Outrage (Faith McMann Trilogy Book 2)

by T. R. Ragan

  “What about Lara? Was she with the woman?”

  He shook his head, slowly, sadly. “They found Weaver in a motel room. There was no sign of Lara.”

  Faith began to pace the area in front of his bed. “Tell me that your men, the FBI, someone was at least able to question her. They must know something.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” she said. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. That woman, my best chance at finding my daughter, was able to walk right out of prison and disappear, and now you’re telling me she’s not aware enough to be questioned? This is ridiculous.” She yanked the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to go to her room and question her myself, something you and your men should have done the moment she was apprehended.”

  “There’s more,” he said with a sigh.

  She didn’t like the look on his face, but she waited patiently for him to tell her the rest.

  “Ryan O’Sullivan was here a few minutes ago. They need you to go to the morgue to identify a body.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Whose body?”

  “A child. A young boy.”

  Her stomach rumbled. Her breathing hitched. “What’s going on? Do my dad and brother know about this?”

  He shook his head. “Nobody has been able to locate them.”

  “Well, I don’t understand. Where did this body come from then?”

  “At least a half-dozen men are still scouring the forest in Mendocino. They found two bodies. One belonged to an adult male, who has been identified as a known drug trafficker. The other body belongs to a young boy and has yet to be identified. Under the circumstances we were able to have the body brought here to the Sacramento County Coroner on Broadway.”

  She drew her shoulders back. “So you think it’s Hudson?”

  “I don’t know, Faith. I only know what I just told you. I’m sorry.”

  This was crazy talk. There was no way Hudson was gone. Her stomach heaved at the thought. “Why would you be sorry unless you thought it was my son?” she asked, her voice shaky.

  He exhaled. “I’m sorry you have to go through this, but you need to remain hopeful.”

  Her hands visibly shook as she searched through her bag for her car keys. She needed to hold it together. It’s not Hudson, she kept repeating over and over again in her mind. She left his room without saying another word.

  It took her thirty minutes to get to the building on Broadway. She needed to fill out some paperwork and hand over her ID. It was a while before the security guard led her through a back door, where she was handed off to a woman in uniform. She followed her down a long hallway, waited while she signed Faith in and made her sign on the dotted line before leading her through two steel doors.

  The room was cold and sterile. A woman in a lab coat stood at the counter, washing her hands with her back to Faith. There was a scale near the sink area. In the middle of the room was a stainless steel table. The small body lying on top was covered with a sheet.

  Faith wondered suddenly why she was here.

  She never should have come. Her son wasn’t dead.

  She didn’t need to lift the sheet to see his face because she already knew it wasn’t him. Hudson was alive and well. He was only nine. Did these people realize that?

  The woman at the sink put on a pair of latex gloves before she turned toward Faith. “I’m the coroner, Harriet Foster. I wish there was an easier way to tell you this, but before I lift the sheet, I need you to know there’s not much left for you to view. It’s not a pretty sight by any means, and if you change your mind and feel you can’t go through with the viewing, I understand. We’ll be able to get DNA samples and run tests that way.”

  Faith drew in a shaky breath. “I need to see him.”

  The woman nodded and then walked across the room and stopped at the table. When Faith was positioned on the other side, the coroner carefully lifted the sheet, folding it as far back as his legs.

  Faith looked at the disfigured form, unblinking and thoroughly confused. Most of its head was missing. Clumps of hair remained, half a nose, bits of skin and flesh where there might have once been a face. Half the skull had been blown away. Flashes of light flickered within her brain. Why had they called her here? This thing couldn’t be human. It was no boy, certainly not her boy.

  “What is this?” Faith asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t understand what I’m looking at. Is this thing human?”

  The woman looked across the room, perhaps searching for help. And then she took hold of the corner of the sheet and began to cover it back up.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I think you’ve seen enough.”

  “Leave the sheet as it is,” Faith told her. She swallowed the lump caught in her throat and said, “Just tell me what I’m looking at. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “I haven’t performed an autopsy yet. The detective asked that you get a look first. Judging by the marks on the arms and legs, I would say many of the injuries were caused by more than one wild animal.”

  “This can’t be my son.”

  “Does your son have any identifying marks? Moles, scars, anything at all?”

  “Why would that matter? There’s nothing left of him, for God’s sake.”

  “Hair? Clothing?”

  Feeling light-headed, Faith took a breath and then forced herself to look at the body again. She let her gaze roam over the small chest that was covered with a dark T-shirt she didn’t recognize. Her gaze then fell on the sweatshirt that was unzipped and pushed to the side.

  For a second she forgot to breathe.

  And then she slowly, gently, reached for both sides of the sweatshirt and covered the boy as if she were going to zip him up and send him off to play. That’s when she saw the name tag sewn near the neckline. That’s when she knew exactly who the sweatshirt belonged to. That’s when she knew her son was dead and that she would never see him again.

  The beat of her heart was all she heard as she turned and left the room. She didn’t stop when they called her name, didn’t give one shit about anyone around her.

