by T. R. Ragan
The next shot was of Barb standing next to a woman in front of a home in a quiet neighborhood. “This is Nicky Beechler, who lives across the street from where a half-dozen arrests were made in the past hour. Nicky, if you don’t mind, could you tell our viewers exactly what happened?”
“Well,” Nicky said nervously, seemingly not quite sure whether to look into the camera or at the reporter. “I’ve got three kids I need to watch after. And for months now I’ve seen a lot of activity over there.” She pointed across the street. “People, mostly men, visited the house at odd hours. That wouldn’t have struck me as strange, but one time I saw a young girl in the upstairs window looking right at me, and I swear to God she mouthed the words help me. So I called the police. But nothing came of it.” She shrugged. “There wasn’t nothing else I could do. But earlier today I got an anonymous call. The person told me the people across the street were part of a sex-trafficking ring.”
“Who do you think called you?”
Nicky Beechler shook her head. “No idea.”
“What did you do after you got the call?”
“I was upset, very upset. So this time I decided I’d go ahead and call everyone I could think of: the FBI, the police, and you people in the media.”
“Well, it looks like you did the right thing.”
“I hope so. I’m tired of this sh—oops, sorry, this crap going down right in front of my eyes and nobody doing nothing about it.”
“As you can see,” Barb said as she looked into the lens of the camera, “everyday citizens like Nicky Beechler have had enough—”
Beth hit the “Power” button, and the screen went black. “There was also news of three men duct taped to various telephone poles on Cavitt Stallman Road in Granite Bay. Each of the men had been stripped naked and had the words sex trafficker written on their chests and foreheads.” She looked at Faith. “I think you’re helping to get the word out,” Beth went on, “by bringing awareness and giving citizens the courage to make phone calls and let people know what’s going on.”
Faith looked at Kirsten. “Do you think there could be a connection to last night’s meeting?”
Beth frowned. “Did I miss something?”
“We can trust her,” Faith told Kirsten before returning her attention to Beth. “In my search for answers, I was able to get my hands on a long list of names, people in Sacramento said to be involved in trafficking.”
“So I gathered my friends,” Kirsten chimed in, “and we met last night. The plan is to watch these people to see if any of them might lead us to Lara.”
“And the connection between the arrest and your list?” Beth asked.
Faith’s and Kirsten’s cell phones beeped at the same time.
Kirsten smiled. “It’s a text from Caralea Batts. Nicky, who we saw on TV, happened to be the neighbor of one of the men who appeared on both our lists. Caralea was our anonymous tipster.”
Faith smiled, too. Twenty-four hours hadn’t yet passed since their talk, and yet they’d already managed to take a known trafficker off the street. And the best part was Aster Williams and his men would never be able to make a connection to Faith.
Beth’s eyes brightened. “I want to help.”
Nobody said a word.
“I’m a firearms expert,” Beth went on. “I’ve spent hours volunteering my time, teaching women of all ages about pistol packing and personal safety.”
“I had no idea,” Faith said.
“Between your friend Beast and your dad, I figured you were taken care of in that regard. I should have said something when you came to visit on Thanksgiving Day.”
“I think Faith would agree we could use all the help we can get,” Kirsten said. She then proceeded to explain to Beth how to download the app so she could add her name to the list.
Faith nodded. “We would love your help,” she said before gesturing toward the bedroom at the end of the hallway. “I’m going to go check on Hudson. I’ll be right back.”
She found Hudson in Lara’s room, sitting on the bed and holding his sister’s favorite stuffed animal, a German shepherd named Frisky. She was about to go to him, try to comfort him, when he said, “You won’t find her.”
“What did you say?” she asked, unsure if she’d heard him correctly.
“You won’t find Lara. She’s gone.”
“No,” Faith said, her heart breaking from the sad picture he made. “We will find your sister. We have lots of people helping us, and we’ll never stop looking.”
“It won’t matter.”
Faith’s brow furrowed as she watched him, waiting for him to look at her. Instead he continued to study the stuffed animal, intently, his fingers brushing through old, wiry fur.
“You don’t know these people the way I do,” he said. “I’ve lived with them. I’ve heard stories about what they do with girls like Lara. You don’t know the bad things they can do.”
There was a long pause before Faith said, “You don’t know the bad things I can do. We found you, and we will find your sister.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for the first time since he’d returned home, she felt as if he saw her.
NINE
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Faith asked Rage.
Faith had just arrived at the house in Roseville where Rage lived with Beast and Little Vinnie. Rage was sick. Very sick. When they first met, it was easy to forget that Rage had terminal brain cancer; mostly because she did everything with such confidence and determination. How could anyone who was dying walk with a swagger and talk with such bravado, she used to wonder. But now Faith knew it was 100 percent stubbornness that kept the girl up and moving day and night.
“I’m only going to say this once.” Rage pointed her index finger at Faith, and then at Beast, and finally at Little Vinnie. “In case you didn’t hear me one of the hundred times I told you all, I’m not going to be around very much longer. Until I take my last breath, though, I refuse to lie in bed like a worthless corpse. I’m not quitting until I’ve done all I can to help find Lara.”
