Wrath (Faith McMann Trilogy Book 3)

by T. R. Ragan

  Finished with her call to Yuhasz, she found herself worrying about Beast. Maybe her hunch was way off. Maybe he’d found the Patrick in question, and he was in trouble.

  Keeping her eyes on the road in front of her, she couldn’t miss the ominous gray clouds in the horizon, swollen and ready to burst.

  Every once in a while she glanced in the rearview mirror.

  Cars passed by in a blur. She had yet to spot a green Nissan. No one was following her.

  Colton parked at the curb and jumped out of his truck. The house in Elverta, a light-yellow single-family home, was situated on a quiet street lined with trees. Colton knocked on the door. Waited. Rang the doorbell, then waited another twenty seconds. He put his ear against the door and listened, couldn’t hear a thing.

  He walked to his right, used his hands to cup around his eyes so he could look through the kitchen window. The blinds were cracked open, but it was dark inside.

  Colton made his way to the side yard, where he was able to slide his hand over the fence and pull on a thin piece of rope to unlock it from the other side. He walked around the perimeter. All the doors and windows were locked tight. Determined to get inside, he headed back to the front, ready to kick the door down if he had to.

  A concerned neighbor was crossing the street, waving a hand and asking him if he needed help.

  “Yes,” Colton said. “I could use some help. My sister is Faith McMann, and we have reason to believe her daughter has been kept hidden away in this house.”

  The man raised both hands, his expression one of shock, and then simply turned back around and disappeared inside his house.

  Colton had no idea what the man was doing, nor did he care if the guy had gone inside to call the police. There was no time for playing games. He would tell the truth and be done with it. Besides, Faith had said she was going to call Detective Yuhasz. He could either try to knock the door down or wait for the detective to show up.

  A few seconds later, Colton was surprised to see the neighbor return with a key. He held it above his head as he made his way back across the street. The guy wore a long, flowing robe over shorts and a T-shirt that hugged his round belly. “Here you go,” he said. “My wife has had a key to this house since the last people who rented the place lived here. But the man who lives here now could have changed the locks. We have no idea.”

  Colton thanked him and followed him to the door. “It’s worth a shot,” Colton said.

  The neighbor inserted the key. Click. The door opened.

  Colton didn’t wait for permission from the neighbor. He rushed inside, calling Lara’s name as he ran down the hallway. In the bedroom he saw an assortment of suits hanging in the closet. Judging by the stringent smell of house cleaners, the bathroom had been cleaned recently. But the job had been done hastily because Colton noticed streaks of paint or dye on the tiles. At closer view he found strands of blonde hair on the floor, tucked in close to the baseboard.

  The shower floor was still wet. He opened the glass door, stepped inside, and pulled a clump of black hair from the drain.

  He felt a tightness in his chest.

  Someone had taken the time to dye Lara’s hair from blonde to black.

  Lara had been here; he was sure of it.

  He rushed down the hallway toward the front entrance, stopping at the door to his right.

  The neighbor stood outside the main entrance. The expression on his face was a cross between curious and frightened. “Do you need any help?” he asked. “Did you find her?”

  Colton shook his head.

  No time for small talk. He opened the door in the hallway, hurried down a long flight of stairs. At the bottom he found a tin pail in the corner of the room along with a roll of toilet paper. In the other corner was a cot. He noticed a lump under the blanket.

  He pulled back the cover and found a book, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. He opened it. Right there on the first page was a note from Lara, written in her handwriting but messier, written in a hurry:

  Port of West Sacramento. 6:00 p.m. Industrial Blvd. North Terminal. Rice Cargo.

  About to run off to call Faith, he saw writing on the wall behind the thin mattress. He scooted the cot away. Scratched into the cement were random words, including the name Lara McMann in all caps.

  Pulse racing, book in hand, he ran back upstairs, two steps at a time.

  He could hear sirens in the distance.