  Hudson. Hudson. Hudson.

  No.

  This wasn’t happening.

  She was back home, or in the chair in her mom’s hospital room, fast asleep, having a nightmare. There was no other explanation. This had to be a sick joke.

  A hand touched her shoulder.

  She jerked the hand off her, would have growled had they tried to touch her again, but nobody came after her. The restroom was up ahead. She opened the door, stumbled inside, and then barely made it to the toilet before she threw up everything she’d consumed over the past twenty-four hours. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to live. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t a fucking superwoman. She wasn’t half as strong as her friends and family liked to think. She was only human. She used to be a wife and a mother. Now she was all tendons and tissue, nothing more.

  FORTY-SIX

  The farther off course they got, Colton realized, the colder the temperatures. The rain was coming down hard, and the winds had picked up for the first time since Colton and his dad had begun their long journey up the mountain.

  But neither of them was ready to call it quits. Never mind that they had lost the boys’ trail a half mile back.

  It wasn’t looking good for Hudson. Hell, it wasn’t looking good for Colton and his dad, either. Unless his nephew had somehow happened upon a cabin or a cave, some sort of means to keep warm, he’d never make it through an entire night in this kind of weather.

  Lightning lit up the sky, and then thunder shook the earth beneath his feet. Dark clouds hovered overhead, making it appear as if it were night instead of day.

  Dad’s pace had slowed considerably since setting off this morning. His age, along with his deteriorating health, was showing, wearing him down.

 
Colton considered setting up tents right where he stood. He could leave Dad with a fire to keep warm, but he knew just by glancing over his shoulder at him that nothing was going to stop him from continuing onward. Nobody needed to say it to know that Hudson’s time was running out, or that they might all be as good as dead.

  The odds of Hudson surviving in the wild for so long were not good. He was a little boy. He wasn’t a survivalist. He wasn’t trained for this sort of thing.

  What the hell had Colton been thinking leading his dad on this ridiculous path to nowhere? They hadn’t run across another river or a cabin since their second day in the forest. No hints of human life. No trail markers of any kind. Why would Hudson go this way unless he was being chased?

  If they continued on much farther, he’d only serve to get him and his dad killed.

  And then what?

  Colton turned around and walked back to his dad. He inhaled sharply. “I was wrong,” he shouted so he could be heard over the rain. “You were right. It’s time we headed back. I never should have—”

  Gunfire rang out, the sharp retort temporarily numbing his senses.

  “That way!” Dad said, pointing ahead.

  Colton turned back the way he’d been headed moments before and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. The wind whipped against his face and tried to slow him; the rain blinded him as he scrambled through brush and weaved through tall trees, nearly tripping on fallen branches and pinecones.

  He didn’t know how far back Dad was. Couldn’t worry about that now. Dad could take care of himself.

  Colton ran until he was out of breath and struggling for air. But even then he didn’t stop moving forward, not until he saw a circle of stones built around a small fire within a thick grove of trees. A body lay next to the fire, shreds of cloth, bits of an old tent covering everything but small boots.

  Colton walked that way, still trying to catch his breath.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

  The voice sounded familiar.

  Colton looked past the campfire, through brush and trees, and then over his shoulder, trying to figure out where the voice had come from, but between dark clouds and myriad trees, the fire provided too little light.

  Colton heard a rifle being cocked. He raised his hands in the air, praying that the voice he’d heard belonged to Hudson. “It’s me. It’s Colton. Don’t shoot.”

  A small voice came through the wind. “Uncle Colton? Is that really you?”

  “It’s me, Hudson. Grandpa’s here, too.”

  Through the rustling leaves and pounding rain, he heard whimpering first and then a full-blown sob, right before he saw a shadowy figure step out from behind thick brush. It was Hudson. The boy rushed toward him and circled his small arms around Colton’s waist.

  Colton held the boy against him, his heart pounding, tears streaming down his face. He knelt down and ran his hands over the boy’s face and chest. “Are you OK? Are you hurt? Who fired that shot?”

  “I did. We’re out of food. I was trying to get a rabbit, but I missed.”

  “We?”

  Hudson pointed to the form lying near the fire. “I’m OK, but my friend Joey is sick. Real sick. It’s not good.”

  Dad cut through the brush just then, saw his grandson, and froze in place as if he couldn’t quite trust his eyesight. Hudson ran to him and wrapped his skinny arms around Dad’s waist.

  “Thank God,” Colton heard Dad say. “Thank God.”

  “I went the wrong way, Grandpa,” Hudson cried as he held tight, his face half-buried in his grandpa’s side, not ready to let go. “I messed up bad.”

  “You did good, boy. You did good.” Dad knelt down low so he could look Hudson square in the eyes. “I’ve never been so proud.”

  Colton left them and went to see about helping the other boy. By the time Dad and Hudson joined him, Colton had already stripped off his camping gear and pulled out the first-aid kit. “He’s burning up,” Colton said. “And he has frostbite.”

  “His name is Joey,” Hudson told him again.

