Outrage (Faith McMann Trilogy Book 2) Page 9

  “You better get back in the cabin and get warm,” Hudson said as he came forward. “I’ll do the rest.”

  Joey looked white as a ghost, his eyes cloudy with sickness. He coughed some more, spit into the dirt, and then pushed himself to his feet. “Yeah, I think I need to rest for a minute.”

  Hudson tried to convince himself that the man was only sleeping. He started with Derek’s boots, untying the laces, then pulling them off. He kept finding himself staring at Derek’s face. He didn’t like the way his eyes seemed to be looking straight at him, so he glanced away.

  Joey had yet to go inside. He stood under the door frame and stared out toward the woods. “I wonder if they’ll come looking for him.”

  “I think they will,” Hudson said. “That’s why you need to get inside and get some rest before we head off.”

  “Head off? Today?”

  Hudson nodded. “Even if no one ever comes looking for Derek, it’s January. We’ve been lucky so far that the weather’s been good to us, but see the sky?” He didn’t wait for Joey to answer before he added, “There’s a storm coming, and we don’t want to be trapped here when it starts to snow.”

  Joey walked inside and shut the door behind him.

  Hudson did his best to concentrate on what he was doing. The boots might be too big for either one of them, but the wool socks, pants, shirt, down jacket, and heavy knit cap would help keep both of them warm. As he stripped the man bare, he felt himself becoming calmer. He was undressing a dead man, and yet his heart was beating at a normal rate.

  Is this what war had been like for Grandpa?

  Had he been so set on escaping that he’d become desensitized to everything around him? Did the will to live take over all other emotions?

  The pistol was lying on the ground. Hudson added it to the growing pile of gear and clothes they would take with them. He then worked on removing Derek’s backpack, jacket, and shirt. Inside the backpack he found a bag of cannabis, a pipe, a lighter, beef jerky, corn nuts, sunflower seeds, a soft water bottle that his dad called a hydration bladder when they went hiking, and a box of ammunition.

  He stood, looked around, then leaned over and picked up the gun. As an afterthought, he headed down the hill toward the stream to make sure no one else was hiding out. Before he got to the halfway mark, he found camping gear stacked at the base of a tree. There were only two items: a small tent and a sleeping bag rolled to the size of a pineapple.

  Derek hadn’t wanted them to know he was alone. Why else would he have left only these two items here? Hudson picked up the tent and the bag and headed back to the cabin. As he passed the body, he thought about moving the corpse to the side of the cabin, but he decided it wasn’t worth the bother. Besides, he wanted to get out of the cold. There was a lot to do before they headed out for the long trek down the mountain.

  SEVENTEEN

  The night sky was pitch-black and stars were few by the time Faith said goodbye to Colton and Dad and then headed upstairs for bed.

  She pulled off her jeans, crawled under the covers, and stared at the ceiling. She was running on adrenaline, the beat of her heart racing along with her thoughts. In twenty-four hours Dad and Colton would no longer have phone contact. The idea of being cut off from her brother and father and not knowing what was happening drove her crazy. She couldn’t stop thinking about Hudson and what he might be going through.

  Was he lost in the wilderness alone? Was he cold and scared? Was he hurt?

  If she continued to allow herself to imagine the worst, she’d never make it through the next hour, let alone another day.

  Instead she decided to focus on Hudson’s strengths—the things he was good at that might help him through his ordeal until Colton and Dad could get to him. For starters, Hudson did extremely well in football and track. He was big for his age and quite strong.

  Faith felt her nerves calming as she continued down this path of thinking. Hudson was fast, and he was clever. He wasn’t afraid of the dark. In fact, Craig had gone on and on about their first father-and-son fishing trip after they’d returned home. “Our boy is a natural outdoorsman,” he’d said proudly.

  Those were the moments Faith chose to think about.

  She needed to stay positive.