  “My wife wanted you to know that the man who lives here left about an hour ago.”

  “What kind of car was he driving—do you know?”

  “A black BMW.”

  Colton thanked him, pulled out his cell, and called Faith as he ran to his truck.

  Faith hit the “Talk” button the second the phone rang. “What’s going on?” she asked, unable to calm herself. “Was it the right house? Did you find Lara?”

  “It’s the right house,” Colton said, “but Lara’s not here. It looks as if someone cut and dyed Lara’s hair black. The shower is still wet, and the neighbor saw someone leave in a black BMW about an hour ago.”

  It was him, and they were close, Faith thought. Maybe closer than they’d ever been. Her mind reeled with speculation. Who had her daughter, and where were they taking her? Sick with worry and yet also filled with newfound hope, she asked, “What do we do now?”

  “Detective Yuhasz has just arrived,” Colton told her. “The neighbor had a key and let me inside. It looks as if Lara had been kept in the basement for a while now.”

  Faith had no words. Her stomach roiled.

  “Yuhasz is coming this way. I need you to listen carefully, Faith, and then I need to go. Lara left a note inside a book on the cot where I’m guessing she’s been sleeping.”

  Faith took the next exit, made a right, and pulled over, kept the engine running. A car honked.

  “Her notes were scribbled, no details,” Colton warned. “She was obviously in a hurry, but I recognize her writing. I believe she might have been taken to the shipyard in West Sacramento.”

  All the shipyards she knew of were huge, covering many acres. Where would they take her? Would she be put inside a shipping container? She recalled Hudson telling the FBI that’s where he and other boys were kept for days if not weeks. Breathe, she told herself. Stay calm. Stay strong.

  “I’ve got to go,” Colton said.

  “Do you have the address?”

  “Rice cargo. Port of West Sacramento on Industrial Boulevard. North Terminal. Six o’clock. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  The call was disconnected before she could ask any more questions. Faith wrote down the address. She used an Internet search on her phone to find the fastest route, and then she made a U-turn and got back onto the freeway headed west.

  Could this truly be it? Could they find Lara in time? Her mind raced. Her mouth went dry. She looked at the clock. Twenty before six. What would happen at six o’clock?

  She merged onto the highway, tires screeching as she laid her foot hard on the gas pedal. Her insides fluttered. Lara, Lara, Lara. Hang on. I’m coming.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lilly Gray was playing solitaire in the same room as her grandson when she heard the tiniest of whimpers. She had tried to talk to Hudson many times since his return, but for the most part he remained sullen and quiet.

  Faith had told her to let him be . . . that he would open up about his ordeal when he was ready. Russell was upstairs in their bedroom, putting away the laundry, trying to keep busy.

  Lilly walked to where Hudson sat on the couch, where he could usually be found playing video games. She stood behind him and watched. His hands, along with the controller, had dropped to his lap. His thumbs were no longer pushing buttons, his gaze no longer on the screen in front of him. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “I can’t stop thinking about Lara,” he said in a quiet voice.

  She said nothing, simply waited to see if he had more to say. She wanted to tell him she felt the same—t
hat every moment of every day was filled with thoughts of Lara.

  “She’s never been very fast,” Hudson said of his sister. “She’s the reason girls get a bad rap in the first place. She hardly has the strength to hold a bat in her hands without wobbling. She’s weak. I always outrun her, and I’m younger. She’s never been a good fighter, either. I can pin her to the ground in under a second.” A short pause. “She didn’t even like video games, Grandma. How is she ever going to survive out there with those people? Where is she? What are they doing to her? I wish they had found Lara instead of me. I could handle those guys.”

  Lilly came around to sit next to him. “She’s stronger than you think. You used to be such a troublemaker, and your dad would be ready to punish you, but your sister would negotiate for you, for better terms.”

  Hudson wrinkled his nose. “What do you mean?”

