Wrath (Faith McMann Trilogy Book 3)

by T. R. Ragan

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Once Faith arrived at the shipping yard, driving no more than five miles per hour, she leaned into the steering wheel, looking from side to side, hoping to see any sign of life through the thick layer of fog.

  Two trucks were parked outside a string of cream-colored buildings. She drove that way, parked, and climbed out of the car. Gun in hand, she ran toward the trucks. Keeping an eye out for any movement at all, hoping to find someone, anyone, who might be able to tell her where she could find the North Terminal.

  The buildings were boxy and nondescript. The area was vast and deserted. The shipyard looked nothing like she’d imagined it would. There weren’t many containers. As she came around the corner, she had to maneuver around equipment that looked as if it might be waiting to be shipped. There were wind turbines that looked like aircraft propeller blades, along with gearboxes and towers.

  She walked at a good pace, more of a jog. It had been past six when she left the car. A strong breeze worked against her forward movement. She passed another vast, empty area and then came upon construction equipment secured by four walls of chain-link fence.

  Frustrated that she couldn’t find anyone, and feeling as if she was getting nowhere fast, she ran back the way she’d come to her car. She jumped inside, made a U-turn, and headed the other way. There were no signs telling her which way she was going, but she knew she was headed north. Again she drove along at no more than five miles an hour, hoping Colton would arrive soon.

  Another half minute passed before she spotted a car parked at a weird angle, as if the driver had been in a hurry. She made a sharp left and headed that way.

  The moment she saw it was a BMW, her pulse quickened.

  She pulled up behind the car, jumped out, and ran to the BMW. She opened the passenger door. Inside was a bag, books scattered against the backseat. A lump formed in her throat. Lara had to be here somewhere. She needed to hurry.

  She turned toward the shipping yard. Without the buildings to protect her, the wind hit her full force. Keeping her head down, her body bent forward, she moved toward the only two ships she could see from where she stood. She passed by endless stacks of empty wood crates, and then somehow managed to trap herself in a maze of orange, green, and gray shipping containers.

  Cursing, knowing she was running out of time, she headed back the way she’d just come.

  Yuhasz put on the flashing lights. Faith’s brother, Colton, was in his truck behind him.

  “Over there,” Colton said to Yuhasz over the speakerphone. “Faith said she traded in her car for a Toyota Corolla. That has to be it.”

  They pulled up, one after the other, next to the Toyota and a black BMW. Colton jumped out of his truck and ran to have a look inside the vehicles.

  Yuhasz climbed out of his cruiser and opened the trunk. As he put on his vest, Colton joined him. “Nobody is inside either car.” Colton pointed to the left. “I’ll go that way.”

  Yuhasz nodded. It would be a waste of time to try to stop him. The whole damn McMann clan had turned out to be an energetic bunch of stubborn human beings who regarded danger as a mere inconvenience. Not one of them knew how to follow orders. “Watch your back,” Yuhasz said, but his words vanished within a gusty breeze before they ever reached Colton McMann’s ears.

  Yuhasz called for backup and then took off in the opposite direction Colton had gone. Although he had yet to regain full motion of his right arm, he wasn’t worried. He could shoot just as well with his left. Yeah, he’d take hell from Lieutenant Harris and most likely Sergeant Bell, too, for heading out alone, but he didn’t like the idea of sitting in his car staring out into what looked like a deserted ghost town covered in fog, knowing that two innocent civilians were out there, possibly three.

  As he neared rows of containers, the only sound was the wind causing the metal to squeak and squeal. The place was eerie, devoid of people. The air smelled industrial and heavy. He kept his footfalls light, didn’t want to alert anyone to his presence. As he neared the pier, he could smell wet wood, heard the sound of water lapping against the wood siding. The strong wind pushed against him as he made his way toward the ship docked up ahead.

  He stopped and listened, his senses sharp.

  He turned, slowly, staying in place where he stood, pivoting on the balls of his feet, making a complete 360-degree turn.

