Furious (18 page)

“The guy on the right,” Tina said, “is definitely in the business. He uses violence to control his hoes. He used to be in charge of kiddie strolls.”

Faith raised a questioning brow.

Tina plunked a hand on her hip. “Shit, girl, you don’t know anything, do you? Kiddie strolls are runway shows for johns who prefer children.”

Faith felt sick to her stomach.

Tina looked around. “Listen, honey, that’s all I got for you. I gotta go.”

Faith scribbled out her number on the flyer and handed it to her. “If something else comes to you, anything at all, give me a call.”

“I don’t have all night, ladies!”

The muscle in Faith’s jaw hardened. Knowing these men were out roaming the streets looking for sex was one thing, but seeing their dickless arrogance up close and personal was too much. She knew she was being naive, but she couldn’t hold her tongue. “I think you should tell the asshole to move along. You don’t need to do this.”

“And then what?” Tina asked. “Are you gonna take me home with you?”

“You got five seconds,” the man said.

“Calm down, honey,” Tina shot back as she walked toward his car, hips swaying. “Looks like me and you are gonna spend some quality time together.”

T
HIRTY
-T
WO

Faith took off her shoes before she turned the key and pushed the door to her parents’ house slowly open. After locking the door behind her, she tiptoed across the entryway. No sooner had her foot hit the first stair than she heard a click and the lights came on.

“Faith, where have you been?”

She whipped around.

Mom stood close by in a nightgown and robe. Her short gray hair was a mess, flattened on one side of her head. She gave Faith the once-over. “You look like a streetwalker.”

“That was the idea,” Faith said. “I had questions, and I needed to talk to a few working girls.”

Mom stepped closer and took hold of her hand. “You’re so cold. I’m worried about you. You hardly sleep these days, and you’re still not eating enough. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Faith wrapped her arms around her mom and squeezed her tight. “I’m sorry.” She pulled away and put her hands on her mom’s shoulders. “I have to keep looking, Mom, but I could talk to the judge about moving back home. I don’t like worrying you and Dad, and my being here could very well be putting you both in danger.”

“Don’t even think about moving back to that house of yours all alone. And of course you have to keep looking for Lara and Hudson. Stay right here. I have something for you.”

Faith waited until Mom returned a minute later with a box. “Here you go. This is for you. It’s a Taser X26c. I watched a demonstration on YouTube. This model has the highest takedown power available. There’s a training manual inside.”

“Thanks, Mom. Where’s Dad?”

“He’s asleep.”

“Agent Burnett with the FBI left a message on my cell. She wants to meet with Dad and me first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll let Dad know,” Mom said. “Another interview?”

Faith shook her head. “I want to talk to them about Craig’s business and also get an update on the case.”

“Any luck with finding Joe?”

She sighed. “Dead ends all around me.”

Mom pulled her robe tighter around her waist and said matter-of-factly, “Lara and Hudson are coming home. It won’t be long now. You just keep plugging away.”

Faith and her dad were led down a wide corridor to a conference room with minimal decor. The female who escorted them to the room asked them to take a seat. She told them Agent Burnett and Jensen would be with them shortly. No sooner had she shut the door than it opened again and the two agents appeared. Introductions were made, and they all shook hands.

Agent Elaine Burnett, whom Faith had previously met at the police station, took a seat across from her. Agent Matt Jensen, a short and stocky man with a bad case of adult acne, sat next to Agent Burnett.

“Faith and I met previously,” Agent Burnett began, “but I’d like to tell your dad how sorry we are for your family’s loss. We also appreciate your call,” she said to Faith, “along with your willingness to come see us on such short notice.”

“Thank you,” Dad said. “We are curious to know what’s going on. We realize you reached out while Faith was recuperating, but I was bothered to hear about H&M Investments being shut down before my daughter was contacted.”

“Technically we are only obligated to inform the owners of a business before it’s shut down. According to the articles of incorporation, Faith McMann is not listed as a shareholder.”

Dad grumbled under his breath, but he remained silent.

“We would like to know,” Agent Jensen said to Faith, “if your husband ever talked to you about running the business?”

“We were married, so yes, of course.”

“So you discussed the ins and outs of the business on a regular basis?” he asked.

She thought about it for a moment and realized she couldn’t remember the last time she and Craig had actually discussed his work. It was usually the employees they talked about since it was a small business and they were all very close—who was getting married or divorced. Who was pregnant or what college their child had gotten into. “In the beginning, when Craig and Joe were first starting out,” Faith said, “we talked about good business practices and how many employees might be needed . . . things like that. But once they were up and running, we tended to talk more about the lives of his employees and less about the actual running of the business.”