  “Your dad would threaten to not let you go to your friend’s house after school and no outside activities for a week, but Lara would talk to him, using logic as she told him he was being too strict. She suggested he make you clean your room instead because it looked like a pigsty.” Lilly smiled at the thought of it. “Lara always called it a win-win.”

  His eyes brightened a little bit. “That’s why she was always helping me clean my room,” Hudson said.

  Lilly nodded.

  Hudson eyes glistened. He’d been forced to grow up fast since the attack on his family. “Your sister can talk up a storm,” Lilly told him. “I’m sure she’s been talking those people to death.”

  He smiled then, a genuine smile that made it all the way to his eyes.

  “And she can pinch,” Hudson added. “I think I still have the marks from the last time she pinched the back of my arm.”

  It was Lilly’s turn to smile. “And she beat us all at Monopoly during the holidays.”

  “Yeah,” Hudson agreed, “but I don’t know how that will help her.”

  “I don’t, either, but who knows? I’m just glad you’re talking about your sister because it’s important that we all say what’s on our mind.”

  “Why is Mom always gone?” he asked next. “Is she really looking for Lara?”

  Lilly nodded. “Even if we locked your mother in her room and threw away the key, she’d find a way out so she could go in search of your sister. She would never stop looking for either of you. She’s your mother.”

  “Do you think she’ll find her?”

  “I do.”

  It was quiet for a moment before Lilly patted him on the knee. “Want to go sit in the tree fort with me for a while? It’s a nice day. Not too windy and hardly any clouds in sight.”

  “Are you sure you can climb that high, Grandma? Doesn’t your leg still hurt?”

  Lilly snorted. “I used to spend hours up there in the fort with your mom when she was small. We would play cards and talk all day about nothing.”

  “Mom played in the tree fort?”

  “All the time.”

  “You always told me and Lara to stay away from there because it was dangerous.”

  She made a face and waved a dismissive hand through the air. “After your uncle Colton fell and broke his arm, I wanted to burn that tree house down.”

  “Ah, that’s where Mom gets it,” he said.

  She stood and held out her hand.

  Hudson pushed himself to his feet and put his hand in hers. He’d grown at least an inch over the past few months. And his mop of brown hair was getting long. Lilly made a mental note to make an appointment to have it cut. It was time for Hudson to get out into the real world again, time for him to start living.

  Together they walked outside and made their way to the field of trees out back. Lilly knew she should probably tell Russell where they were going, but she didn’t want to ruin the moment, so she looked back over her shoulder and smiled just in case he was looking from the bedroom window.

  Russell heard a noise. A clank and a thud that sounded as if it were coming from the front of the house. Not wanting to concern Lilly or Hudson, he left a small mountain of laundry on the bed, walked downstairs, and slipped out the front door without being noticed.

  He looked about, studying his surroundings. The water in the pond was still. All was quiet. He inhaled a breath of fresh air, crisp and clean after a good rain.

  Colton had left the house thirty minutes ago after relaying all he knew about a man named Patrick and the three names Rage had left behind. Faith, Beast, and Colton were all out there somewhere, alone, looking for a man they’d never seen before. He didn’t like it. Ever since the attack on Faith’s family, they had put themselves out there, and that made them all targets.

  The front of the property appeared the same as always. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. And yet his senses were sharp, and something told him he hadn’t been hearing things. Figuring it might have been the postman’s truck he’d heard, he proceeded down the driveway toward the mailbox. Near the end of the drive he saw the same dark sedan that had been parked there earlier in the day. The news vans were usually lined up behind the sedan, but there had been a mass shooting in another country, killing dozens, so the media had other tragedies to focus on.

  Farther down the road, he spotted one lone media van parked at the curb. He kept waiting for the van door to slide open and for some rookie reporter to pop out with a microphone, wide-eyed and eager for a story or an update on Hudson’s health and well-being.

  Russell kept a steady pace as he continued down the driveway, wishing he’d brought his cane. The only noise at the moment was the soft swoosh of his shoes against the pavement as he walked.

