by T. R. Ragan
Mom lifted her arms, clearly frustrated by the sudden turn of events.
“Bri came to pick up a few things and say goodbye,” Jana told Faith. “She’s going to Florida to live with her parents.”
“Does Colton know?” Faith asked.
“No,” Bri said. “I’ve tried to do things your brother’s way—but I can’t do this any longer. I’m sorry.”
“Why now? Did something happen?”
“I awoke in the middle of the night to a strange noise. I called the police. When they arrived, they took a look around. The back door looked as if it might have been tampered with, but the lock still worked and no one had broken in, so they left. I can’t simply wait for these men, whoever they are, to get to us. Every shadow, every noise is cause for panic. I won’t live like this.”
“I’m scared,” Kimberly said, her eyes rimmed with tears.
Bri held her daughter tight.
“All I’m asking,” Lilly said to Bri, “is that you and the girls stay here with us for two nights until Colton returns. Talk to your husband before you run off.”
Bri’s face reddened. “I don’t see how you can possibly look upon your granddaughters, knowing what those men are capable of, and expect me to stay one more minute than is absolutely necessary,” she said. “You obviously want the same thing that happened to Faith’s kids to happen to mine. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
Mom’s hands were shaking now.
Dad stepped close to Mom and put a hand on her shoulder to calm her, but she would have none of it. “How could you say such a thing, Bri? I love all my grandchildren equally, and I would never wish harm to come to any of them.”
“You’ve always been controlling, but telling me to stay in California, where my children will be in danger, is too much.”
“Mom wasn’t telling you what to do,” Jana chimed in. “She was asking.” She put a hand on her stomach and waddled over to a chair to have a seat.
“Wait until your child is born,” Bri told Jana. “I can guarantee you’ll be singing a different tune after he or she comes into the world. I love my kids too much to risk their lives.” Bri looked directly at Faith. “We’ve all been threatened. Colton told me about the phone call you received before all of you took up arms and went marching into unfamiliar territory with guns blazing. How you can allow your loved ones to risk their lives, I do not know. Jana’s husband is in the hospital with a knife wound, for God’s sake. Your brother was shot, and yet he acts as if nothing has changed. You’re all crazy.”
Bri was obviously scared, but that was taking it too far. Faith opened her mouth to protest, but Bri raised a hand to stop her, and said, “I’m not like the rest of you. I can’t do this—walk around with my eyes wide-open, afraid of every shadow, wondering when those horrible men will show up next. I won’t do it. I won’t allow you all to continue to put my family in danger. I’m leaving.”
Faith’s mom sighed, and her shoulders fell as if heavy weights had settled there.
“Mom, it’s OK,” Faith said. “Bri should do what she feels is best.”
Faith’s dad, Russell, spoke for the first time since she’d stepped inside. “If Bri will feel safer living in Florida for a while,” he said, “I don’t think that’s such a horrible idea. I’m going to take Bri and the kids to the airport.” He went to his granddaughters, dropped to his knees, and took them into his arms. “You two take care of your mother while you’re gone. We’re going to miss you, but we know you’re in good hands.” Kimberly and Dacotah wrapped their small arms around his neck. Both of the girls were crying, visibly confused and scared.
Faith went to the girls and said her goodbyes, too.
Mom hugged both of her granddaughters. “I hope you girls know I love you with all my heart.”
After their goodbyes, everyone stood together outside the front entry and watched them drive off.
Faith understood her mom’s wish for Bri to talk to Colton before she left for Florida, but she also understood Bri’s determination to keep her children safe by whatever means possible. She was frightened. They all were. She wondered what she would do in the same situation. The truth was, she didn’t know.
FIVE
Detective Dillon Yuhasz kept a tight grip on the steering wheel as he drove along East Natomas. His thoughts were on Faith McMann, which wasn’t unusual of late. The poor woman had been forced to watch her husband die as her two children were taken from their home. But Faith refused to sit idly by while authorities worked her case.
In the beginning he’d thought of McMann as an annoyance since she expected to be a part of every aspect of the investigation. But somehow, God help him, she’d grown on him, and now he found himself admiring her determination and perseverance. Nothing was going to stop her from finding her children. And to hell with anyone who got in her way.
Overall Faith’s plight made him think about his own two daughters. They were in their early forties, two years apart. One was in a relationship. The other was married with two children. Although his daughters hadn’t been taken from him, he felt as if he’d somehow lost them over the years.
As a father, he already knew he was a failure. But seeing the certainty in Faith’s eyes when she’d pointed at his son-in-law, David, as one of the men she’d seen at the salon worried him beyond measure. He’d called his daughter and left a message, but she had yet to return his call.
He kept trying to come up with a good reason as to why David might have been at the nail salon, but nothing made sense. The salon had been nothing more than a cover-up. It was a brothel run by the women who sat on stools all day clipping and trimming and taking money from the sleazy backroom clientele.
It didn’t look good, but he couldn’t help but hope David had a reason for being there that day.
