out there would give her a lead that would guide her to her children. The squawk of a blue jay prompted her to look out her window. She noticed the rope swing hanging from a branch. The last time she’d sat on the swing, Craig had pulled the rope back as if he were going to let her fly through the air, but instead he twisted the rope around and surprised her with a kiss that made her toes curl.

She inhaled a shuddering breath at the thought. She missed him so much it hurt to think about him. She had yet to mourn Craig. Until she found Lara and Hudson, she couldn’t allow emotions to get in her way.

As she did several times a day, she stared at the picture of the tattoo she’d painted. She said the name Fin aloud. Angel had said Fin was a tattoo artist who branded girls with a family name or symbol. She and Rage had visited every tattoo place in the area. Nobody had ever heard the name. Not only had she asked Dad to pass the name on to Detective Yuhasz, she’d Googled the name and come up empty. She rubbed the back of her neck. There were so many unanswered questions, so many loose ends.

The rich aroma of coffee brought her to her feet, but it wasn’t until she glanced at the clock that she remembered she was supposed to meet Rage and Beast at their house. If she hurried, she would make it on time.

After brushing her teeth and pulling back her hair, she dressed quickly in jeans and a T-shirt followed by a hooded sweatshirt and sneakers. She grabbed her cell phone and backpack and made her way downstairs. As she hit the landing, she heard what sounded like quiet sobs coming from the family room. She walked that way. Mom sat on the middle of the couch, slouched over a photo album, her shoulders quivering.

Faith took a seat next to her. Mom had always loved to make photo albums. She would include scraps of fabric and use colored pens and markers to decorate. The album in her lap was from three Christmases ago. Hudson and Lara were sitting on Santa’s lap; they had no idea that Grandpa was the man behind the long white beard and red-and-white outfit stuffed with pillows.

Mom looked at her and wiped her eyes. “Oh, Faith,” she said when she noticed the knot on her head and the discoloring around her eyes.

“It’s OK, Mom.”

“No, it’s not. Look at you. You have enough problems without having to see me fall apart.”

“I love you, Mom.” Faith wrapped her arms around her, and for a moment in time they simply held each other tight.

Little Vinnie opened the front door before Faith could knock. His head nearly hit the top of the door frame. Faith had to crane her neck to look him in the eye.

“Charlie and Sally . . . I mean Beast and Rage,” he said with a wink, “will be back shortly. They went for a quick run around the block.”

Charlie and Sally?
She’d never thought about what their birth names might be. Beast and Rage just sort of made sense. She shook the thought away and asked, “Should Rage be running in her condition?”

“I don’t think you want Rage to hear you talking like that. Ever since she was diagnosed she likes to pretend nothing has changed. And that means starting the day with a morning run—doesn’t matter how exhausted she is or whether or not she can hardly push herself out of bed. I guess running helps her get out some of that pent-up frustration she has within. Who am I, or you,” he said, pointing a finger at Faith, “to tell her how to spend her last months on this earth?”

He had a point. And yet the idea of Rage dying at such a young age didn’t compute. Yes, she looked pale and exhausted most of the time, but she had a spark to her. She brought energy and life to a room. “Did she get more than one doctor’s opinion?”

“She did.”

Faith could tell by the way he wouldn’t make eye contact that he didn’t want to talk about it, either. He gestured toward one of the chairs tucked under the square table pushed against the wall. “Have a seat.”

She pulled out a chair and did as he said.

Little Vinnie plopped down on the couch, then leaned forward and grabbed hold of the rifle sitting on the coffee table and started wiping it down with a cloth. “This here is a twenty-gauge shotgun. My son said you were going to the shooting range.”

“Yes, that’s where we’re headed, but that gun looks a little out of my comfort zone.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. This is my baby. We’ve got all sorts of firearms for you to try out.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Ever shot a rifle before?”

“I’ve been practicing shooting a pistol. As far as rifles go, I’ve only shot one once, when I was younger. My dad was a commander in the army. He’s also a hunter. He used to take us shooting, but it was my brother who had the skills and even competed.”

He put the gun down, wiped his hands on his pants, and then reached for the bottle of whiskey, taking a swallow right from the bottle. He held it up in the air, offering it to her.

“No, thanks.”

He made a slicing gesture across his throat. “Those bastards did that to you?”

She nodded.

“Beast is worried about you.”

“Why is that?”

“Thinks you might be a bit of a loose cannon.”

She figured he was referring to the Taser incident. “Me? Ha. That’s sort of calling the kettle black—don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “From what I’m hearing about your situation, you’d have to be a little crazy to begin with to go after these guys, let alone try to stop them.”

