Outrage (Faith McMann Trilogy Book 2)

by T. R. Ragan

  OTHER TITLES BY T.R. RAGAN

  FAITH MCMANN TRILOGY

  Furious

  LIZZY GARDNER SERIES

  Abducted

  Dead Weight

  A Dark Mind

  Obsessed

  Almost Dead

  Evil Never Dies

  WRITING AS THERESA RAGAN

  Return of the Rose

  A Knight in Central Park

  Taming Mad Max

  Finding Kate Huntley

  Having My Baby

  An Offer He Can’t Refuse

  Here Comes the Bride

  I Will Wait for You: A Novella

  Dead Man Running

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016 Theresa Ragan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503938809

  ISBN-10: 1503938808

  Cover art by melteddashboard.com

  Cover design by Rex Bonomelli

  The Faith McMann trilogy is dedicated to people, including Holly Austin Smith, who work tirelessly to raise awareness and increase understanding of human trafficking and who struggle endlessly to supply services and help to survivors.

  You are all heroes.

  For information about trafficking: www.traffickingresourcecenter.org.

  CONTENTS

  START READING

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Today, two cultural forces are converging to make America’s youth easy targets for sex traffickers. Primed by the media, their self-worth often negatively affected by the images they are bombarded with, younger and younger girls are adopting adult sexual attitudes and practices. At the same time, thanks to social media, texting, and chat rooms, predators are able to ferret out their victims more easily than ever before.

  —Holly Austin Smith, Walking Prey: How America’s Youth Are Vulnerable to Sex Slavery

  ONE

  Huddled beneath a wool blanket, shivering and cold with brittle leaves and twigs digging into his back, Hudson McMann opened his eyes. Through a makeshift shelter of branches leaning against the biggest tree he’d been able to find, he saw the sun just beginning to peek over the mountain ridge, splashing oranges and reds across the sky.

  He felt grateful for the sun this morning as he tried to rub some warmth into his arms. If it had been raining or snowing, he wasn’t sure he and Joey would still be alive. They had spent the past two nights in the mountains. During the first night, they’d heard dogs in the distance, the same dogs the drug dealers used to find runaways.

  The higher up the mountain he and Joey had gone, the colder it had gotten. Although they hadn’t heard the bark of a dog in the past twenty-four hours, he’d never been more afraid in his life. If they were found, they would probably be shot and killed like their friend Sean.

  He was certain of it.

  Being here in the woods reminded him of Grandpa’s war stories. Grandpa had talked about how important it was to keep the men moving, reminding Hudson that they needed to do the same.

  He shook Joey awake. “Get up. We need to start walking.”

  “I’m hungry,” Joey said.

  “Me, too.”

  Joey was older than Hudson, but he was small for his age, whereas Hudson was taller and bigger in the shoulders. From what he knew about the boy, Joey had had a tough childhood. He’d also never gone camping or hunting. He’d never once slept in the woods under the stars, but instead had spent more than a few nights curled up in a ball on the cold floor of a rundown warehouse.

  Joey had worried about the cries of coyotes on their first night in the woods. Hudson had been more afraid of the bad men finding them than he’d been of wild animals.

  With one blanket between them, a pocketknife, and not much else, they were hungry and thirsty. Joey didn’t look too good. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red. His skin was ghostly pale.

  Yesterday Hudson had tried to catch a squirrel for them to eat, but he’d settled for eating bugs and earthworms. Grandpa had taught him that most worms were high in protein and iron. Joey wouldn’t have anything to do with eating bugs. Not yet. Sooner or later, he would have to give in if he wanted to live.

  Once Joey was on his feet, Hudson folded the blanket, tucked it under his arm, and started off. “We’ll head east for the next mile and then make our way downward. We need to find some water—a creek or maybe a river.” Grandpa always told Hudson that if he was ever lost in the woods, he needed to find a water source.

  “What about Denver and Aiden? Do you think they got away?”

  Hudson glanced over the vast forest of fir and pine and rugged canyon. He’d never felt so alone in his life, but if Joey had any idea of how scared he was, it would only make matters worse. “Denver is big and strong,” Hudson said. “I’m sure they got away, and we will, too.”

  “You think so?”

  He swallowed a lump lodged in his throat. “Yeah,” Hudson said. “I know so.”

  For hours they trudged onward. It wasn’t easy walking down a steep incline. They both slid over rocks and damp leaves. Every so often Hudson stopped to look over his shoulder to make sure Joey was close by. Twice he thought he’d lost him. But both times he waited until Joey staggered forward. The first time he appeared through a dense area of trees; this time Joey stumbled around a bend.

