Furious (14 page)

T
WENTY
-F
IVE

Miranda was exhausted. She’d spent the entire day walking around downtown Sacramento looking for her mom, but it was as if she’d disappeared into thin air. Old friends, like Jane Paden, the waitress who used to give them leftovers and day-old bread every morning, said she hadn’t seen her mom in months.

There had been something about the expression on Jane’s face that made her think she might not be telling her everything . . . like maybe she knew something but didn’t want to tell her. She sat on the bed staring at the television screen, but she wasn’t watching or listening to whatever show was on. If something had happened to Mom, Jane would have told her, wouldn’t she? Miranda had become so distrustful, she realized; she no longer trusted anyone. Strangers on the street . . . they all looked guilty and afraid, filled with secrets. Everyone was hiding something.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the envelope on the nightstand. The money wouldn’t last long. What would she do when it was gone? She could get a job, but spending her life looking over her shoulder, waiting for a pimp or her recruiter to find her wasn’t how she wanted to live. Ultimately, she needed to find her mom and get out of town—and she needed to do it fast. She’d already checked out every homeless shelter in the area. She and Jasper had looked around McKinley Park and hung out for a long while at Loaves & Fishes, but Mom never showed up.

She slid off the bed, peeked through the curtain, and saw Jasper sitting on the trunk of his car facing the road, enjoying a smoke. For the past two nights he’d slept inside his car without a single complaint. Her conscience wouldn’t allow him to spend another night out there.

After grabbing the coat she’d bought at Goodwill, she shoved the envelope of money inside the pocket and headed for the front office. She would buy cookies and a soda from the vending machine and then invite him to come in out of the cold and sleep in the room on a cot.

Nobody was at the check-in counter when she entered, but she could hear a television blaring in the back room. She counted out change and then inserted the correct amount. She hit the button and watched the soda drop with a thunk.

Pop. Pop.

Gunfire!

She dropped to the ground. Heart hammering against her chest, she crawled across the floor until she had a view of the parking lot.

No!

Jasper was sprawled across the back of his car, blood dripping from his head, his arm dangling over the side. A dark figure headed across the parking lot toward her room. He walked right in. Seconds later, he rushed back outside and looked around.

He was looking for her! She rushed to the back office. The manager, half-asleep in his recliner, looked up, surprised.

“Is there a back door?”

He pointed to the next room.

“Call nine-one-one,” she said, and then she ran for her life.

T
WENTY
-S
IX

The first thing Rage and Faith did after they left H&M Investments was drive to Joe’s house—a large home sitting on a quiet cul-de-sac in Rocklin. From the looks of it, Joe had done some updating since she’d been here last. The driveway had been redone with stone, and a decorative water fountain had been installed.

Faith noticed newspapers piled near the entryway. There was something taped to the door. It was a bank repossession notice. She rang the bell, waited, then knocked. She looked in the kitchen window. There was no clutter. The place looked clean. She went around to the backyard and called his name. He didn’t appear to be home.

“Where do you think he’s hiding out?” Rage asked when she got back into the car.

“I have no idea. The man has obviously been skimming off the top, though. Did you see that place? There was a brand-new pool in the backyard.” Faith sat quietly for a moment, staring straight ahead, her hands clamped around the wheel.

“What’s wrong?”

“I should have gone to see Joe sooner.” Faith turned in her seat so that she was facing Rage. “Even before we found the money . . . it makes sense, doesn’t it, that there must be some sort of connection to my husband and his work?”

“Until two minutes ago, when you learned that your husband’s partner lied to you, there was nothing to say flat out that that money you found last night was connected to your husband’s work. Absolutely nothing. This is all guesswork. Besides, you’re a schoolteacher, not an investigator. Cut yourself a break.”

Rage was right. At least they were making progress. She just needed to stay focused and take it all one day at a time.

“Should we go see what’s on that flash drive?”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Faith gave Joe’s sprawling house one last look before driving off, wondering where he might be. He used to talk to Craig about fishing every once in a while. She also recalled him mention hiking Mount Tallac, but other than that, her mind was a blank when it came to Joe Henderson.

Once they returned to the command post in Faith’s parents’ backyard, they got right to work going through the files on the flash drive. There were a total of eighty-two names. They Googled every name, looking for anything that might stand out: money, family, career.