Keeping his eyes on the road, Yuhasz stepped on the gas. Trees swayed, and thunder sounded in the distance. According to last night’s weather forecast, record winds were expected over the next few days.
Lightning lit up the sky. Thunder crackled, echoing off walls of dark clouds.
Since leaving his home in Auburn, he’d seen fallen tree limbs scattered across the road. If the weatherman was to be believed, it was only going to get worse.
He made a left onto Finchley Lane and then a right onto a cul-de-sac, where his youngest daughter, Holly, lived with David and their two children. They had lived in the quiet Folsom neighborhood for only three months. The two-story house was a great place for his grandkids. He’d taken time to check it out when he’d first heard she was moving here. Good schools and neighbors who looked after one another. Although his daughter didn’t care one way or another about his opinion on the matter, he approved.
Detective Yuhasz parked at the curb, climbed out of his vehicle, and followed the stone path toward the front entry. A gust of wind hit him with enough force to throw him off balance. He looked at the sky and saw dark, billowy clouds huddling together to make more mischief.
He knocked on the door, waited a few minutes, then knocked again.
Holly answered.
She wore thick foundation and oversize sunglasses. The strap of her purse hung over her shoulder. She feigned surprise at seeing him. “Dad! What are you doing here? I was just about to leave to go pick up the kids.”
“They don’t get out for another forty-five minutes. I checked.”
Her shoulders fell.
He stepped inside, walked right past her, making his way to the living room. Everything was perfect. Two young children lived here, and yet there were no fingerprints on the table, no shoes or toys scattered about or piled in a corner. There wasn’t one stain on the light-colored carpet or any sign that children lived within these walls.
The door clicked shut. “Dad,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“What’s going on, Holly?”
“What are you talking about? What’s wrong with you?”
“Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
/> She shrugged.
The left side of her face had a yellow tint to it. Her cheekbone was swollen. He didn’t like where his thoughts were headed. “Take off your sunglasses,” he told her.
“No,” she said. “Quit acting so weird. I have to go. I don’t want to be late.”
“Take them off, Holly, or I’ll pick up the phone and give your mother a call right now.”
“Really, Dad? You’re threatening your forty-year-old daughter with a call to Mother?”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
“OK, OK.” She slid off her glasses and lifted her chin, her blue eyes blazing. “Is this what you wanted to see?”
Her left eye was swollen and shadowed in purple hues. He’d given his rat bastard son-in-law recommendations, convinced Narcotics to hire him. His fingers curled into a fist at his side as he turned and headed for the door.
She ran after him, grabbed hold of his arm. “Where are you going?”
“Where do you think? To have a talk with that goddamn husband of yours.”
“Don’t do it.”
He was already halfway down the path nearing his car when she said, “Please. It will only make things worse.”
His youngest daughter had always been a warrior, strong-minded, the sort of woman who didn’t take shit from anyone, but her voice sounded soft, fragile, scared. He turned to face her. “How long has this been going on, Holly?” A muscle in his jaw quivered. “Tell me the truth.”
She looked to the ground, as a child being punished would. “A few years.”
“Three? Five? How many?”
“At least ten.”
His heart skipped a beat and then wilted. This explained so much. They used to be close. She’d always been Daddy’s little girl. He’d never understood why she’d begun to push him away. Over the years, she’d come up with a million excuses as to why it was best if he didn’t come to his grandkid’s soccer game or stop by for a quick visit after work. He’d thought it was his ex-wife’s doing, convincing his daughter he wasn’t fit to be part of her life.
But that wasn’t it at all. Not even close. He was an idiot. A blind fool for not checking up on her before today. His wife had always said he wasn’t good at communicating, and for the first time, he realized she was right.
David Fucking Hofberg was beating Holly. Had been for a while now. And Holly was doing what so many abused wives did—trying to hide the truth along with the bruises.
When she finally gathered the courage to look at him, he said, “So what do you expect me to do—nothing?”
She nodded, a movement so subtle he nearly missed it. A tear ran down the side of her face.
He stepped forward and took her into his arms. If she thought for a millisecond that he would simply walk away without teaching the scumbag a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget, she didn’t know her dad very well.
Hell, she didn’t know him at all. “Listen, Holly.” He let go of her and looked at his watch. “I’m going to send a car to pick you and the girls up in an hour.”
“No,” she said. “I won’t go.”
“You will go. You know why?”
She crossed her arms and said nothing.
“Because you love your kids. I know you do. And the last thing you want is for them to grow up in an abusive home.” He paused. “I want you to go live with Uncle Bob for a while. He and Stella have been nagging me for years to bring the grandkids for a visit. Remember Uncle Bob’s house? The place right on the beach in San Diego? The kids will love it there. Go pick them up and tell them you’re taking them on a little vacation. Disneyland, the whole works. You don’t need to worry about a thing. Just get into that car when it comes. Got it?”
She had the good sense to nod her agreement.
He had so much more he wanted to say to her. Telling her he was sorry would have been a good start, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead he rested a hand on her shoulder and said, “Everything’s going to be fine. Just go back inside and pack. I’ll talk to you tonight.”