  Something told him he was being watched. A hunch. A feeling. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a movement near the water.

  He headed that way, every muscle stiff, every ounce of his mind and body focused. A strange sensation ran through him, as if someone or something was warning him to turn back the other way. He would do no such thing.

  Ridiculous.

  He trudged onward, doing his best to ignore the intense pain in his right shoulder, determined to reach the monstrous ship and get to the bottom of whatever madness had eluded him thus far.

  Lara wasn’t sure exactly what Patrick planned to do with her, but she knew they were waiting for someone. He’d made that clear. The ship they stood by was frightening, a huge metal monster ready to devour her. Water lapped between the hulk of metal and the dock. She didn’t want to get on the ship or go anywhere at all. She wanted to be with her mom and dad. She thought about running, but instead stood rooted in place by fear, her body shivering, her teeth chattering.

  “Knock it off,” Patrick warned her, his fingers clamped around the back of her neck.

  “I’m fre-eez-ing.”

  “Someone will be here soon. Remember everything I’ve told you.”

  “There’s something in my eye. It hurts. I need you to get it out for me.”

  Patrick let out a frustrated groan as he bent down on one knee to take a look.

  This was it, Lara decided. This could be her very best and last chance to escape.

  She’d been practicing the move for days.

  The top of his head was level with hers. She raised her arm high above her head. He looked up to see what she was doing, and that’s when she brought her arm down hard, stabbing the nail she’d been holding into his face, hitting him in the eye.

  He screamed, a horrible screeching, high-pitched noise. She’d never heard such a sound, like a wolf howling in the misty night. She saw blood, and she ran.

  Just when Yuhasz was beginning to think the pain in his shoulder might stop him from going forward, he heard someone scream and saw something appear from the fog. It was a child, and he or she was heading his way.

  With so little rest over the past few days, he thought he might be seeing things. But the feeling didn’t last long. What he was seeing was real. The child was frantic, running fast, arms pumping at his or her sides.

  Right as Yuhasz took a step toward the child, the sharp retort of gunfire pierced his eardrums and sent him two steps back. Unsure of whether he’d been struck but feeling no pain, he charged forward and scooped the child into his arms and ran toward the metal containers, hoping to find some protection there.

  It was a girl, he realized as he ran.

  She screamed at him as her small fists pummeled against his neck and face. Her fingernails dug into his ear and cheekbone, but he refused to loosen his hold. His good arm had most of her weight. He tried to use his other hand to cover her mouth and keep her quiet. It was no use. Her teeth connected with flesh. She bit down hard.

  White-hot pain bolted through his skull. Still he held tight, running as fast as he could toward the thickest of fog in hopes the shooter wouldn’t see where he was taking her.

  Two more shots were fired in rapid succession. A bullet clipped the corner of the metal container in front of him, ricocheted and whizzed past his ear. Adrenaline pushed him onward. Every breath was a struggle, every step more difficult than the last as the little girl fought for her freedom.

  Having finally reached cover, he almost lost his hold on the kid as he slid down, his back against metal, his hand wrapped tightly over her mouth despite the teeth digging
deeper and breaking new skin. Up close, he recognized her at once. Those eyes. He couldn’t help but feel as if he were looking at Faith. “I know your mom,” he told her, his voice wavering.

  She shook her head wildly. Focused on getting away, she didn’t believe him.

  “Your aunt Jana had a baby,” he said, stringing words together as fast as he could think of them, knowing the shooter would be upon them soon. “They haven’t picked a name yet, but it’s a boy.”

  Her eyes narrowed; her cries went from sounding like a growl to a whimper.

  “And your brother, Hudson, is home,” he went on. “Grandpa Russell and your uncle Colton found him in the mountains with other boys who had been taken, just like you.”

  She stopped struggling. Finally.