  She imagined Hudson sticking with the other boys. Maybe they’d found a cave or another place where they could keep warm. Hudson was still alive, she told herself over and over, and he would be home soon.

  As expected, they all got little sleep, and when morning came Mom wasn’t the only one who needed to keep busy. After Mom and Jana left for the hospital to pick up Steve, Faith and Miranda headed for San Francisco. Neither one of them had a solid plan. They weren’t supersleuths, but Faith figured it couldn’t hurt to check the place out, especially since Miranda was going to do just that with or without her.

  Faith had reserved a room at the hotel. The chances of them seeing the same man who had raped Miranda were probably slim to none, but Miranda was convinced the hotel staff was in on the sex-trafficking gig. Although her plans did not include spending the night, she also thought they might need a key card to ride the elevator. If they could get to the top floor, they could see who, if anyone, was staying in the suite.

  If Miranda did happen to recognize one of the people who had played a part in helping that man bind and rape her, Faith had already decided to follow that person or get a name at the very least.

  Before they reached the hotel, Faith pulled to the side of the road. She put the car in Park, then gestured to the glove box. “There’s a Taser in there. Put it inside your purse. It’s easy to work. If you need to use it, just turn it on. It’s charged and ready to go. There are also sunglasses in there. You should put them on. Once we’re inside the hotel, if you recognize anyone, don’t confront him or her. I think it would be best, at least for now, if we get descriptions and their names if they work for the hotel and are wearing name tags.”

  “Sounds good,” Miranda said. She pulled a cell phone from her purse. “Your sister said to take pictures, too.”

  Faith frowned. “My sister knows what we’re up to?”

  “Yeah. She asked me what we were doing today, and I told her. I thought you two were close.”

  Faith smiled. “We are. It’s fine.” She hadn’t wanted to worry her sister, but no harm done.

  “I’ll just pretend I’m taking a selfie,” Miranda told her. “From what I’ve seen online, everyone’s doing it.”

  “We should go,” Faith said. “Are you ready for this?”

  “I’ve been ready for a while now. Thanks for bringing me here today, you know, and for everything you’ve done.”

  It sounded to Faith as if she was saying goodbye. The idea of Miranda spending the rest of her life on her own didn’t sit well with her. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. There aren’t too many people I know who would have gone out of their way to help me and my children as you have done. You’re very brave.”

  Miranda looked the other way, staring out the window.

  “You won’t run off without letting me know where you’re going, will you?”

  She turned back to look at Faith. Her eyes glistened. “I won’t go anywhere without telling you first. I promise.”

  The wind had picked up by the time Faith drove through the roundabout in front of the hotel. Men were holding on to their hats, and women were strapping their coats tighter around their waists as they waited for a car or a taxi in front of the hotel.

  Faith and Miranda climbed out, leaving her car with the valet. She tucked the ticket inside her purse and then followed Miranda into the hotel lobby. With her hair pulled back into a bun, sunglasses, and red lipstick, Miranda looked much older.

  The inside of the lobby was teaming with people, an eclectic group made up of many ethnicities. They weaved through the crowd, both of them looking around as they waited in line to check in.

  It was a beautiful hotel. Crystal chandeliers, plush furniture, and marble floors
.

  Miranda tapped her on the arm. “Back in the corner you’ll see the salon I told you about.”

  Miranda didn’t appear to be nervous. Judging by the stiffness of her spine and the tautness of her jaw, she was angry.

  After checking in, they went to the salon. As Faith asked questions about facials and massages, Miranda took a look around. By the time Faith finished, Miranda was nowhere to be seen. The seconds ticked by. Her pulse accelerated. She should have called Detective Yuhasz, told him what her plan was. Coming here without help was a mistake.

  She was about to charge through the glass door she assumed would take her to the changing rooms when Miranda appeared. She was talking to a woman about a body treatment she’d had the last time she was here. Her last question had to do with whether or not they provided in-room treatments. When the woman said that they did, she thanked her and walked away.

  “What was that about?”