“What about the financial aspects?” Burnett asked. “Did you discuss that?”

Again Faith took a second to think about it. “Rarely,” she said. “Only if we were budgeting for something. For instance, when Lara wanted to take dance lessons.”

“In your opinion, were you and your husband living a good life?”

“We were living a wonderful life,” Faith said. “Now, if you’re talking in terms of money, we were doing OK with two incomes, but certainly not living a life of luxury.”

“Here’s the thing,” Jensen said. “Joe Henderson has a house in Rocklin that has been recently renovated. Six months ago, he bought another house in San Diego—three bedrooms, lots of decks so you could see the ocean from every room. He has two cars. Both new. Lots of nice things in the past year or so.”

“I never heard anything about a second house, but I know Kristen, his wife, came from money. Her parents used to take them on extravagant vacations and buy their kids whatever they needed.”

“How about clientele?” Jensen prodded. “Did your husband ever mention concern about what he thought might be a shady deal?”

“No. Never.”

“Do you know his clients?”

“Personally? No. I could name names, though, if I were pressed to do so.” Faith angled her head. “Could you please tell me what’s going on? Employees have been sent home, the business has been shut down, and yet I have no idea why.”

“After the attack,” Agent Burnett answered, “we went to see Joe Henderson to find out if there was anyone, employees or clients, who might have wished your husband harm.”

Faith raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Joe had a bad habit of putting us off,” Agent Jensen said, “which raised a red flag and led us to begin an investigation into his personal affairs.”

“Leading us to his recent purchases of high-priced items,” Agent Burnett added. “We talked to his wife, and she has no knowledge of where he might have gotten hold of such large sums of money. In fact, she knew nothing about the home in San Diego.”

Faith sighed. “And then he disappeared.”

Agent Burnett nodded. “And we took over from there.”

“So where’s all that money coming from?” Dad asked.

“So far, there is no money trail.”

Dad was not convinced. “Come on. You have access to everything in that place. You must have some idea.”

“Nothing we can share with you at this time.”

Faith sat back and tried to take it all in. Had Craig been involved? Was that why $2 million had been hidden away inside their pool filter? She felt the blood rush from her face.

“It stands to reason,” Agent Jensen said, “that if Joe Henderson had access to large sums of cash that perhaps your husband did, too.”

Dad’s face turned a bright shade of red. “I don’t appreciate the accusatory tone you’re using with my daughter.”

Burnett rubbed his chin. “We’re not accusing Faith or her husband of any wrongdoing.” Agent Burnett leaned over the table, directing her attention on Faith. “Do you have any idea where Joe Henderson might be hiding out?”

“No.”

“Do you or did you ever have any reason to believe your husband was hiding anything from you?”

“No. Never.”

“Did your husband ever buy you an extravagant gift or take you on a surprise vacation?”

Faith shook her head. “We hadn’t taken time off since Hudson was born, and we stopped buying each other gifts years ago.”

“Do you have any objection to our having a look around the house you shared with your husband?”

“While Faith lay in the hospital,” Dad said, his voice raised, “there were at least a dozen FBI agents at her house, scouring the grounds. Nothing was left untouched. We cooperated fully because we wanted nothing more than to find the people who killed my son-in-law and took our grandchildren, but I don’t like what you people are insinuating. My daughter is a victim, not a criminal. Tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for, and I’ll take you there personally.”

Agent Burnett released a ponderous sigh. “Mr. Gray. I’m sorry you’re upset, but you need to understand that our investigation of Craig McMann and Joe Henderson’s business practices has taken us down another path, a path that needs to be fully explored. We’re doing all we can to find Lara and Hudson, and that’s exactly why we need to conduct another search of the house where your son-in-law resided. The first time we were there, we were looking for forensic evidence. This time we’ll be searching for any clues Craig McMann might have left behind concerning H&M Investments.” She paused and then added, “The house will be searched with or without your permission.”

Frustration lined Dad’s face. He was about to argue further when Faith stopped him. “I have no objection to you looking around, but if you have a suspect, I need the name of the client involved.”

“Why?”

“Because whoever it is could be the link to finding my kids.”

“We’re sharing information with the police,” Agent Jensen said.

Agent Burnett nodded. “It’s an ongoing investigation. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be patient.”