  Thank you, Jesus. But he knew better than to loosen his hold. His face was mere inches from hers. Her eyes were round and bright, still cautious and accusing. “I’m a detective with the police. I’ve been working with your mother since the beginning,” he told her, his voice returning to normal.

  Her head was pressed hard into his chest and shoulder.

  He winced from the pain her movement caused. “Grandma Lilly misses you, and not a day goes by that she doesn’t look through the photograph books she’s made over the years, praying for your return.”

  Tears rolled down over his fingers still over her mouth. He felt her body sag and then fall limp.

  “Everyone has told me you look like your dad, but you have the exact same eyes as your mother. I would have recognized you anywhere.”

  Her breathing grew shallow; her chest no longer rose and fell like a buoy in rough seas.

  “If I take my hand from your mouth, you won’t scream?”

  She nodded ever so slightly.

  He removed his hand from her mouth, then set her to the side, and told her not to move. He flattened his body against the container, readied his gun, and peeked around the corner.

  The shooter had been waiting for a movement. A shot rang out. Yuhasz fired back. He then looked at Lara again, pointed in the direction Colton had gone earlier. “Can you run?”

  She nodded. And he knew it was true. She’d been running like the wind when he’d grabbed her. “Your uncle Colton and your mom are close by. They’re both looking for you.” He pointed again. “I want you to run that way, but not until I get this guy’s attention, OK?”

  She nodded.

  “Do not run toward the ship or the pier. Run straight toward those buildings over there.”

  “What about you?” she asked.

  Just like her mom, he thought. Always worrying about everyone else. “I’ll be fine. As soon as I take a shot, that’s your signal to run.”

  Yuhasz stepped out from behind the containers, arms held straight out in front of him, gun aimed. The view before him was all gray and misty shadows. The wind had died down somewhat, but the fog was thickest by the water, making it difficult to see much.

  Every step echoed off the wood planks as he walked toward the pier. His senses were on full alert. The air smelled of fish and metal.

  “Don’t move or I’ll shoot,” a male voice called out.

  Yuhasz turned toward the voice. In the distance, he saw a dark form take shape. “Put your gun down,” Yuhasz told him. “It’s over.”

  “It’s only just begun,” the voice said. “I know who you are.”

  Keep talking, Yuhasz thought as he stepped closer.

  “Your son-in-law was a talker, told me all about you,” the voice continued. “He said you lacked courage and you always followed the rules.” Laughter followed. “Where did that get you, Detective?”

  As he grew closer, Yuhasz could finally see the man’s face. His right eye was bloodied and swollen. “Put the gun down,” Yuhasz said again, his tone firm.

  “I’m not like you, Detective. I don’t allow others to tell me what to do.”

  “Oh no? Aren’t you one of Aster Williams’s minions?”

  “I’m afraid you have the wrong man.”

  “I don’t think so,” Yuhasz said as he took another few steps closer, keeping his eye on the gun.

  “What kind of man sits behind a desk day after day, filling out paperwork, blindly following senseless laws created by the most corrupt of them all while letting a schoolteacher do his work for him?”

  Yuhasz was thick-skinned when it came to criticism of himself and the department. It came with the job. He was used to it. “Put the gun down, and we’ll talk about it on the way to the station,” Yuhasz told him, intent on bringing him in.

  “You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” the one-eyed man said, his weight shifting to the left as if a bit unstable on his feet. “I should let you take me to prison so I can give you a call after my lawyers get me out and I walk free.” He chuckled. “All this trouble you’ve gone to, Detective, and for what?”

  “Put the gun on the ground, and then put your hands behind your head.”

  The one-eyed man slowly dropped the arm holding the gun.

  The relief Yuhasz felt was shortsighted, because the one-eyed man raised his arm again and fired.

  The bullet grazed Yuhasz’s leg, sending a wave of fiery heat through his body. The second shot hit his vest and pushed him backward, staggering and gasping for breath. The next shot hit his bad arm.

  Mad as hell and cursing, Yuhasz raised the gun clasped in his left hand as he marched forward. His eyes shifted to the man’s head. He pointed and fired.