  “Let’s keep walking.”

  Faith looked over her shoulder. The woman, a tall and striking blonde, was staring at them. They headed for the elevators. Once inside, Faith pushed the button for the top floor. The doors slowly closed. The interior of the elevator was made up of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. She didn’t like the expression on Miranda’s face.

  “That was her,” Miranda whispered.

  “Who?”

  “Cecelia. The woman who made sure I received a thorough body scrub before escorting me to the old man’s suite.”

  Faith had no idea what had happened to Miranda inside this hotel, but she knew it had affected her deeply. For eighteen months the girl had been trapped inside the farmhouse, forced to have sex with a number of men, and yet the one night spent in this hotel was the night she couldn’t get out of her mind.

  When they got to their room, Faith locked the door, then turned and rested gentle hands on Miranda’s shoulders. “What happened here, Miranda?”

  Miranda shrugged her hands away. She went to the minifridge, took a look inside, then shut the door without getting anything to eat or drink. Next she went outside to the balcony overlooking the city.

  Faith followed her.

  The wind whipped her hair to one side. “The day I was brought to his suite,” Miranda told her, “I thought about jumping off a balcony just like this. I wanted to end it all. Just be done with it.”

  A long pause ensued before she continued. “That shriveled old man got his rocks off by tying me to the bed and ramming assorted objects inside of me.”

  Faith stood behind her. She closed her eyes.

  “Naked boys wearing nothing but strips of leather kept me from screaming out while two women in matching bra and panties licked his wrinkled body before he climbed on top of me and raped me. All night long it went on like this.”

  Faith shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah,” Miranda said. “Me, too.” She sighed, her gaze on the swarm of people below.

  “When I was in the lobby, you know, before I was taken to his room, there were so many people,” Miranda said. “Just like today. I remember peering into all the different people’s faces, praying someone, anyone, would look at me and see that something was wrong. I tried to gather the courage to ask for help, but I knew it wouldn’t do me any good. People are afraid to get involved. People are afraid, period. And I can’t blame them. I can only put blame on the recruiters and the pimps and the johns who collect girls and boys and use them and abuse them as if we mean nothing—as if we don’t count. All for money. Anything for money.”

  Miranda turned to Faith then and said, “What’s wrong with this world? Have people always been so cruel? Is it just me? Is it everyone?”

  “I don’t know,” Faith said. “I really don’t know.”

  “That woman in the salon,” Miranda went on. “The one named Cecelia. She could have helped me the day I was brought here, but she didn’t.”

  “She works for the hotel, doesn’t she?”

  Miranda nodded. “Do you think people like Diane Weaver or whoever she works for have some sort of deal with the hotel?”

  “I wish I had answers for you, but I don’t.” It was the blind leading the blind, but what else could they do? Detective Yuhasz didn’t have men to spare or time to drive to San Francisco on a wild-goose chase. “Come on,” Faith said. “Why don’t you show me which room you were held captive in?”

  “What if no one answers?”

  “Then we’ll keep an eye on the woman in the salon instead, follow her home if we have to.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “So, what’s the plan?” Rage asked after Beast parked in front of Faith McMann’s two-car garage on Rolling Greens Lane and turned off the engine.

  “We need to find a way to make this guy talk.”

  While Faith and Miranda spent the day in San Francisco, she and Beast had done a little research. Faith had told them that the name of the guy tied up in her garage was Martin Hoyt, but he was known in the trafficking business as Fin. They also knew that Fin once worked for Mother, also known as Diane Weaver, and that someone had posted her bail and she’d ended up with a get-out-of-jail-free card.

  They needed to find her.

  And their man Fin might be just the guy to lead them to her.

  Rage climbed out of the car and followed Beast to the side of the house. Beast opened the door leading into the garage and stepped inside. He whistled through his teeth and screwed up his face. “Christ almighty, it stinks in here!”