  Colton stripped off Joey’s boots and wet socks. His feet were hard, and his skin up to his ankles had a waxy shine. Colton reached into his pack and pulled out chemical heating pads and a pair of wool socks. “Dad, I need fresh water and ibuprofen.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Colton and Dad made plans while Colton worked on warming Joey up and Dad worked on Hudson. Both boys had blue fingers and yellowish skin. He wasn’t sure if Joey would make it unless they got his temperature down and got him help right away. “We need to get this boy help.”

  Hudson shivered uncontrollably while Dad unwrapped more heating pads and replaced Hudson’s wet clothes with warm ones.

  It didn’t help matters that his dad was weak, his movements slow. He was worse off than Colton had first thought.

  “Dad,” Colton said. “We need to leave as much gear behind as possible so we have a better chance of reaching the bottom of this mountain as quickly as possible.”

  Dad didn’t have it in him to argue.

  There was no time to question Hudson about his ordeal, either. If they wanted to save both boys, they needed to hurry.

  By the time they were ready to go, Colton’s pack, along with anything he didn’t need for the trek downhill, including his tent, were left at the base of the tree close to Hudson’s campfire.

  Colton would be carrying Joey and therefore needed to lighten his load. They had talked about making a stretcher, but it would only slow them down. And besides, Colton was just as worried about Dad as he was about the two boys.

  “Ready?” Colton asked.

  “Let’s do this,” Dad said.

  The fire was out, and all three of them, Hudson, Colton, and Dad, had headlamps attached by Velcro straps around their heads in case they didn’t make it to the bottom before dark. They were all armed, and they were dressed for warmth, their ears and most of their faces protected from the cold wind.

  They started off single file.

  With Joey cocooned in a blanket and partially slung over his shoulder, Colton led the way. Hudson followed closed behind, with Dad trailing in the back.

  The ground was muddy, and the leaves were slick, making for a slow and slippery pace. With each step Colton thought of Faith and how much she’d suffered these past few months. She’d become nearly unrecognizable.

  But they had found her boy.

  It was a miracle—a glorious miracle.

  If he didn’t get them off the mountain sooner rather than later, all would be for nothing. Colton spared a quick glance over his shoulder. Hudson kept his gaze on the ground, making sure not to slip. The expression on Dad’s face was one of courage and determination. Nothing was going to stop any of them from reaching the bottom as quickly as possible.

  And when he turned back to watch his own footing, he thought of Craig and all that had happened to bring them to this place, this moment, and he cried, couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down his face, blending in with the rain and trickling down his chin and neck. He cried for the loss of his brother-in-law, he cried for his own daughters having to witness such tragedy at such a young age, he cried for his family and for all the girls and boys who never stood a chance.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Rage thought it felt strange being escorted by three men with biceps bigger than Beast’s, but she had to admit she felt safe. She also knew Beast and Little Vinnie were close behind. In fact, it wasn’t often that she didn’t sense Beast watching over her. She’d told him many times to stop hovering, that she needed her space, but that was a lie. She’d grown accustomed to Beast. Everything about him was huge, including his heart. She wouldn’t know what to do if she ever glanced over her shoulder and he wasn’t there.

  Her legs felt a bit weak after yesterday’s episode, but at the moment, excitement and nerves overrode all else.

  Callan. She liked that name. It fit somehow. For two years now she’d begun to think her little boy might be a figment o
f her imagination.

  But he was a real boy.

  And today she would see him for the first time since she’d made the decision to give him up for adoption.

  The nameless ex-military guy who had driven them here stopped at the door, his hand wrapped around the handle. His aviators rested on top of his head. When he looked at Rage, she saw kind blue eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Rage looked over her shoulder at Little Vinnie and then at Beast, who gave her a reassuring nod. She went to Beast and threw herself into his arms. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “I know you can,” Beast said. “You gave him life. You gave me life, too. You can do this.”

  “What if he doesn’t like me?”

  “He’s going to love you. How could he not?”

  She wiped her eyes and then nodded at Beast before turning back toward the door. After taking a breath, she looked at the man in camouflage and said, “I’m ready.”

  “We’ll all be waiting right here when you’re done,” Little Vinnie told her.

  “You can take as much time as you feel you need,” Beast added. “His parents, Danny and Sue, are eager for Callan to meet you.”

  She opened the door.

  Danny and Sue jumped up from their seats, both seemingly as nervous as she was. Danny shook her hand, and then his wife did the same. Sue was pregnant. Nobody had told her.

  “Boy or girl?” Rage asked nervously before wondering if that was a rude question.

  “Girl. We just found out yesterday.”

  “Callan’s going to have a little sister,” Danny said proudly.

  They both nodded in unison—a perfectly adorable couple. They reminded her of Roger and Anita from the Disney movie 101 Dalmatians.

  “Go ahead and say hello to Callan if you’d like. He loves to play with his trucks.”

  Rage had never been so nervous in her life. “Does he know anything about me?”

  “We discussed that recently,” Sue said, “and ended up telling him he was going to meet our good friend Auntie Sally. I hope that’s OK.”