When Faith opened her mouth to speak, Rage shook her hand at her and said, “I’m not finished.”
Faith waited patiently for her to do just that; they all did.
“I like to think I played a hand in helping you find your son,” she said to Faith, “but that’s neither here nor there because we’re not finished. Hell, we’ve hardly got this party started. And none of you are continuing on this mad search for Lara without me.” She plunked her hands on bony hips. “Understand?”
Faith nodded. Beast grunted, and Little Vinnie stood there in his faded denim overalls and rubbed his chin.
“Can we talk about those men you three deposited around the city?” Faith asked.
“Sure.”
“What were you thinking, leaving those men naked and fastened to telephone poles?”
“What did you want us to do?” Rage asked. “Call the police?”
Faith nodded. “That might have been a good idea.”
“Listen,” Beast said matter-of-factly. “The last thing I wanted to do was spend hours at the police station filling out paperwork. Besides, I wanted to send a message.”
“A message?” Faith asked.
“Yeah, don’t fuck with us, or else.” Rage smiled. “Any more questions?”
Faith frowned. Rage, Beast, and Little Vinnie made quite a trio. All for one and one for all. Like it or not, they were going to do things their way. She wasn’t looking forward to being interrogated by Detective Yuhasz. If he did question her, she would just have to play dumb.
“All righty then. Time to move on.” Rage reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out a beige utility shirt and matching beige slacks that she held up for their perusal. On the front shirt pocket was embroidered “West Coast Gas,” and beneath the fake organization was the name “Jim.” “I ordered one for each of us.” With a wink she added, “Names were changed to protect the innocent.”
“What’s all that for?” Faith asked Rage.
“After you brought over that binder of yours, I got an idea and went ahead and ordered these uniforms. I think it’s time we pay Aster Williams a visit. I would love to have a look inside his house and see what we might find there.”
Beast crossed his arms. “And how do you propose we do that?”
“I thought you’d never ask. We dress up like the local utility guys—the same people you would most likely call if you were afraid you had a gas leak. We park outside Aster Williams’s mansion at the top of the hill. I used the satellite feature on the Internet to get a good look at the property. The place overlooks Folsom Lake. We wait for him to leave. When he’s gone, we go to the door and talk to his wife, tell her it’s urgent and how calls have been flooding in about a suspicious odor at the end of their road. We’ll tell her officials believe there’s a natural gas leak in one of the underground pipes, and we need to take a quick look around inside and outside the residence to make sure there are no signs of a gas leak inside her house.”
“What sort of signs?” Faith asked.
“Has she noticed any hissing or blowing sounds coming from any of her appliances,” Rage said. “Stuff like that.”
Beast crossed his arms. “All four of us are going to walk up to Aster Williams’s house and knock on the door?”
“Of course not. Little Vinnie and I will be the utility people. We both have a certain air of innocence about us.”
Beast released a ponderous sigh, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Go on.”
“You and Faith will sit in the car, and if anyone shows up unexpectedly, you shoot me a text.”
Nobody said a word.
“I’m finished,” Rage said. “That’s all I’ve got. This is our chance to get information from the big guy.”
“This is crazy talk,” Beast said.
Rage smiled. “And that’s why we need to strike fast. Men like Aster believe they’re untouchable. I bet you he’d never believe for a second that Faith would be foolish enough to attempt such a crazy scheme.”
“Never,” Faith agreed.
“No telling what we’ll find,” Rage said. “But no matter what, it’s worth a shot. Might as well start at the top and work our way down. If we find nothing, we strike him from our list and move on. One by one,” she said as she pretended to cross names off an invisible list in the air, “until we find her.”
“Going inside Aster Williams’s home is risky and much too dangerous,” Beast said.
“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Faith said.
Rage smiled. “Thanks.”
“When do we go?” Little Vinnie asked.
“Tomorrow morning. Any objections?”
“We’ll need a truck or a van,” Beast said, clearly not happy.
“That won’t be a problem,” Faith said. “I can pick one up from my brother’s work tonight.”
“Great. Looks like Project Gas Leak will go into effect first thing tomorrow morning.” Rage turned around and began shuffling through the top drawer in the kitchen where she stored her gun. She pulled out a pistol, then rifled through another drawer for a cartridge. When she was done, she looked back at the three of them standing in various positions in the living area. “Ready to go?”
“Where to?” Little Vinnie asked.
“There’s a certain bar in East Sac owned by two cousins, both of whom are on the list,” Rage said matter-of-factly. “I thought we could hit them up tonight.”
Beast frowned. “I thought we were focusing on Aster?”
Rage snorted. “Why are you questioning all my plans? We can’t hit up Aster Williams’s place until the morning, so I figured we might as well pay these two guys a visit tonight.”
“Why them?” Faith asked.
“Because they own a bar, and I need a drink.”
Little Vinnie shook his head. “You are going to be the death of me. You know that, don’t you?”