  Joey was slow on his feet. Too slow.

  About to walk back toward him to see if Joey needed help, Hudson heard a familiar sound—trickling water. “Water!” he said under his breath as he ran back toward Joey. “We’re almost there!”

  Despite the cold, Joey’s forehead was slick with sweat. Hudson used the back of his hand to touch the boy’s head, just like his mom did when he wasn’t feeling well. “You’re burning up.”

  The kid was paler than the moon. Worried, Hudson heaved Joey’s arm over his shoulder and helped him walk down the steep slope. It took them a while to find the creek. He brought
Joey to the edge, and for the next few minutes they drank their fill. He knew they were at risk drinking the water without boiling it. But beggars can’t be choosers, he thought.

  “Have you ever tasted anything so good?” Hudson asked as he slurped water from his cupped hands.

  After a long moment of silence, Hudson looked over his shoulder. Joey had pushed himself a foot away from the creek and was now leaning against a boulder. His eyes were closed, and every breath sounded ragged. His lips and the tips of his fingers were bluish. Joey was sicker than he’d first thought.

  TWO

  The bottom of Faith McMann’s shoes squeaked as she walked. It was early in the morning—early enough that the hospital corridor was devoid of people, free of the usual hustle and bustle of nurses and staff.

  Faith walked with confidence, doing her best to appear as if she belonged there.

  The floors were newly mopped. The overwhelming smell of antiseptics wasn’t the reason she felt sick to her stomach. It was the thought of her daughter being trapped in that house for all those days, only hours away, and yet she’d failed to find Lara in time.

  They had been so damn close.

  Her stomach turned to knots every time she thought about it.

  The man who’d called to threaten her family had told her Lara and Hudson were dead. Obviously he’d lied, since more than one of the girls who’d been held by the sex traffickers saw Lara alive and well only days before. But where was her daughter now? Who had taken her from the farmhouse? And why take Lara and not the others? Diane Weaver, the woman in charge of the girls, had refused to give Faith the answers she needed after she’d raided the place. She should have dragged the woman’s ass out into the woods while she’d had the chance.

  But maybe Corrie Perelman’s daughter could shed light on where Lara might be. Samantha Perelman had been missing for the past eighteen months. During the raid, Faith had found the poor girl locked in a small, dark space, hidden away at the back of the kitchen pantry.

  And that’s why she was here at the hospital. She needed to talk to the girl and find out what she knew.

  Faith waited in the shadows until the nurse was preoccupied, then hurried past to Samantha’s room. The door was open, and she quickly stepped inside. A curtain divided the room in half. The first bed was empty. Lying in the other bed was Samantha Perelman.

  She slept faceup, arms at her side, body rigid. If not for the faint sound of her breathing, Faith might have thought the worst. Samantha’s hair had been chopped off at blunt angles around her ears—as if someone had used a dull knife to cut it. Her face was puffy, the left side badly bruised. Purplish shadows framed her eyes. She hardly resembled the seventeen-year-old girl who’d been abducted from a grocery store a year earlier while her mother shopped nearby.

  A sharp pain pierced Faith’s heart. The thought of all Samantha had been through tore her apart. Samantha needed her rest. Faith never should have come. She turned toward the door.

  “Faith McMann?”

  At the sound of the girl’s voice, Faith swiveled back around.

  Samantha was awake.

  Faith stepped closer, stopping at the metal railing on the side of the bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Is Mom here?”

  Faith shook her head. “It’s still early.”

  Samantha licked her lips. “Is it true? Did those bastards take your kids?”

  The strength in Samantha’s voice contrasted greatly with her fragile appearance. “They took my son and my daughter,” Faith said.

  “It was Miranda, wasn’t it? She escaped the farmhouse, didn’t she? She’s the reason we were found.”

  “Yes,” Faith said. “Miranda got away and told us everything she knew.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s safe.”

  “You’re the one who found me. You saved my life,” Samantha said next, peering into her eyes. “You saved us all.”

  “If not for Miranda, we never would have located the farmhouse to begin with.”

  “What happened to Mother?” Samantha asked next. “She’s evil. She’s ruined so many lives.”

  The girl’s mouth was dry, her voice raspy. Faith looked around for water but didn’t see any. “She’s in jail,” Faith said. “She won’t ever hurt you again.”

  “What about the others?” Samantha asked, flittering from one thought to another. “Are they OK?”

  “The other girls who were in the house with you are safe,” Faith said. Outside the room, she heard voices, which prompted her to get to the point of why she’d come. “I have something I need to ask you.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m trying to find my daughter. Miranda told me she was at the farmhouse and that they changed her name to Jean. I was wondering if you’d met her?”