  Target down.

  Yuhasz limped toward the man, knelt down and felt for a pulse.

  There was none. The one-eyed man had taken a clean shot through the forehead. There was hardly any blood, just a grayish ring of discoloration around the entrance wound. He looked closely at the dead man’s face. Dark hair, straight nose, square jaw.

  He didn’t know the man’s name. And for the first time since he’d sworn to serve and protect, he didn’t care who this man was or what his story was or if he even had one. Even so, taking a life felt no different than it always did—it felt like shit.

  Yuhasz took a moment to look around, peering through fog, listening to the distant sound of water lapping against the dock.

  Life and death were no joke.

  In this day and age it wasn’t always easy to maintain pride and idealism on the job. Human trafficking and the war on drugs on a good day seemed futile. On a bad day it was a collective problem society could not seem to fix.

  Ignoring the piercing aches and pains sweeping through every part of his body, he pushed the button on his portable scanner and said, “Multiple shots fired. Suspect dead.”

  Faith had been running since she heard the first sound of gunfire. She felt as if she were on a treadmill, her legs churning, faster and faster, and yet she seemed to be getting nowhere. The fog grew thicker as she went along, causing her to lose her bearings. Disoriented, she stopped to look around, tried to calculate where she was and figure out if she was headed in the right direction. She swallowed. “Lara!” she called out as fear threatened to bring her to her knees.

  Another shot rang out.

  She turned toward the sound of the gunfire just as a child ran out from between two containers, headed right for her.

  Faith froze. The child’s hair was black and cut short around her ears. Colton had said he believed her hair had been dyed black. Lara? Could it be? Faith rushed toward the child.

  “Mom,” Lara cried.

  Faith fell to her knees so she could take a better look. She lifted Lara’s chin so she could see her face. The eyes were the same. Her turned-up nose and soft pink lips. Her beautiful, heart-shaped face, she thought as she smoothed back the hair away from her forehead. It was her. It was Lara. “I can’t believe it’s really you,” Faith said.

  Lara nodded, tears running down both sides of her face. Her lip trembled as she said, “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.”

  Faith hugged her tight and then ran her hands over Lara’s shoulders. Her daught
er was thin and pale, her eyes fearful, her cheeks hollow, but it was her. She’d found Lara.

  For months she’d dreamed about this moment. It was hard to believe it was real. She kissed her daughter’s forehead, her cheek, her nose. “You’re here,” she said. “My little girl is coming home.”

  Lara nodded between sobs.

  “I’ve missed you so much it hurts.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” Lara said. “I never want to leave home again.”

  “Everything is going to be all right.” They held each other close, neither wanting to let go of the other, not even for a second. The ache, the horrible, heartbreaking ache she’d felt for too long, lifted within, leaving her weak and frail. Faith breathed in her daughter’s scent. Touching her, seeing her, holding her. It was a miracle.

  It took another shot being fired to remind Faith that they needed to keep moving, find a place to hide until Colton arrived. “We have to go,” she told Lara, pushing herself to her feet and lifting her daughter into her arms, despite the searing pain in her hand. Lara’s thin legs wrapped around her waist as Faith headed off in the opposite direction from where Lara had come.

  Sirens sounded in the distance. Thank God.

  Faith kept running, except she wasn’t running at all, she realized. She was limping, walking as fast as she could but definitely not running. Every part of her was shutting down, but they had come too far to stop now.

  No sooner had she made her way past the same equipment she’d seen earlier than she saw a man heading in their direction. Unable to see him clearly, she turned around, ready to run.

  “Faith!”

  She stopped, looked over her shoulder at the sound of a familiar voice.

  It was Colton.

  He stepped forward, hands out, palms up. “It’s me,” he said.

  Faith’s knees wobbled.

  Colton lunged forward and caught her, stopped her from falling to the ground.

  “I’m OK,” she said once she regained her balance.