Outrage (Faith McMann Trilogy Book 2)

by T. R. Ragan

  “Fair enough,” Jana said. “And don’t worry,” she said as he helped her with her coat. “If I don’t hear from you, I won’t be back. Nobody else knows where you live. Your secret is safe with me.” Jana then bent as low as she could and said goodbye to Callan. He ran into her arms and hugged her as if they had known each other his entire life. She hugged Sue next, their bellies touching as she wished her well.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  It was past eight by the time Faith got back to the Sacramento airport. She only had to wait a minute for the shuttle to pick her up and take her to the parking lot. She took a seat close to the driver. There were three other people on the shuttle by the time the doors closed. Two men and a woman. One of the men had hooded eyes and kept looking her way.

  Faith pulled out her phone, turned it on, and listened to multiple messages. There was one from Rage telling her Miranda had left the house. They had spent hours looking for her, but no luck so far.

  There were two messages from Jana asking Faith to call her as soon as possible. The last call from Jana was from hours ago. Faith would call her back as soon as she was inside her car. The shuttle stopped. One of the men got out. The man with hooded eyes read through some papers while the woman sat quietly staring out into the darkness.

  Faith got off at the next stop. When the other two people climbed out of the shuttle after her, she thought about jumping back on and driving around for a bit, but she was tired and ready to get home. It made sense to be cautious, but she also needed to be reasonable. As she walked, she slipped her hand into her purse and pulled out her keys and a ballpoint pen, since she wasn’t allowed to fly with pepper spray or a Taser.

  The clip-clop of heavy shoes sounded directly behind her. She kept walking, relieved to see her car up ahead. When the footsteps grew louder, she whipped about, keys jangling, pen ready. The man jumped back and then took a wide path around her.

  She watched him weave through a row of cars and disappear before she hit the “Unlock” button to her car. At the same moment she opened the door, she felt a hard object jam up against the middle of her back.

  “Give me your bag.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Faith whipped about, surprised to see the woman who’d been on the shuttle. Even more surprised to see that she was holding a gun.

  Faith jabbed the pen into the side of the woman’s face and then kicked her hard in the leg. The pen hardly made a dent.

  The woman lunged for Faith and took her to the ground.

  Faith’s head hit hard.

  They rolled around on the pavement, loose gravel cutting into her skin. Faith managed to grasp the woman’s wrist, struggling to keep her from aiming the gun at her. It took all her strength to keep her attacker from getting a shot off.

  A searing pain shot up Faith’s arm. It was a losing battle. She couldn’t hold her for much longer. The woman must have sensed Faith’s weakness because suddenly she jerked her body, easily removing Faith’s hold on her wrist. The woman was fast, and in the blink of an eye she was on top of Faith, the full weight of her body on Faith’s stomach, making it difficult for Faith to breathe. Her knees kept Faith’s arms pinned to the ground as she placed the barrel of the gun to Faith’s forehead.

  Faith tried to buck her off, but she had nothing left. She was going to die.

  Wham!

  The woman fell to Faith’s side in a dead heap. Faith sucked air into her lungs as soon as the weight was lifted from her chest. Once she caught her breath, she found herself looking up into the hooded eyes of the same man who’d ridden on the shuttle. He was talking on the phone, his voice panicked. There was a bat tucked under his arm. He ended the call and then slid his phone into his pocket. “I called nine-one-one. Are you OK?”

  She nodded as she pushed herself to one knee and finally to her feet. She saw the gun on the pavement and went over to pick it up. When she turned to face the man, her gaze settled on his bat.

  “Softball,” he explained. “I’ve been playing for years. In fact, I just returned from participating in a winter league in Florida.”

  Her legs wobbled. He stepped forward and reached for her elbow. “You don’t seem well. Maybe you should take a seat until someone gets here.”

  She steadied herself. “I’ll be fine.” She put a hand to her head, where she could feel something wet. She was bleeding.

  The guy with the bat got on a knee and felt for the woman’s pulse.