  Although there didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary, his skin prickled. His gaze moved from the mailbox to the white media van to the sedan’s tinted windows. Most days the FBI agent stationed out front would roll down his window and give him a quick update or a thumbs-up, but not this time.

  An intense pain shot up Russell’s leg, made him wince. The aches and pains were always worse when he walked downhill. As he neared the sedan, he was able to make out the silhouette of the driver through the windshield. The agent looked to be asleep. By the time Russell drew closer, though, his instincts were on high alert, and he grew concerned.

  A few feet away from the vehicle, he bent down to touch his toes under the pretense of stretching. Beneath the sedan he saw a wire on the other side of the car. The strand of metal fell from the bottom of the passenger door and then disappeared in the grass and fallen leaves at the side of the driveway. In case he was being watched, Russell tried to look nonchalant. He took his time returning to his full height, putting his hands on his back and then letting his head and neck fall backward for a full stretch.

  He did his best to keep all emotion out of his face as he continued on to the mailbox. Once there, he collected his mail, sifted through it, and then turned toward the media van and gave a quick wave before heading back up the driveway.

  Just another day. Nothing to see here.

  As he passed by the FBI agent’s car, he rested a hand on the hood under the pretense of keeping his balance. When he stooped over, he saw the agent clearly. The man wasn’t sleeping at all. His eyes were open, unblinking. He was dead. A box and a tangle of wires were wrapped around his chest. The agent had been rigged with explosives.

  His heart skipped a beat. A light sheen of sweat covered his brow. He could only assume the people inside the media van had experienced the same fate. Standing straight and tall again, he walked to the other side of the vehicle under the pretense of gazing out at the pond. Out of the corner of his eye, he followed the wire that led back up the hill. Well past the front entry, the wire crossed the driveway, partially hidden by leaves and pebbles.

  With weak knees and trembling hands, Russell moved on up the hill. The wire weaved around a Japanese maple, then disappeared around the side and under the front of the house. Fearing the worst, that a bomb, maybe more than one, had been placed in or about the property, caused Russell to
panic. He needed to get Hudson and Lilly out of the house. He was done pretending to be calm. He dropped the mail and ran for the front door.

  Lilly was smiling at something Hudson had said, feeling better about his frame of mind, when she saw a hundred-dollar bill sticking out from beneath an old wool blanket in the corner of the eight-foot-square tree house.

  “Is that real money, or does it belong to a board game?” she asked, pointing.

  Hudson stooped slightly as he stepped that way. He picked up the bill and examined it closely. “It looks real to me.” He lifted the blanket and saw two duffel bags.

  “What’s inside?” Lilly asked him.

  He looked inside one and then the other. His mouth dropped open as he turned toward Lilly. “They’re both filled with hundred-dollar bills.”

  Shouting in the distance took Lilly’s attention away from her grandson.

  Hudson must have heard the commotion, too, because he dropped the blanket and crossed the fort to have a look out the window.

  She recognized her husband’s voice. It was Russell, and he sounded panicked. Lilly’s heart caught in her throat as she stuck her head out the door, getting ready to climb back down the tree. It would take her ten minutes, at least, to get to the bottom. Russell called out for the third time, loud and clear, the panic in his voice unmistakable. “There’s a bomb! Get out now!”

  She saw him inside the sliding glass door, frantically looking around as he continued to shout their names.

  “We’re outside,” Hudson shouted back. “In the tree fort!”

  Judging by the direction Russell went, he hadn’t heard a word. He’d been having trouble hearing for a while now.

  Her hands shook as she tried to get a foothold on a thick branch. “Russell!”

  A deafening boom drowned out her voice.

  She fell back into the tree fort, felt the ground shake beneath her as she reached for Hudson. She grabbed hold of his leg and pulled him close as debris hit the roof overhead. Pieces of wood and plaster poured from the sky, falling to the ground all around them.