T
HIRTY
-T
HREE

Beast climbed out of his truck, grabbed the bouquet of sunflowers he’d brought, then shut the door and took a moment to collect himself. Determined to put on a happy face before heading inside the hospital, he worked the muscles in his jaw and lifted the corners of his mouth.

As he walked across the parking lot, he thought of Rage. At the ripe old age of twenty-seven she’d already endured more hardship than most. Few people knew the whole story—that she’d only left the abusive boyfriend after she discovered she was pregnant. Knowing he would never willingly let her go, Rage snuck out while he was sleeping and hitchhiked from New York to California. Homeless, but resilient, she found a job, and nine months later Christopher was born. Since she couldn’t afford a roof over her head, let alone day care, she knew deep down that it would be best if she gave Christopher a chance at a decent life by giving him up for adoption. But after handing him over to social services, the aching sadness wouldn’t go away. Drugs helped with the pain, but pain-numbing substances weren’t cheap, and pretty soon she was working the streets to pay for her habit, anything to forget. It wasn’t long before she learned the hard way that pimps didn’t like strong-minded women who thought they could work without a middleman.

And that’s where Beast came into the picture.

He had found Rage, left for dead, on the side of the road. He’d brought her to the old Victorian in Roseville that he shared with his dad. For weeks, Rage bitched and complained about living with two ugly giants who didn’t know how to cook or clean up after themselves.

His dad killed her with kindness.

Beast ignored her.

But despite the endless complaints, she stuck around. And she grew on both of them. Strangely enough, she gave Beast’s life purpose again. She got a job at the coffee shop around the corner from where they lived, and for a short time she seemed content . . . until three months ago when cancer came knocking on her door.

The news changed her. Made her mean, or should he say meaner. She wasn’t angry at life, God, or the unfairness of it all. No, she was angry with herself. It made no sense to Beast, but there it was. She blamed herself for her mother’s mental illness and her father’s inability to cope. She blamed herself for running away with an abusive and obsessive man. Mostly, though, she blamed herself for giving up Christopher. Karma was a bitch, she liked to say, figuring she had absolutely deserved to get a malignant brain tumor. In her mind, it all made perfect sense.

Beast walked through the hospital lobby and onto the elevator. He exited on the fifth floor and made his way down the wide corridor to the nurses’ station. “Hey, Barbara. How’s she doing?”

“Stubborn as ever. Nothing has changed in that regard. The doctor is with her now—third room on the right.”

Beast caught the doctor as he was leaving and pulled him aside. “Has she agreed to surgery?”

He shook his head. “Because of the infiltrative nature of this tumor, complete removal is impossible.”

“But you did say that if you remove most of it and then hit the tumor with chemotherapy or radiation, she could live another year or two—isn’t that right?”

“Studies show that there’s no benefit from chemotherapy. Although the tumor cells are resistant to conventional therapies, radiation could double her life expectancy.”

“If she refuses treatment, what can we expect?”

“Headaches will worsen, vomiting, nausea. If and when she starts having seizures, she could suffer personality changes and verbal, cognitive, and motor loss.”

After Beast finished talking with the doctor, he headed into the room where Rage was sitting in a wheelchair waiting for him. “They won’t let me walk out of here. I have to ride in this thing, so let’s go.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

She snorted, then crossed her arms, letting him know she was out of patience.

“I talked to the doctor. He said you’ve dismissed all forms of treatment.”

“The tumor is inoperable.”

“Radiation could double your life expectancy.”

“By a few months at most. The side effects would not be fun, and for what? It would not save my life. No matter what, Beast, I’m going to die. If I agreed to treatment, my hair would be burned off and my scalp would be left with third-degree burns. Palliative treatment could change my personality completely.” She pointed a finger at his raised eyebrow. “Don’t get funny with me.”

“What? I didn’t say a word.”

“I know what you’re thinking. Maybe I’ll stop bitching and start living in the moment.”

He grunted. “The thought never crossed my mind. I like you just the way you are.”

“I don’t want to spend these last good months unable to talk or walk. I prefer to live even while I’m dying.”

She was on a roll now, talking fast, and he could see that these decisions had not been easy for her to make. He kneeled down so that they were face-to-face, his hands on both sides of the wheelchair. “It’s your decision, and I respect that.”

“Sometimes you scare me.”

“Why is that?”

“I named you as my health care agent in the event a doctor wants to resuscitate and I am no longer able to communicate. Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake in naming you.”

“Because I care about what happens to you?”

“Because you care too much.”

“I would never let you suffer.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You know that, right?”

He nodded.