  “Is she dead?”

  “No,” he said, on his feet again. “She’s breathing.”

  Faith was relieved to hear sirens in the distance. Her gaze settled on the woman. Who was she? Faith knelt down next to her and began searching through her pockets. Faith found an envelope and handed it to the man standing there as she continued her search.

  “There’s five thousand dollars inside!” He dropped the envelope as if it were on fire.

  Next Faith retrieved a round disc of cardboard from the women’s coat pocket and pulled it out. It looked like a coaster. It was made to look like a bowling ball with the name of a bowling alley in Rocklin. She turned it over and saw a number. It was her flight number.

  She shoved the coaster and the envelope back into the woman’s pocket and zipped it up. She pushed herself to her feet again just as the swirling red lights of a police cruiser showed up.

  In that moment, she thought of Robyn Price and wondered if the woman had gotten out of the country before it was too late.

  Dillon Yuhasz had just gotten to sleep when he got the call that Faith McMann had been attacked in the parking lot at the SFO airport.

  He ran out of the house and hopped in the car, wondering why he even bothered trying to get some shut-eye. He’d started his day off with the mayor of Sacramento being burglarized, followed by countless interviews of suspects and witnesses. Then the FBI had notified him that they had located Diane Weaver’s brother, found him and his wife dead in a trailer home. Agent Burnett also told him they’d found evidence that Lara McMann had been living in the trailer at one time. Unfortunately, neither Diane Weaver nor Lara McMann had been found. And what about Faith’s father and brother? Nobody at the Mendocino sheriff’s office had gotten back to him.

  At least his daughter Holly was safe. It was something.

  As he zipped along the highway, lights flashing, his phone buzzed.

  It was Holly. Why would she be calling him in the middle of the night?

  He hit the “Talk” button on the console.

  “Dad. It’s me.”

  “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

  “I’m scared.”

  His stomach dropped. “Where’s my brother? What’s going on?”

  “He’s in San Diego. I returned home this morning.”

  “What the hell for? Where are the kids?”

  “They’re still with Uncle Bob. I’m sorry.” She was crying. “David promised he would get help.”

  Shit. And she’d believed him. “Did that bastard hurt you?”

  She was crying harder now. He could hear her sobbing and trying to catch her breath.

  “Christ.” He pulled the car to the side of the road. “Speak to me, Holly. Tell me what’s going on. Where is David?”

  “We got in a fight. Worse than usual. I fought back. He left, but he’ll be back.”

  He could hardly make out what she was saying between the sobs.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m on my way, Holly, but I want you to get out of there now.”

  “He has the keys to my car.”

  “Then go to the neighbors until I arrive.”

  “OK,” she said, her voice shaky. “I—I’ll do that. I’ll go to the—”

  The call was disconnected.

  Something was off.

  The tone of her voice.

  Her reluctance to leave the house.

  The call being disconnected midsentence.

  He didn’t like where his thoughts were headed.

  He
called the station, asked for Jeffrey, and then told him what was going on. He knew they were short on men, especially at this hour, but he needed backup. He asked Jeffrey to let Detective O’Sullivan know he’d be on his own at the airport. He also told Jeffrey not to use sirens when he approached his daughter’s house.

  If his hunch was right, he didn’t have a lot of time. He needed to hurry.

  As soon as there was a lull in traffic, he climbed out of his car and rushed to the back, where he rifled through the trunk until he found what he was looking for. Back in the driver’s seat, he used the navigator to help him find the quickest route to Holly’s home in Folsom. He turned on the emergency lights and then merged onto the highway.

  His thoughts were all over the place.

  He loved his daughter and would do anything to protect her. But at the moment he couldn’t help but wonder how she felt about him. They had drifted apart over the years. Deep down, he’d always blamed his ex for destroying his relationship with his daughter. But now he realized he was the one to blame. He never should have allowed Holly to push him away. He should have realized soon after she married David that something wasn’t right.