Exhausted after a long day of running around followed by hours of Internet searches, Faith blew out enough air to push strands of hair out of her face. “I really don’t know what the hell we’re looking for, but from what I’ve seen so far, there’s nothing out of the ordinary here. Nothing is standing out.”

“Same here,” Rage said as she stretched her arms above her head. “I haven’t found anything unusual.”

There was a knock on the door. Rage walked across the room and let Beast inside.

“Are you two ready to go?” he asked.

The plan was to talk to Teague Fowler, the local pedophile on record. Faith’s eyes were beginning to cross from looking at the computer for so long. She pushed herself to her feet, anxious to question Fowler. It could be another dead end, but it was something she needed to see for herself.

On their way out, they ran into Jana, who had taken an early leave of absence from work so she could help Mom take Dad to his therapy sessions. After Faith introduced everyone, Jana told them about all the calls that had come in on the hotline number posted on Faith’s website and flyers. “I’m still sorting out some of the tips,” she said, “but twenty-five percent of the messages appear to be pranksters. The rest are mostly well-meaning people who probably call in every time they see a kid crying in the grocery store. One message looked promising.”

Faith brightened. “Really? What did they say?”

“One of the callers was positive she’d seen Lara and Hudson at a local Walmart, so I forwarded it to the police.” Jana shook her head and added, “Authorities checked security video, though, and it wasn’t them.” She sighed. “I’ll give you a call if anything else comes up, OK?”

They headed for the truck. Rage sat in the passenger seat, and Faith climbed into the backseat.

“Were you able to talk to your husband’s partner?” Beast asked as they drove off.

“Rage and I went to the office earlier,” Faith told him. “It turns out Joe Henderson lied to me about the police never contacting him. He’s been missing for three days, which tells me he might very well know the reason as to why those men came to the house.”

“The feds shut down her husband’s investment business,” Rage added. “They sent all the employees home and confiscated computers and files.”

“But we were lucky enough to get our hands on a flash drive with a list of client names,” Faith said.

Rage made a face. “It’s basically a dump of basic customer data that their administrative assistant kept in case the computer ever failed. You know, client name, when they signed up, beginning and ending account balance. That sort of thing.”

“Find anything of interest?”

Rage grunted.

“Nobody stands out,” Faith said. “I called Joe’s ex-wife, but she has no idea where he could be. I think the police and FBI have a better chance of finding him. And when they do, I definitely need to have a talk with him.”

“I think that’s a good idea. Let the police handle Joe Henderson so we can stick with our plan. After we visit the pervert, we need to check out a few tattoo shops downtown, see if anyone recognizes the symbol you saw. Next we’ll distribute flyers with the images of the men who attacked your family, get the word out that we’re looking for the thugs who took your kids.”

Faith exhaled, her thoughts still on the money and the idea that Craig could have been involved in any way. He never would have stolen money from a client or the company he helped build from the ground up. And if he were to hide money, he never would have hidden it in the pool filter. Just like he never would have driven his car onto the grass. There were certain things Craig never would have done . . . stealing was only one of them.

The light turned green, but the white Honda in front of them didn’t move. Beast threw the gear into Park, then climbed out of the truck and made his way to the car in front of them. He reached inside the window, took the cell phone right out of the woman’s hands, and broke it in two.

A honk sounded behind them.

“What’s going on?” Faith asked.

“He broke her phone in half, and now the woman is being lectured about texting while driving.”

“He’s done this before?”

Rage snorted. “Oh, yeah.”

A minute later Beast was behind the wheel and they were on the road again, the phone incident forgotten. “When we get to Fowler’s house,” Beast said, his voice gruffer than before, “Rage and I will stand back while you knock on the door. If he sees me standing on the other side, he’ll never open it.”

Faith nodded as she wondered what she’d gotten herself into.

The house was a one-story set back on an acre of land. Everything about the place seemed eerily deserted. Weeds had overtaken the front yard; dead vines choked the mailbox as if nobody had lived on the property for years.

Faith walked up to the door and knocked three times.

When there was no answer, she knocked again with much more force.

Footsteps sounded.