Despite all the horrible thoughts swirling around inside his head on the way over here, the last thing he’d expected was to learn that his daughter was being physically abused. After watching her walk back into the house, he went to his cruiser and climbed in. His hands were shaking, and he was breathing hard. His fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel. He wanted to hit something, preferably smash a fist through David Hofberg’s skull. He never thought of himself as a violent man. Not until this very moment.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He looked toward the house and saw Holly’s silhouette behind the curtain covering the large-paned window. He started the engine and headed off. Everything else he’d come to talk to his daughter about would have to wait for now. Holly had enough problems without him asking her about any of her husband’s extramarital affairs.
SIX
Lara looked at the wall clock for the hundredth time since Eric had left the trailer home. He’d been gone for thirty-two minutes already, and Trista had yet to go to the bathroom or wander into the kitchen for a snack. If Trista would just leave the room for half a minute, Lara could make a run for it.
When Eric was home, he used a chain and a combination lock on the front door, the only door that led to the outside. But his wife, Trista, never bothered with the locks. Maybe she trusted Lara to stay put. Or maybe she was just lazy.
Lara didn’t like Eric or Trista, but living with them was way better than being at the ranch with Mother. Nobody had been happy at the ranch. All the girls were afraid of being dragged off by a strange man. Lara didn’t like to think about what happened to them when they were gone. She didn’t like to think about the farmhouse at all.
Lara was still scared, but it was different now. Eric and Trista were kind of dumb. Eric was a horrible slob, too. No matter how many times Trista asked him nicely to leave his boots at the door, he wouldn’t do it. He just trudged through the place, leaving muddy footprints from one end to the other. But other than that, he wasn’t too bad. He didn’t raise his voice, and he never hit her or pulled her hair. He never looked at her in the same way those other guys at the ranch used to look at her, all crazy-eyed and creepy.
When Eric first brought her here, he and Trista had spent every minute trying to convince her everything would be OK. They said if she stopped crying and did as she was told, she would be taken home. The problem, Trista insisted, was that her mom was in jail. She’d hit a policeman in the head, and now she had to spend time locked up like all the other bad people in the world.
That was a lie, though. Lara’s mom would never hurt a flea. Everybody loved her. All the kids at Lara’s school wanted to be in her class every year, which was why she knew Eric and Trista were lying. Ginger, the old lady who lived next door, probably didn’t believe a word they told her, either, but Eric and Trista offered to pay her a lot of money if she kept a close eye on Lara. So whenever they left her with Ginger, the old woman watched her like a hawk.
The last time she’d been left with Ginger, she’d almost gotten away. If only she’d been able to escape five minutes earlier, she would have succeeded. She could have made it to the main street and shouted for help. But she’d hardly made it past the next trailer before Eric and Trista drove up, stopped the car, and yanked her inside.
She looked at the clock again, an ugly plastic thing with a picture of an octopus and a giant crack running through the middle of it.
He’d been gone for forty-one minutes.
Unable to sit still for another second, she was about to ask Trista if she could run over to Ginger’s house, make up a lie and tell her she’d forgotten something there, when Trista stood, tossed the remote on the couch, and headed for the bathroom. She was so upset about something the man had done to his girlfriend on her favorite afternoon show she hadn’t even spared Lara a glance.
It was now or never.
Without bothering to grab her shoes from the room down the hall or grab one of Er
ic’s or Trista’s dirty sweatshirts lying around, she raced to the door, turned the knob ever so quietly, and then peeked outside.
Nobody was there.
The gravel driveway was empty.
Ginger’s blinds were shut tight.
Lara stepped out into the cold and shut the door as quietly as possible.
And then she ran as fast as she could.
SEVEN
Faith no longer remembered what her life had been like before the attack.
Another world. Another time.
Her heart ached. Every moment of every day was like reliving a nightmare. Sleep deprivation wasn’t helping matters, but how could she sleep when her children were out there somewhere, alone and scared? The thought of either one of them being harmed made it difficult to breathe at times. She wasn’t the first parent to have her children taken from their home, and, sadly, she wouldn’t be the last.
But one thing was clear—she would find her children.
Nobody could convince her otherwise.
She would find them, and the people responsible would pay.
Her cell phone rang. She picked up the call when she saw it was Detective Yuhasz.
“Bad news,” he said after she said hello. “Diane Weaver is out of jail.”
Her anger sparked and sizzled, spreading through her insides like wildfire. “How is that possible?”
“Bail was posted. Apparently she was released and then allowed to drive off in a taxi. O’Sullivan is working on locating the cab number and driver so we can find out where she might have gone.”
“Who paid her bail?”
“Someone by the name of Thomas Keen.”
“Has he been located?”
“No. We believe he might have used a fake ID. They’re checking it out.”
Faith did her best to stay calm, but it wasn’t easy. “I can’t believe she would be allowed to simply walk away.”
“I’ve got a man stationed near the farmhouse to watch out for her.”