“Sure, yeah,” Rage said. “I’m the grim reaper’s best friend. Are we going to stand here all night or actually get something done and pay a few of these dirtbags a visit?”
“I agree,” Faith said. “I’m going.”
Rage smiled. “Let’s go, then.”
Rage was absolutely right. What were they supposed to do, sit here and twiddle their thumbs? They needed to take advantage of every single second. She watched her newfound friends gather their things and couldn’t help but wonder where she would be without them.
Patrick turned up the TV and did his best to ignore the knocking on the door. He never should have opened the door the first time the kid had knocked. She was becoming an annoyance. Winston Wolf had yet to return his call, which probably meant he was afraid Aster would find out about their little business deal.
Fuck Wolf.
He’d just have to find another buyer.
More knocking. Rap, rap, rap. Louder this time.
For Christ’s sake. He dropped the remote on the seat next to him and headed for the hallway. He grabbed his keys from the dining room table, unlocked the door, and pulled it wide-open. “What do you want?”
She jumped and then teetered on the edge of the step, arms flailing.
He grabbed a fistful of her cotton shirt to stop her from falling backward down the stairs. Pissed at the thought of losing her in such a way, he pulled her into the hallway and shut the door.
She was breathing hard. Her eyes looked all big and glossy.
He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you dare cry.”
“Or what will you do—hit me?”
He raised a fist, ready to clobber her, but something more than good sense stopped him, and he dropped his hand to his side. “What do you want?” The little shit hadn’t the decency to look afraid.
“You asked me once if I wanted to come upstairs and watch TV.”
“Yeah, so? That was before. This is now.”
“I’m bored.”
“Too bad. Read another book. I gave you a whole pile of them.”
“I can hear the TV in the other room. Can’t I watch it with you? Just for a little while?”
He narrowed his eyes, wondering what she was up to.
“How come you’re not married?” she asked.
Yeah, he thought. She was definitely up to something. Trying to get him to open up and become her pal. “Because I like being alone,” he answered.
“Why?”
“Because when you live alone you don’t have anyone talking in your ear. Constant gibberish gives me a headache.”
He proceeded to the living room.
The kid followed.
He plunked down on the couch and continued to watch his show.
“Who’s this?”
He glanced to his right where she was standing. She was looking at a framed black-and-white photo on a bookshelf. He ignored her, even went so far as to turn up the volume again.
“Is this a picture of you when you were little?” she asked, her voice loud enough to be heard over his show.
“Yeah.”
“Is that your sister?”
Fuck. He turned the volume down. “Yep. She drowned about a year after the picture was taken.”
“Oh.”
He returned his attention to his show. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her examine the photo closer. She wasn’t playing games. He couldn’t help but wonder what it was about the photo that intrigued her. He considered asking her, but then inwardly scolded himself and tried to forget she was in the room. He wasn’t worried about her getting away. Every door in the place, and there weren’t many, was bolted shut. He didn’t have a landline, and he kept his cell phone on him at all times. That didn’t mean he was stupid enough to let her run willy-nilly alone in the house all day. But it also didn’t hurt to let the kid stretch her legs a bit since the basement was basically a ten-by-ten space su
rrounded by four cement walls. He’d be rid of her soon enough.
Clearly, Lara thought, Patrick had gotten used to having her around. He wasn’t a friendly person, but neither was he especially cruel. Every time he let her out of the basement and into his own personal space, he seemed to relax a little bit more. If she made her way into the kitchen for a glass of water or something to eat, though, he always followed her.
He didn’t trust her. And that was too bad because she knew which knife was the sharpest, and she wanted to hide it in her waistband. Once she had the knife in her possession, she figured she could pretend she was sleeping the next time he came down the stairs to check on her. When he got close enough she would pounce, stab the knife into his throat, and then run. Once she reached the top of the stairs, she would lock him in the basement and then use a chair to reach the higher locks on the front door. Or toss the chair through the window, at the very least.
She set the picture of him and his sister back on the table and then slid open the tiny drawer.
“Shut the drawer,” he said without looking at her. “And stop being so nosy.”
She sighed. “I’m hungry. Can I make cookies?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have the ingredients. Sit down and shut up, or you’re going back to the basement.”
“You have sugar, flour, eggs, and butter,” she said. “That’s all I need.”
He looked at her then. “What are you up to, kid?”
“I’m bored, and when I’m bored I like to eat cookies.”
He shook his head. “Go ahead. Have fun.”
“Really?”
“I’m not going to say it again.”
She ran off, couldn’t believe he’d agreed to let her bake cookies. Her plan might work. The thought of escaping, of seeing her family again, made her feel happier than she’d felt in a very long time. She wanted to bake in her own kitchen with her mom, watch her brother’s face light up when Mom gave him cold milk and a plate of cookies. Dad would make a joke about how he didn’t get enough chocolate chips in his cookies, and then he would chase Hudson around, fighting for the “good” cookie. Her heart swelled at the thought of seeing them again. She missed her family so much.
