by T. R. Ragan
“I better go, but thank you for your time.”
Ginger didn’t spare her another glance.
TWENTY-TWO
Faith came out of the bathroom at the same moment the door to the hotel room opened.
It was Miranda, and she didn’t look happy.
“The ugly old man is nowhere to be seen,” she said. “I watched that damn suite for over three hours before a lovely young couple glowing with happiness appeared.”
“What did you do?”
“Don’t worry. I just turned around and came back here.”
Faith breathed a sigh of relief.
“How about you? Any luck with Cecelia?”
“Not so far. I followed her to lunch. Watched her nibble on a salad as she texted nonstop, then followed her back to the hotel. Most of my afternoon was spent reading the newspaper in the lobby.” Faith grabbed her coat and bag. “It’s getting late. I think it’s time to head home. We can come back another time.”
Miranda shook her head. “I can’t leave without at least confronting Cecelia. She knew exactly what was going on when she brought me from the salon and then took me to the ugly man’s room.”
Faith exhaled. “OK, but don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
“I have a few questions, that’s all.”
They both put on their coats.
Faith waited at the door until Miranda was ready to go. Neither of them said a word as they walked down the hall. Faith noticed a man in a suit standing off to the side near the end of the hallway. When she attempted to make eye contact, he looked the other way and walked off. Her stomach quivered. Were they being watched?
As they stepped into the elevator, Faith noticed the pained expression on Miranda’s face. Her frustration was palpable during their short ride to the lobby. The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped out.
“That’s her!” Miranda said. “Cecelia’s leaving.”
Sure enough Cecelia was exiting the salon wearing a raincoat and gloves. They stayed far enough back to keep an eye on her without being seen. Despite the cold and drizzling rain outside, the sidewalks were crowded. For a few seconds they lost sight of Cecelia. And then Miranda pointed up ahead where she saw her crossing the road.
“I don’t like this,” Faith said. “Something’s going on.”
“You don’t have to come. I can follow her and call your cell when she reaches her destination. Maybe she lives around here.”
That was doubtful. Living in the city wasn’t cheap, but Faith kept her thoughts to herself.
The light drizzle quickly turned to raindrops. The cold nipped at Faith’s nose as she quickened her pace, trying not to slip on the wet road.
Miranda was younger and faster. She hurried past Faith, refusing to let Cecelia out of her sight.
Faith inwardly scolded herself for wearing heels instead of boots. Her toes were beginning to cramp, and a blister had already formed on her left foot.
Where was Cecelia going?
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. First the man in the hallway and now this. It dawned on Faith then that it all seemed a bit too convenient that Cecelia happened to be leaving just as she and Miranda stepped out of the elevator. Had the man in the suit told her they were headed for the elevators?
Twice now Faith had seen Cecelia glance over her shoulder. Was she afraid she was being followed? Or was she making sure they were following her?
Miranda was getting too far ahead, nothing more than a shadow up ahead.
Faith stopped and hurriedly took off her heels. The wet cement felt good against her sore feet as she ran to catch up. Farther away from the hustle and bustle of city life surrounding the hotel, the buildings were now mostly apartments and warehouses. Faith reached the street corner just as Miranda turned right. She wanted to shout for Miranda to wait up, but she didn’t want Cecelia to hear her.
Up ahead Miranda made another turn. Faith’s heart pounded as she tried to keep up, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. And then she saw her. Miranda was standing at the next street corner, gesturing for Faith to hurry. Across the street was what looked like an apartment building set between large Victorian homes.
Faith caught up to her. “Where is she? Where did she go?”
Water dripped from Miranda’s chin as she pointed. “Cecelia made a left down that alleyway over there. I think she’s on to us.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
A light on the third floor came on. “That could be her,” Miranda said. “We’ve come this far. Let’s check it out, see if we can get the name of the apartment building.”
“OK,” Faith agreed. “And then we head back to the hotel, get my car, and get out of here. We can come back later in the week.”
They slowed their pace, took in their surroundings, memorizing names of streets and buildings for when they returned. By the time they turned in to the alleyway where Miranda had seen Cecelia go, Faith’s clothes were soaked through. They passed by a trash bin filled to the brim. The smell was rancid. It took all she had not to gag.
Voices stopped them both.
“Where are they?” a man asked.
“Shh. They’ll be here any second,” a woman said.
A gasp and then the woman’s voice asked, “What are you doing?”
A muffled shot rang out.
Faith grabbed Miranda’s arm before she could take another step, but it was too late.
“There they are!” someone shouted.
Miranda whipped about and ran back the way they came. She was out of sight by the time Faith darted out from the alleyway and onto the street. Another shot was fired, hitting the metal trash bin to Faith’s left. She kept waiting to feel the sting of a bullet in her back. She took a sharp left into a darkened alcove—the entryway to a deli shut down for the night. With her back flat against the wall, she didn’t dare make a sound.
The quick thump, thump, thump of running feet bounced off the wet pavement.
She held her breath.