  The question now was did she really love her husband, or was every decision she made based off fear?

  It took him twelve minutes to get to Holly’s street. Once he turned on to Finchley, he gave Jeffrey another call.

  “I’ll be there in five,” Jeffrey said, reading his mind.

  Yuhasz pulled his car into the driveway next to his daughter’s Honda Civic. “OK,” he told Jeffrey. “I’m going in.”

  “Hold off for another minute just to be sure.”

  “If I’m right about this, I don’t want to risk having your car show up and scaring anyone off. I’ll see you in a few. And, Jeffrey,” Yuhasz quickly added, “thanks for everything.” He hung up before his friend could protest further.

  He climbed out of his vehicle, slammed the door shut, and took a look around the neighborhood. Had Holly taken his advice and gone to the neighbors? Or were his instincts right on, and she was inside waiting for him?

  He gave her a call. No answer.

  From where he stood, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The neighbors’ lights were off. He walked across the stone path to the front door and turned the knob. Locked. The curtains were pulled tight, making it impossible to see inside. No shadowy figures running around.

  He rang the bell, then rapped his knuckles hard against the door. About to head around the side of the house to find a way inside, as an afterthought he checked under the doormat, not too surprised to find a key. He opened the door and called his daughter’s name. No answer.

  “Holly,” he said again. “It’s me, Dad. Where are you?”

  What sounded like a muffled voice coming from upstairs drew him that way. He took the carpeted stairs, one at a time. Just as it was the last time he was here, the place was immaculate. With two kids, there should be a few scuff marks, maybe a stain on the carpet or a couple of toys strewn about.

  At the top of the landing, he stopped and listened.

  First room to the right, the door was wide-open. He walked that way, stepped inside, and took a look around. The room obviously belonged to his granddaughter. All the bedding and window coverings were pink with satin bows. The bed was perfectly made. Hardly anything on the dresser. A stuffed animal sat on a rocking chair. Sadly, nothing about the house looked lived in. As far as Yuhasz was concerned, it was one more sign of a control freak demanding that everything be in perfect order at all times. Anger got the best of him as he exited the room and headed straight for the double doors at the end of the hallway. If that bastard had laid one finger on his daughter, if one hair on her head—

  Both doors swung open.

  “Run!” his daughter screamed.

  Hofberg stood directly in front of him, his feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, leaning slightly forward, firmly balanced and determined to hit his target.

  Two shots were fired in rapid succession.

  The first bullet struck Yuhasz center mass, slamming into him with as much power as Babe Ruth swinging and hitting a home run. The second shot stung like a son of a bitch. Blood splattered against the walls and speckled the perfectly white carpet, but he was still standing.

  Hofberg was coming for him, eager to finish him off.

  Yuhasz reached for his gun. His instincts had been right. But he’d blown it. By allowing his anger to get the best of him, he’d let his guard down just long enough to give the bastard the upper hand. His arm was deadweight, his fingers numb as he tried to grip the pistol and get off a shot. “Get down!” he shouted to his daughter when she appeared in the doorway behind Hofberg. She didn’t have to be told twice. She dove out of the way, and Yuhasz fired.

  The next time Yuhasz opened his eyes, he was inside an ambulance, wearing an oxygen mask, and peering up into his daughter’s face. She squeezed his good hand.

  Yuhasz had a quick hand. Although he hadn’t counted on Hofberg getting off two shots, let alone one, he’d had the good sense to put on a vest. But even that move hadn’t prevented the bastard from clipping him in the shoulder. He didn’t have to be told to know that he’d lost a lot of blood, which explained the numbness he’d felt before he passed out. He couldn’t remember whether or not he’d hit his target.

  “Dad. I’m so sorry.”

  “Hofberg?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

  She swallowed. “He’s dead.”

  Butterfly stitches held together a gash on her left cheek and another cut above her right eye. There were bruises on her neck, bruises in the shape of the asshole’s thumbprints.

