Furious (26 page)

Miranda shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Faith rolled down her window and took a moment to look around. “We’ll come back tomorrow and the next day if we have to.”

“Motorcycles,” Miranda said as she angled her head. “Do you hear that?”

Faith listened closer. “Sounds like a lawn mower . . .”

“No, it sounds like dirt bikes. That’s the same sound I kept hearing when I was trapped in that house. We’re closer than I thought.” She pointed down the long stretch of dirt road. “Keep going,” she said as she hit the button and rolled down her window.

Faith drove slowly, listening. The noise grew in volume. Miranda was right. It wasn’t a lawn mower, but at least a half-dozen dirt bikes. There had to be some sort of track nearby. They drove another five miles before Miranda gasped and then covered her mouth with her hand. She ducked down low in her seat, squirmed until she was well hidden on the ground.

“What is it?”

“Keep driving. Don’t look at the driver when that car passes you. We’re too close. We’re in trouble.”

Faith kept her hands tight around the steering wheel and tried to stay calm. The dirt bikes sounded more like chain saws now. The car coming toward them looked like an old, beat-up Cadillac. Relief settled over her when it looked as if he was going to pass by without any problem. At the last second, though, the driver put a hand out the window to stop her.

She swallowed and slowed to a stop.

He was young, probably somewhere close to twenty. He had dirty-blond hair that fell to his shoulders. His T-shirt was stained. He was crouched low in his seat, which was a relief because otherwise he might be able to see Miranda on the floor in front of the passenger seat.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Um, yeah, I sure hope so.” She could hear the motorcycles in the distance. “I’m looking for the motocross track. My friend e-mailed me to ask me to pick up her son, and I was told that the entrance was up this road.”

“Not this road. You’re going to put his motorcycle in that car of yours?”

She laughed. “No, he’s just hanging out with his friends and his mom wants him home.” She swallowed. “I think I’ll drive a little farther up the road and make sure there’s not an entrance.”

“Lady, there is no motocross entrance. I suggest you turn around, go back home, and shoot off another e-mail to your friend.”

“OK, well, if you’re sure I can’t get there from here.”

“I’m sure. In fact, this is a private road.” He made a swirly motion with his finger for her to turn around and get lost.

“Thank you for your time.”

Grim-faced, he didn’t answer, just whipped his car around and headed back to wherever he came from. “I’ll see you soon,” she said as she made a three-point turn and headed back toward the highway.

“Is he gone?” Miranda asked.

“I can still see his car in the rearview mirror. He’s making damn sure that I leave.”

“That was Phoenix,” she said. “I didn’t have to see him to know it was him. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s a trainer. He teaches the girls at the farmhouse how to please a man.”

Faith cringed. A part of her, the furious part, imagined going after the scrawny tyrant, ramming her car into his, again and again. Instead she inhaled and counted to three.

“What do we do now?” Miranda asked.

“We go home and come back with reinforcements.” The thought that they were getting closer to finding her children caused her insides to buzz with something that felt a lot like hopeful exhilaration.

F
ORTY
-F
OUR

Patrick jumped when Aster Williams hit the table with his fists, sending papers flying. “I want you to call that woman and tell her she better stop meddling in my business.”

Patrick had never seen his boss this angry before. The veins in Aster’s neck thickened, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. If he didn’t calm down, he was going to have a heart attack. And then who would be in charge? The thought intrigued Patrick.

Aster picked up a book from his desk and tossed it across the room, knocking over a vase of flowers. “Who the fuck is that gorilla who’s been following me?”

“His name is Charlie Ward. He lives in Roseville with his dad, Vincent Ward, and Sally King, some two-bit whore they found on the side of the road.”

“Sounds like quite the happy little family. How the fuck did those characters get involved with Faith McMann?”

“After McMann broke a cop’s nose, she ended up in detention. She was released under a judge’s order that she live with her parents and attend anger management classes, which is where the three of them hooked up.”

“That woman isn’t letting up, is she?”

The door came open. It was Aster’s wife. She wore a fitted, cream-colored dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. She looked at the broken vase on the floor and frowned. “Is that the vase we found in Guilin?”