  Rage found a switch and turned on the light. She waved her hands around to get the air flowing. From the looks of things, or should she say, smell of things, the man sitting in the far corner of the garage had taken a crap in his pants. He was looking at them through half-squinted eyes.

  Rage groaned. “This is disgusting.”

  “Hey, buddy,” Beast said as he walked over to the man. He didn’t hesitate to lean forward and rip the tape from the guy’s mouth.

  Fin squealed.

  Beast ignored him. “I heard from my friend Faith McMann that the cat got your tongue.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Beast looked over his shoulder at Rage. “I guess Faith was wrong. He can talk!”

  A trail of urine had made its way across the cement, seeping into a crack near the rollup door.

  “This is just too gross,” Rage said. “I can’t handle this.” She knew she needed to get things moving along. She pulled her gun from her waistband, walked forward, and pushed the barrel against the side of Fin’s head. “My name is Rage. I’m terminally ill, and there’s only one reason you should care—I have absolutely nothing to lose after I kill you. So listen closely. If you give us the name of the man or woman you’re working for, we’ll let your little boy live.”

  He chuckled, and Rage could tell it was forced.

  “I don’t have any kids.”

  “Nice try. My friend here uploaded your license plate number and your real name into his database. Guess what we found?”

  He said nothing.

  “A faded picture of an adorable little boy. It took an extra hour or so of research, but we got a name. Franklin. Of course I would never hurt a little kid. And neither would my friend here. But if you don’t tell us everything you know about Diane Fucking Weaver, including where she’s hiding out, I’ll have no choice but to make sure the press gets the entire scoop on you when you’re arrested, including the name of the child living with his mother in Elk Grove. I’m sure they’ll want to talk to her. And you and me both know, the media hounds won’t be the only ones paying the mother of your child a visit, don’t we?”

  His head slumped forward.

  “That boss of yours, the one you’re so afraid of, will go after everyone you know.” Rage knelt down so he had no choice but to look her in the eyes. “Start talking. We don’t have all day.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Beast had his phone pressed to his ear as he watched the road like a hawk. Rage sat in the passenger seat next to him, chewing on her thumbnail.
They were in his truck, parked on the side of a narrow street off Eureka Road. He thanked his friend and then disconnected the call. Getting two names out of Fin hadn’t been easy. The tattoo man was scared. That much was clear.

  “What did your friend have to say?” Rage asked. “Any luck?”

  “Both names were bogus.” He continued to stare straight ahead, pissed off that he’d let the tattoo man go. And yet he’d had a feeling the guy was lying, which was why he’d ended up going with plan B. He got Fin’s car from the neighbor’s garage, put it back where Fin had left it, and then knocked him out cold before cutting him loose. It was only a matter of time before Fin woke up and realized he’d been set free.

  “There he goes,” Rage said when Fin’s car sped by as planned.

  Beast made a right onto the main road. They followed him a few miles down Eureka until they merged onto the freeway heading down I-80 West toward Sacramento.

  Rage sighed.

  “What is it?” Beast asked. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. I’ve just been thinking a lot about Little Vinnie lately.”

  “What about him?”

  “Have you noticed how he’s been repeating himself lately? Asking the same question two minutes after he asked it the first time?”

  “No,” Beast said. “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Bullshit. You’re just in denial like you are with everything.”

  He kept his eyes on the road, didn’t say a word. Mostly because he figured she was probably right. He had noticed his dad slowing down lately. He’d also noticed Dad no longer bothered with crossword puzzles.

  “Well, you better start paying attention,” Rage went on lecturing. “Because when I’m gone, Little Vinnie is going to need someone to help him out.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Oh, stop it,” she said. “We’re all going to die sometime.”

  He grunted. Lately, Rage always seemed to be trying to get him to talk about things he had no desire to talk about. But the least he could do, he figured, was try and offer a little conversation. “We fight to survive because what else can we do?” he asked. “There will always be good, evil, and those who fall somewhere in between.”