There was a long pause before she said, “Today is Christopher’s birthday—two years old.” Her voice hitched.

When Rage was upset she tended to talk quickly, randomly changing course without notice, sort of like she was doing now. All he could do was hang on tight and listen as best he could.

“A year ago,” she was saying, “I wondered if he’d taken his first steps. I remember at that time pondering whether Christopher eats with his fingers or a spoon. Does he know how to turn the page of a storybook? I think I can, I think I can . . . what was the name of that book?” She snapped her fingers. “
The Little Engine That Could
. My father used to read it to me when I was little. Do you think they ever read that book to Christopher?”

“I’m sure his parents read it to him every night before he’s tucked into bed.”

She smiled in that special way of hers, letting him know that she was on to him and knew he was merely appeasing her, but also that she appreciated his answer. She sighed, then added, “Two years old, can you believe it?”

He shook his head, wishing he could take away all her troubles and fears, all her pain.

“I wonder if he talks in whole sentences? Do you think he’s already sleeping in a big bed? No, it would be too soon for that.”

Before Beast could respond in any meaningful way, she said, “I’ve been having dreams about Faith’s children.” She looked at him with wide, thoughtful eyes. “We have to find them, Beast.”

“We’re doing all we can.”

“No,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I don’t think we are, and I’m afraid I’m running out of time.”

Back at the house on Rolling Greens Way, Agent Burnett suggested Faith and her dad find a place to sit and make themselves comfortable, preferably somewhere out of the way.

Since it wasn’t raining, they chose to sit at the table near the pool.

There were four vehicles and one van parked in the driveway. Two agents were searching through the office, while Agent Burnett and Agent Jensen walked the grounds, taking photographs and notes. Every time one of them walked by the pool filter at the corner of the house, Faith tensed.

“If they leave even the tiniest sign of fingerprint dust, your mother will have their heads.”

“Thanks for coming with me, Dad.”

“I don’t know what they’re looking for, but we both know Craig was a good man. I used to warn your husband about Joe Henderson, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Faith frowned. “You didn’t trust Joe?”

“Craig never told you what I said?”

“No. And neither did you. I always thought Joe was a perfectly nice man.”

Dad leaned closer and said sternly, “It’s time for you to take off the rose-colored glasses and see people for who they are.”

Rarely did she see her father look so serious.

“Joe Henderson was a salesman,” Dad said matter-of-factly, “a fake, someone who says only what they think you want to hear.”

From where she sat, Faith caught sight of Special Agent Burnett stooped down next to the pool equipment. She called Agent Jensen over to look at something on the ground.

Faith stiffened.

Dad must have noticed because he looked over his shoulder at Burnett and Jensen, then turned back to Faith. “What’s going on?”

She looked at her father long and hard. “I’m going to tell you something that might make you angry, but no matter what you think of me, I need you to know that the reason I haven’t told you or the rest of the family is because I was trying to protect you.”

Her dad paled. “Out with it, Faith. What did you do?”

She kept her voice low. “I found two million dollars in the pool equipment over there and hid it in the tree fort in your backyard.”

He didn’t flinch. In fact, it was hard to tell if he was breathing.

“If I called the police,” Faith went on, her voice low enough that they couldn’t be overheard but loud enough that the agents wouldn’t be suspicious, “I figured they would throw it in an evidence room and forget all about it. I kept the money because I’m determined to find those men and offer them a deal.”

Dad said nothing.

“It could give me the leverage I need to get my kids back. But if you tell me right now to walk over there and tell them what I just told you, then that’s what I’ll do.”

The silence between them stretched on for nearly a minute before Dad finally spoke. “If I thought giving the money back would help us get my grandkids back sooner rather than later, then I would have you march over there and tell them. But as I see it, I think you did the right thing. We keep it for now. We also keep this between the two of us.”

“Four of us. Beast and Rage were both here with me when we found it.”

He sighed.

“The question now is do I spend my time and energy trying to find Joe Henderson, who seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth, or do I let the FBI search for him and put my efforts into finding out more about who the players are in the area?”

“Players?”

“Human traffickers.” She leaned closer to Dad. “Think about it. Lara and Hudson weren’t killed. They were taken. No ransom has been demanded. And Sacramento happens to be one of the biggest hubs for trafficking. It could be a shot in the dark, but to me it makes sense.” She paused before adding, “Someone recognized one of the men I painted on the wall and believes him to be involved in prostitution. I think my time is better spent going after those men. What do you think?”

“I think you have good instincts and that you should follow them.”