  She gasped. “That’s your daughter? I like Jean. She was new to the house. Mother didn’t like to see the two of us talking, so she locked me up in that cubbyhole in the pantry. Do you have a picture of your daughter?” Samantha clicked a button attached to a thick cord hanging over the metal railing. The bedside light came on.

  Faith dug through her purse, pulled out one of her flyers, and handed it to Samantha.

  “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “I was hoping you might know something about where she is now.”

  “Jean wasn’t there with the other girls?”

  Faith shook her head.

  Samantha appeared visibly shaken by the news, and Faith didn’t like that she’d upset the girl. But then Samantha’s eyes widened and she said, “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I heard Mother talking on the phone that same morning before you arrived. Sometimes I think Mother would forget I was hidden away.” Samantha scratched her arm close to where the IV needle was taped.

  “Do you remember who she was talking to?”

  Samantha shook her head at first, but then her eyes widened as a thought came to her. “I don’t know who she was talking to, but I do think the conversation had something to do with moving Jean. They do that sometimes, you know. Move certain girls from one house to another, especially if they believe a girl is too much trouble for one reason or another.” She licked her lips again. “I wish the bitch had moved me. That never would have happened, though. Mother didn’t like me. She wanted me to suffer for refusing to obey her rules.” More scratching.

  “Do you have any idea at all where Diane Weaver might have been sending Jean off to?”

  “Is that Mother’s name?” Samantha asked. “Diane Weaver?”

  Faith nodded.

  Knowing Mother’s name appeared to upset her. Samantha’s eyes watered, and Faith reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “I hate her,” Samantha whispered.

  Faith understood all too well. Her heart went out to the girl.

  It was quiet for a long moment before Samantha spoke again. “I’m sorry I’m not much help. I only know that Mother sounded as if she were in a rush because she told the person on the phone to hurry up or she’d call someone else.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Faith told her. “You’re a brave young woman, and you’ve been a tremendous help.”

  Diane Weaver, Faith thought as she stood still, holding the girl’s hand, trying to comfort her. All the answers were locked up in prison with her. She needed to talk to Detective Yuhasz and convince him to pay Diane a visit. Maybe he could get her to talk.

  The main light came on, fluorescent and bright. Faith squinted.

  A nurse walked inside and yanked open the curtain. “What’s going on? These are not visiting hours.”

  “This is the lady who saved my life,” Samantha said to the nurse. “I invited her here. She can stay.”

  “I’m sorry,” the nurse told Faith, “but you’ll have to come back during visiting hours. You shouldn’t be here. I could lose my job.”

  Faith lifted her hands in surrender. “It’s OK. I’m going.” She leaned over the
railing, took hold of Samantha’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. “Your mom has my number. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, anything at all.”

  Samantha clasped both her hands around Faith’s. Her eyes welled.

  “What is it?” Faith asked. “Do you need help?”

  She shook her head. It took a moment for the deep furrow in her brow to disappear. “I just want to say thank you for what you did for me and wish you luck with finding your kids.”

  Faith realized then how fragile Samantha Perelman was. She’d been through hell, probably learned pretty quickly how to talk tough and act tougher in order to survive. Samantha, no doubt, had a long road to recovery ahead of her.

  Faith smiled at the girl, praying she’d find a way to overcome and wishing her nothing but happiness in her future. More determined than ever to find Lara and Hudson, she released her hold on Samantha and turned toward the nurse. “She needs something for her arm to stop the itching.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “She also needs a glass of water.” Without glancing back, Faith left the room, afraid she’d fall apart before she made it out the door.

  With counseling and lots of understanding and love, Samantha would surely find her way back. She thought of Lara then, wondered what she was doing at that very moment. If she could stay strong until they found her, Faith would do everything in her power to help her cope in the aftermath. “Hang in there, Lara,” she said under her breath. “I’m going to find you and your brother and make those bastards pay.”

  THREE

  Diane Weaver didn’t make eye contact with the other prisoners as she headed for the phones. She didn’t have to look at them to feel their eyes assessing, judging, sizing her up.

  Don’t let them see you sweat, she thought.

  Every step reverberated off the urine-colored walls, biting chunks out of the stifling silence as she continued down the corridor.

  She’d arrived two days ago. If not for the chained fences topped off with barbed wire, the squat brick building would have looked more like a college campus than a prison. But that was only when she was looking at the place from the outside. The inside of the prison was another story. The air was stale, the inmates sour, and the building suffocating.