“I’m busy, honey. I’ll get you another.”

“Don’t treat me like a child. You know how I hate that.” She looked at the diamond-encrusted watch hanging on her slender wrist. “We have to leave for the engagement party in the next thirty minutes. I don’t want to be late.”

The woman belonged on the cover of
Vogue
or
Cosmopolitan
. Long and lithe with perfect bone structure. Aster had no idea what a lucky man he was. “You look lovely,” Patrick told her.

“Thank you, Patrick.” She lifted her chin and then left her husband’s office, shutting the door quietly behind her.

“Why do I always get the feeling you want to fuck my wife?”

Caught off guard, Patrick squirmed in his seat. “I would never think such a thing.”

Aster let out an irritating laugh. “Don’t worry, kid. I was only screwing around . . . messing with your head.” He looked thoughtful for a moment before he said, “We’re going to be busy over the next few weeks. It’s time to change things up. For starters, I’d like you to round up the youngest kids and move them again, just to be safe.”

“Move them farther north?”

“You figure it out.”

“What about Diane?”

“I don’t trust her. Take care of it for me.”

“Got it.”

Aster stood tall, stretched his arms. “I’ve got to go get ready, but I want you to call Faith McMann personally.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight.” Aster picked up a piece of paper on his desk. “Here’s one of her flyers. Call the hotline and tell them you only want to talk to the mother of those sweet little kids.”

“And then what?”

“Tell her that both her kids are dead and that the party’s over.” His jaw hardened. “Threaten the bitch. Tell her if she doesn’t back off, I’m going to personally kill every member of her fucking family. One by one until they’re all dead. And I’m going to make the bitch watch.” When he got to the door, he waved a hand at the mess he’d made on the floor. “Don’t forget to clean that up before you go.”

F
ORTY
-F
IVE

The command post in her parents’ backyard was packed full. The moment Faith and Miranda returned from their drive, Faith had called an urgent meeting, letting her family know they had located the farmhouse.

Miranda was sure that Jean and Lara were one and the same. If they were lucky, Faith told the group, they might find Hudson, too.

Dad, Mom, Colton, Rage, and Miranda sat around the table in the center of the room.

Jana and her husband, Steve, were seated on the couch.

Beast stood with his back resting against the wall, arms crossed.

Faith stood at the whiteboard, making notes while everyone asked questions or shot out suggestions and ideas.

“Don’t you think we should call the police?” Jana asked.

Faith shook her head. “Bureaucracy would slow them down. They would need a warrant. It could take days before they could check the place out. I’m not going to sit here for two days knowing Lara could be inside the farmhouse. No way.”

“Even if you wanted to give the police a chance, we don’t have days,” Beast reminded her. “If whoever is in charge of this operation is on to us, they could move the kids before we can get to them. We must act quickly.”

“I don’t want to see any of you hurt or thrown in jail,” Mom chimed in.

“As soon as we gain access to the farmhouse, we’ll call the police,” Faith said. “I promise.”

“Listen,” Dad said. “I’ve talked with Miranda, gone over the logistics of how the farmhouse and barn are laid out, who lives there and how many people might be there when we arrive. A couple of us will have to scout ahead to make sure we’re not walking into a war zone. But for the record,” he said, looking at Faith’s mom, who was beyond worried, “this is not a mafia compound. It’s a farmhouse.”

“You can’t go with them,” Mom told him. “You’re not fully recovered. I won’t allow it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dad shot back. “These are my grandkids we’re talking about.” He leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “I’m going.”

“We can do this,” Faith said. “Dad and Beast have military experience. Beast and Little Vinnie, who’s on his way, are experienced bounty hunters, both familiar with guns.”

“Is this the place?” Rage asked. She had located the farmhouse on her computer using satellite. Surrounded by pines and redwoods were ten acres of land; the main building was hardly visible beneath myriad oaks, but to the left, where trees were sparse, was a barn.

Miranda leaned closer to the screen. “That’s it.”

“Can you zoom out,” Faith asked, “so that I can see more of the area surrounding the farmhouse?”