A tall, dark shadow ran right by without a glance her way.
But judging by the voices she’d heard, there were two men, so she stayed where she was.
A throaty chuckle sounded as a dark figure appeared. This guy didn’t seem to be in a hurry. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew he was looking at her. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”
She stepped out of hiding, took two steps his way, and then swung the high-heeled shoes still grasped in her hand. She swung hard and high. The three-inch heel caught him in the ear.
His high-pitched scream pierced through the night. She kneed him in the groin, then took another swing with her shoes, catching him in the back of the head, before dropping the shoes and running back the way she’d come.
If she stayed in the open, she’d be an easy target. She zigzagged across the street, then cut down the same alleyway where she and Miranda had first heard the voices. She ran past the trash bin, cut a sharp right, and nearly tripped over Cecelia’s motionless body in her haste to get away.
Cecelia was on her back. A street lamp gave her enough light to see that the woman had been shot in the chest. Blood seeped through her blouse. “Help me,” she said.
Faith stopped, pivoted on her feet. Damn.
“They’ll be back,” Cecelia said, her voice raspy. “My gun.” Her hand was outstretched, her fingers clawing against the pavement, struggling to reach her bag.
Faith grabbed the leather purse, rifled through it, and found the gun. Holding the pistol in front of her, she turned toward the darkened alleyway just as the same man she’d hit with her shoe tore around the corner. He nearly tripped over his own feet when he saw Faith standing there with a gun aimed at him.
Her hands shook.
“Put the gun down, lady. We only want to talk to you.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
He reached for the gun tucked in his waistband.
Faith fired. She’d been aiming for
his heart, but the bullet struck him between the eyes. He crumpled to the ground.
With a heaviness in her stomach, she walked over to him and used her foot to knock his gun away. He didn’t move. She stared at him for a long moment, unable to believe it had come to this.
She had killed a man. And for what?
Did he have a family? Young children waiting for him to come home?
Her hands shook; her knees wobbled. She thought of Lara and Hudson. And about Miranda and all the other girls being held against their will, used as sex slaves. The anger she’d been trying so hard to tamp down came swooshing through her like a tsunami. She walked back to Cecelia and put the barrel of the gun still grasped in her hand against the woman’s skull. “Who do you work for?”
“Patrick,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“Patrick who?”
No words came forth.
“You’ve got two seconds to tell me his full name before I blow your brains out.”
Still nothing.
Faith felt for a pulse. She was dead. Faith’s head fell forward. Damn.
Faith pushed herself to her feet at the same moment Miranda showed up.
Miranda looked at the dead man, then walked over and gave Cecelia a closer look. “Are they both dead?”
Relieved to see Miranda in one piece, Faith nodded. “Did you see the other man?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Where is he?”
“I Tasered him right in the face.” She lifted the stun gun in the air. “This thing works great, but I’m not sure how much time we have before he’s on his feet again.”
Faith wiped her prints from Cecelia’s gun, then knelt down low to the ground and wrapped Cecelia’s fingers around the handle and rested her finger against the trigger.
Leaving the gun in the palm of Cecelia’s hand, she searched through her bag and pulled out her wallet. “Her name’s Cecelia Doyle. She lives in Daly City.” Faith wiped her prints from the wallet and put it back in the bag.
“Why don’t we take that with us?”
“No,” Faith said. “We don’t want to be connected to this mess. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
TWENTY-THREE
Three knocks sounded. A pause. Another two knocks.
Diane Weaver slid off the bed, walked to the door, and peeked through the curtain. It was him. Patrick was here. Thank God.
He’d come just as he said he would. And he was alone. She undid the chain, unlocked the door, and let him inside. A cold wind rushed inside along with him. She shut the door behind him.
“Where have you been?” Patrick asked as he peeled off his jacket, wet from the rain. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Aster is in a panic. What’s going on?”
“Does he have the girl?” she asked.
“What girl?”
“The fucking McMann kid,” Diane ground out. “Who do you think?”
His jaw hardened. “I think you better take a good, long look at who exactly you’re talking to.”
She straightened her spine, tried to calm herself as she peered into his eyes. He’d changed since she’d seen him last. He seemed different somehow, more confident and cocky than before.
His eyes were narrowed, the muscles around his mouth tense. She didn’t want to cower in front of Patrick, but she wasn’t in a position to do anything else. “I’m sorry,” she said, swallowing her pride. “It’s been a stressful time—that’s all.”
“How so?” he asked without sympathy.
He knew damn well she’d been beat up and thrown in jail. That wasn’t enough? “My brother and his wife were killed,” she said with a whimper. “It wasn’t pretty. They were both tortured.”
Patrick didn’t look impressed. In fact, he looked downright bored by her story. She wanted to shake him or slap him, anything to get a response. “It was Aster’s doing,” she added. “I’m sure of it.”
Patrick shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets and jiggled his keys. “Aster posted your bail. So why would he bother to kill your brother?”