“They’re everywhere and yet nowhere to be found,” she said.

“Seems like it.”

She stood, crossed the room, and looked at the pictures lining a shelf. She picked one up. It was Beast, a woman she assumed was his wife, and their daughter—an adorable little girl wearing a flower-print dress and a big smile.

Her insides kinked.

“He hasn’t been the same since. Doing all he can to help someone like Rage, and now you, gives him a purpose.”

“What about you?” Faith asked. “What gives you purpose?”

“Charlie does.”

“Charlie . . . hmm?”

“That was his name before his wife and daughter were killed. Charlie gives my life purpose.”

Faith set the picture back on the mantel at about the same time the door flew open. Rage marched inside and nodded hello to Little Vinnie as she made her way across the room to the kitchen, where she poured herself a glass of water and guzzled it down.

Beast entered next, hardly spared her a glance. He took the bottle of booze from the table in front of his father and disappeared inside a room connected to the kitchen. When he came back, he gave his dad a pat on the back and said, “Guns ready?”

Little Vinnie nodded.

He looked at Faith. “Ready to rock and roll?”

Shooting practice was interesting. Mostly it was loud and intimidating, but holding a gun and shooting at a target had felt better than Faith had imagined. That power she’d always been afraid of was no longer something she feared. Watching Rage had been a turning point. There wasn’t anything that girl couldn’t do. It was hard to believe she was sick at all. She had more stamina than Faith and Beast put together. Faith knew Rage didn’t sleep well and yet she’d taken a morning run and then managed to shoot a pistol, an AK-47, and a twenty-gauge rifle with amazing accuracy. “Is there anything you can’t do?” Faith asked her as they put their guns away and then cleaned up the brass.

“Yeah,” Rage said. “I can’t cook.”

“That’s not true,” Beast said as he hitched the gun bag over his shoulder and started off toward his truck. “She made Dad and me the best turkey dinner I’ve ever tasted—stuffing, cranberry sauce from scratch, mashed potatoes, and homemade bread.”

“What about the pie?” Rage asked. “Tell her about the pie.”

“OK, it’s true. She can’t bake worth beans.”

Rage punched him in the ribs, making him grunt.

Before Faith climbed into the backseat, her phone vibrated. It was Jana. She hit “Talk” and said hello.

“Faith!” Jana screeched into the receiver. “You’re never going to believe this. We’ve had an uptick in calls over the last twenty-four hours. I try to answer many of the calls, but most of them are sent through to the answering machine. I happened to pick up the last call, though. It was a young girl. I think she might be legit. She sounds nervous, but she knows something and she wants to meet with you.”

“Hold on.” Faith explained to Beast and Rage what was going on, then she put her sister on speakerphone and asked her to tell her everything she knew.

“I got a call on the hotline,” Jana began, her tone calmer. “She said her name was Miranda. She sounded young. She talked fast and sounded scared. She wants to talk to you about a girl named Jean.”

Faith didn’t understand, but she held her breath and listened.

“Miranda told me she’d been held captive at a farmhouse for the past eighteen months. There were other girls there, too, including a ten-year-old girl named Jean. After managing to escape, Miranda returned to Sacramento, where she found one of your flyers. She said the girl in the picture, Lara McMann, looked a lot like Jean.”

The beat of Faith’s heart kicked up a notch. “Did she leave a number?”

“No. She doesn’t have a cell phone and she didn’t want to say where she was calling from, but she’s willing to meet you at Candy Heaven on Front Street in Old Sacramento. I told her I would be happy to pick her up, but she only wants to talk to Jean’s mother, which she believes is you.”

“And you think she’s legit?”

“Yes. And as you and I discussed, I asked her to describe what Jean looked like. She knew the color of her eyes, talked about how small she was for her age, and even mentioned the tiny scar on Lara’s chin.” There was a pause before she added, “It has to be her, Faith.”

“When does Miranda want to meet?”

“Right now.”

“What does she look like? How will I know it’s her?”

“She said she’s seen you on TV and knows what you look like. She’ll find you. Oh, and she wants you to come alone.”

“Do you know why?”

“I think she’s seriously scared, Faith.”

Dark clouds and a cold afternoon drizzle hadn’t stopped people from visiting Old Sacramento, a historic site along the Sacramento River. As Faith headed across L Street, she kept her gaze straight ahead and her right hand curled around the pistol in the front pocket of her sweatshirt. If a thug were to pop out of the woodwork at any given moment, she wasn’t sure she could handle a firearm. How would she find her stance and lock her wrists before being shot down?