Rage clicked a button until Faith could see exactly where she and Miranda had been. “The young man in the Cadillac stopped us right about here,” Faith said, pointing at the dirt road. “And that,” she said, indicating the left of the farmhouse, “must be some sort of motocross track. We could hear the high-pitched noise from the dirt bikes.”

Miranda pointed at the long dirt road, partially hidden beneath a canopy of trees, leading up to the house and barn. “This is where there should be a gate to keep visitors out, the area with the security guard.”

Colton got to his feet and went to stand behind Rage so he could see the screen better. “There don’t appear to be any wires overhead, so that’s good. The trees could be a problem,” Colton said, “since the truck we’ll be using is thirteen feet high and eight and a half feet wide. We could bring the chain saw just in case. We’ve done it before. It’s all a matter of timing and how many men they have guarding the place. We might not have time to cut down a thick branch if things get chaotic.”

There was a knock on the door. Everyone looked that way.

“It’s Beast’s dad.” Faith opened the door and introduced everyone to Little Vinnie. Beast’s dad had two large duffel bags, one strapped over each shoulder. Beast took one of the bags and helped him unload, setting the guns carefully on the table. “Who knows how to shoot?”

“I’ve got my own weapon of choice,” Faith’s dad said.

Jana’s phone rang.

Faith recognized the ringtone as being the one they chose for the hotline.

Jana answered. Listened. Then she handed the phone to Faith. “You have a caller. A man who says he needs to talk directly to you.”

Faith took the phone and held it to her ear.

“Is this Faith McMann?” the caller asked.

“Yes, this is she.”

“I’m calling to let you know that your children are dead.”

Every muscle tensed. “Who is this?”

“It’s over,” he said. “There’s nothing else you can do to help them.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, ready to hang up. “Do you have any idea how many prank calls we get? You think this is funny?”

“Your son was quite the prankster, full of energy, with a funny mole on his right ear. Your beautiful daughter was quiet as a mouse. It’s still a wonder that they were brother and sister. They both died quickly. Neither of them suffered.”

Faith’s legs felt weak as if they might suddenly give out.

“It’s time for you to gather your family together, mourn, grieve, do what you must, and find a way to move on.”

Faith looked around the room at each family member.

There was a long, drawn-out pause before the caller said, “And if you don’t, you’ll have to say goodbye to your friends and family—Mom, Dad, your sister and brother, and, just so we’re clear, your nieces would be the first to die. Their lives are in your hands.”

Click.

Faith stood there, unmoving.

Lara and Hudson—they couldn’t be dead.

No.
She would never allow herself to believe it was so. She thought of Corrie Perelman and how she refused to believe Samantha was gone. It made sense to Faith because she could feel her children’s presence as if they were in this very room with her now.

“Who was it?” Colton wanted to know.

Faith looked at her brother. “They said Lara and Hudson were dead and that if we didn’t stop now they would kill each and every one of you, starting with your daughters.”

Colton’s face reddened, his shoulders tense. “That’s bullshit.” He went to the table where the guns had been laid out and grabbed a Remington 7615 pump-action rifle and a Glock 43. “Let’s do this.”

“No,” Faith said as she realized how selfish she’d been to allow her family to risk their lives. She looked at her dad, and for the first time she saw him as a man with vulnerabilities. He was a good man, a strong man, but he wasn’t invincible. None of them were. “I can’t let you do this. I was wrong. We need to call the police.”

“Too late,” Jana said, “we’re in this together.” She took the phone from Faith, then waddled over to the bag and grabbed a .357 Magnum. “I like this one.” She looked at her husband and said, “I’m not spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”

Steve walked up to his pregnant wife and kissed her on the forehead. “Nice choice, but you’re staying home with Mom. I’ll go with your brother. Keep the gun by you at all times while we’re gone.”

Dad loaded his LC9 and slid the safety fully into place. He looked at Beast, Rage, and then Little Vinnie. “Are you in?”

Without hesitating, each one of them nodded and then stood, ready to go.

“Your kids are alive,” Dad said to Faith. “I can feel it in every one of my bones. Now let’s go get my grandkids.”