  “He made me call you,” she said. “I didn’t want to.”

  “I knew something wasn’t right. The tone of your voice—the hesitation—I thought you might be trying to warn me.”

  She couldn’t stop the tears. Her head fell forward. “You could have been killed. I’m so sorry, Dad.”

  “Not your fault,” he said. “It was mine, all mine.”

  The paramedic sitting next to Holly checked his IV. “The bulletproof vest was a good call,” he told Yuhasz. “You did take a hit to your shoulder, though, barely missing your subclavian artery. From what I’m hearing, your friend Jeffrey called for an ambulance before a shot was even fired. We got there a few seconds after you went down. You’re a lucky man.”

  Yuhasz looked at his daughter. “Yes, I am.” And then he closed his eyes and let the pain medication take care of the rest.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Reports were filled out, and the woman who had attacked Faith was examined by EMS, then handcuffed and taken to jail. Faith thanked the Good Samaritan with the bat for everything he’d done, including risking his own life, and then she drove straight to Sutter Medical Center.

  Jana saw her in the hallway and frantically waved her arms as she rushed to meet her. “Mom filled me in. How did it go?”

  As soon as Jana saw all the scratches on Faith’s face and hands, she went a little crazy. “Oh, my God, what happened to you?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it later. What’s going on? Is Mom all right?”

  “She’s doing fine. What I have to tell you isn’t about Mom.” Jana reached into her purse and handed Faith a picture she’d drawn. It was a little boy with a mop of brown hair. It was hard to tell if this was someone she was supposed to recognize. Faith looked at her sister. “Who is this?”

  “His name is Callan.”

  Faith thought about it for a moment and then shook her head. The name meant nothing to her. Her sister had always had a talent for sketching, and as Faith continued to stare at the picture, it dawned on her who the boy might be. “Is this Rage’s son?”

  Eyes bright, Jana nodded proudly.

  “Did you meet him?”

  More nodding.

  “How did you do it? How did you find him?” Beast and his dad were bounty hunters, and yet they’d had absolutely no luck when it came to locating the
child.

  “The friend I told you about, the woman who was adopted, was able to help me. But I’m not allowed to ever mention her name or how we got the information.”

  Faith nodded in understanding. She thought of Rage and how happy she would be to finally see her son. “Have you told Rage the good news?”

  Jana shook her head. “Not yet. Callan’s parents haven’t decided what they’re going to do. They have my name and number. They know all about you and how you met Rage. You would love them, Faith. Rage would love them. No matter what happens, Callan is in good hands.”

  Faith took Jana’s hands in hers. “This is great news. You did good.” Faith gestured toward Mom’s room down the hallway. “Is Mom awake?”

  “Yeah, she’s doing well. One more question, though, before you head that way.”

  Faith waited.

  “Do you know Rage’s real name?”

  “Sally,” she said with a smile.

  “Really? And what about Beast?”

  “Charlie.”

  “Hmm. Never would have guessed. Charlie and Sally.”

  “Last names?” Jane asked.

  “No idea.” Faith looked at her sister. “Are you coming with me?”

  “Nah. I’m going to go home to my husband for a while and maybe get a few hours of sleep. It’s been a crazy day.”

  Yeah, she could say that again. As Faith watched her sister walk away, she hugged her bag close to her body, felt the hard corners of the binder inside. She still hadn’t had a chance to look at all its contents. After being attacked in the parking lot, she didn’t feel safe looking at it in her car. She needed to check on Mom and then find a place to make copies of everything in the binder. She would have told Yuhasz about her meeting with Robyn Price, but he never showed up at the airport, and she didn’t trust anyone else.

  Early the next morning Faith knocked on the door of the house in Roseville where Beast, Rage, and Little Vinnie lived. She didn’t have to wait long for Little Vinnie to open the door. Inside, she saw Beast and Rage sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. It was good to see all three of them. It felt as if she hadn’t seen them in weeks, but it had been only a couple of days since the shooting incident at their last anger management class.