“He must have discovered I’d handed over the McMann girl to him. You told me to keep the girl safe, so I sent her to my brother’s house. I don’t know how he would have found her, though, since I never mentioned I had family in the area.” She took a breath. “You’re Aster’s number one man these days—you must know what’s going on.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I have no idea who killed your family members. Until this moment, I didn’t realize you even had a brother.”
“If Aster is responsible,” she said, “we both know he’ll come after me next.”
The fact that Patrick had no response did nothing to ease her worry.
She studied his face, tried to figure out if she could trust him. When Patrick was in his early twenties, hardly a man, he’d worked for one of the big bosses in the area known as Old Man Stanton. At the time Stanton had a monopoly on most trafficking activities. Aster had watched him like a hawk, and the moment Stanton made the mistake of taking a run without his bodyguard, Aster Williams moved in quickly, taking out Stanton first and then his men, one at a time. If Diane hadn’t stopped him, Aster would have killed Patrick, too.
“I saved your life,” she reminded him.
“So you’ve said on numerous occasions.”
“I need your help.”
Diane had taken the time to spruce herself up today, hoping Patrick would pay her a visit since she’d left him more than a few urgent messages. She’d fixed her hair and used makeup she’d taken from her brother’s house to cover the bruises. She wore her late sister-in-law’s knit dress, which accentuated her curves. Although she was a little out of practice when it came to seducing a man, she made sure to sway her hips as she walked toward Patrick. With her breasts pressed against his hard chest, she purred as she stood on tiptoes and kissed his neck.
He put his hands on her shoulders and nudged her backward, away from him. “What the hell are you doing, Diane? You look like shit, and this place is a dump.” He walked toward the bed and looked around, went so far as to open a few drawers as if he thought she might be hiding something.
“You owe me, Patrick. You said so yourself.”
“Listen,” he told her, his voice stern. “When you called me, you told me you had something I wanted.” He used his foot to slam shut the bottom dresser drawer. “I don’t see one goddamn thing in this shit hole that I could possibly want. You better start talking.”
“OK, OK. Jesus. You used to want me. Every time you looked at me, your eyes would blaze with desire.”
“Look in the mirror, honey. Age has fucked you up the ass sideways.”
“I need money, Patrick. I need to get out of the country before Aster finds me.”
“You’re worrying too much. Aster is a busy man. If he was looking for you, I would know.”
“Maybe he’s not telling you everything these days. Maybe he thinks I was going to sell the girl and keep the money for myself.”
“Was that your plan?”
“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying! You told me to move the girl, and now my brother and his wife are dead. Maybe I should call Aster and tell him the truth—that I have no idea where that McMann kid is.”
Patrick rubbed his chin. “Slow down. Give me some time to figure things out.”
“Don’t you get it? Aster posted bail because he doesn’t want me to talk to the authorities. Letting me go was his way of assuring I wouldn’t talk before I had my day in court. But killing me is the only sure way to guarantee I never tell anyone what I know.”
“This is a sticky situation, Diane. Don’t you dare call him. If he ever found out I helped you get away, it would be my ass buried ten feet under.”
“Does that mean you’re going to help me?” She moved toward him again. “A new name, a passport, and a ticket out of here. That’s all I’m asking. You’ll never see me again—I promise.” Her fingers clung to the sleeve of his jacket.
As h
e pried her hand off him, she noticed a dark callousness to his eyes. She couldn’t help but wonder if he knew more than he was telling her.
“I’ll help you,” he finally said.
Overwhelming relief flooded her senses. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and thank him, but she didn’t dare touch him again after he’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her.
He gestured downward.
Confused, she didn’t realize what he was up to until he slid his belt off and then unzipped his pants.
Humiliated and filled with hatred, she sank to her knees and stared at his nubby little cock. The palm of his hand came to rest behind her head before he pulled her to him.
TWENTY-FOUR
It was dark outside by the time Lilly Gray changed into her warm flannel pajamas, slipped on a robe and slippers, and then headed downstairs for some decaffeinated green tea.
After spending the entire day waiting for the doctors to discharge Jana’s husband, and then picking up his medications and making sure Steve and Jana had everything they needed, she’d come home to an empty house. She knew Faith and Miranda had something planned, but she’d been too worried about Russell and Colton and too busy with Steve and Jana to pay close attention. She picked up the phone and called Faith for the third time in less than an hour.
No answer.
She didn’t bother leaving a message.
She thought of her husband hours away in a vast forest searching for their grandson. The thought of him trudging up a mountaintop with a weak heart pushed heavily on her mind. It didn’t help that the weatherman insisted heavy rains were coming, the worst of the storm headed directly toward Mendocino County.
In the kitchen, she tried to distract herself. She put the kettle on the stove, washed a few dishes, and wiped down the countertops. A noise caught her attention. Her heart skipped a beat. She stood still and listened closely.
Following the scraping noise outside, she reached slowly for the curtains above the sink. With a fistful of fabric grasped in her hand, she whipped the curtain aside.