The door opened a few inches. It was dark inside, hard to see the man standing in the shadows. “Hello,” Faith said. “Are you Teague Fowler?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I need a few minutes of your time to talk to you about—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Beast came out of hiding, stepped in front of her, and shouldered his way inside.

“What’s going on?” Fowler asked as he stumbled backward. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Now that Faith could see him better, she recognized the man from his picture on the pedophile website. His thick blond hair was swept neatly to one side. All in all, he was a regular-looking guy with green eyes and well-maintained facial hair. Throw him into a lineup and she never would have pegged him as a pedophile, a disturbing thought considering she knew better than to judge character based on looks.

“We’re going to take a look around,” Beast informed the man. “We want to make sure you’ve been behaving yourself.”

Fowler pointed at Faith. “I saw you on TV. You’re the one whose kids were taken.”

“Are they here?” Rage asked as she opened a coat closet, shoved sweatshirts and coats aside, and took a good look inside.

“Who?” He snorted. “You think her kids are here?”

About to take a look around, Faith stopped and glanced over her shoulder, waiting to hear what Fowler had to say.

“I have no idea where her kids are. I want to see some ID. Never mind,” he said. “I’m calling the police.”

“Sit down!” Beast growled.

Red in the face, Fowler plopped down onto the sofa.

“Come on,” Rage said as she headed past Faith. “Let’s get this over with.”

Something niggled deep within, something telling Faith that Beast and Rage had done this before.

“You can’t just rifle through my things,” Fowler shouted after them.

“Sit still and be quiet,” Beast warned. “If they don’t find anything, we’ll walk out that door and it’ll be as if we were never here.”

Faith followed Rage into what she assumed to be the master bedroom. The entire house had a musty smell and was cluttered with knickknacks. The bed was unmade, and clothes littered the floor.

Rage disappeared inside a walk-in closet while Faith headed for the bathroom.
Disgusting.
The bathtub and toilet were covered in grime. She worked fast, opening drawers and cupboards, just as she had done at Mr. Hawkins’s house, searching for any sign that her kids had been there. Her stomach roiled.

Rage stood in the doorway. “Nothing in the bedroom. Are you OK?”

“I’ll be fine. Nothing in here, either.”

They checked through two more bedrooms, the kitchen, and then the laundry room.

No children. No hints of any wrongdoing.

Rage disappeared inside the garage and returned with a shoe box. Walking past Faith, she went back to the main living area and turned the box upside down on the sofa next to Fowler. Pictures cascaded out of the box, sliding onto the floor into a pornographic puddle. “He’s got a camera, an old mattress, and kids’ toys in the garage,” Rage said. “All kinds of sick goodies set up in there, where many of the pictures appear to have been taken.”

Beast leaned over and picked up a glossy photo of a naked, scared young boy. As he looked at the photo, Faith saw his facial features transform. His skin tightened, and the muscles beneath his jaw slid from side to side as if he was grinding his teeth. His nostrils didn’t instantly flare, but instead slowly worked their way open as he drew in a breath the way a dragon might before it released a stream of fire. His eyes grew dark and round, and she noticed an almost imperceptible twitch in the creases of his eyelids. It all happened in a flash, and yet ever since she’d watched Craig die, she’d been hyperaware of movements and sounds, as if certain events played out in slow motion.

Sensing disaster, Fowler scrambled from his seat. Tripping and falling, he eventually made it down the hallway to his bedroom. The door slammed shut behind him. She heard the lock click into place.

As Beast straightened, his massive shoulders appeared broader, the veins in his neck thicker. A scar Faith hadn’t noticed before appeared like a thick white rope across the left side of his jaw. His hands rolled into fists; his knuckles were padded with scars.

Rage stepped out of his way.

He went to the kitchen and ripped the phone line from the wall, then made his way to the bedroom down the hall where Fowler had disappeared. Each angry footfall echoed off the walls. Before she could figure out how he planned to get inside the bedroom, his solid fist shot through the door like a battering ram. Wood cracked and splintered as he shoved his arm far enough inside so he could turn the knob and let himself in.

Fowler’s high-pitched screams sent chills through Faith’s body. She ran that way, but Rage caught up to her and stopped her. “Let Beast do his thing. He won’t kill the man.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Teague Fowler won’t get any more, or any less, than he deserves. Come on. Let’s go wait for him in the car.”