Finding Faye: Page 5

  I jog to the passenger side of my truck and pull my backpack through the open window and run for his SUV. Thank goodness he left the keys in the ignition. Finally something is going my way! I jump in and take off, tires squealing on the pavement. As I pass him I can see his pain. He leans against the tire of my truck, holding his leg. He shouts my name again, followed by another string of swearing that fade away as I hurtle away from him and toward Coeur d’Alene. I’m just glad that he didn’t shoot at me.

  Wait a second. Why didn’t he shoot at me?

  After an hour of driving I am still shaking and a little nauseated from how close I came to being caught. The crash that came when my adrenaline wore off hasn’t helped either. I drove around for a while before I ditched the SUV in a strip mall parking lot and caught a bus to downtown Coeur d’Alene. Being around people seems like a good idea while I try to figure out what to do next.

  I need to eat something too. I'm trying not to think about how it felt when my bat connected with that man's leg. The sound it made. The way I felt the impact ripple through my hands and up my arms. Every time my mind goes there I’m hit with a fresh wave of queasiness.

  All I wanted was to be left alone. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I even left my bat in the SUV. It's different, thinking about it as a form of self defense and actually using it. I will take my chances with mace from now on, because I will never, ever use an actual weapon against someone again.

  Travis

  I'm hauling ass down some back road that Blake says will eventually take me to Coeur d’Alene when I see a battered old pickup on the side of the road. It matches the description of the one he said Faye drives, so I slow down and take a good long look.

  Blake is there, sitting on the ground, leaning against the back tire. He doesn't look good. Swearing, I slam on the brakes, skidding to a stop in the loose rock behind the pickup. My training kicks in, distracting me momentarily from thoughts of getting to Faye. I jump out and run to him and fall to my knees beside him, searching for injuries.

  “It’s my fucking knee,” he grinds out between gritted teeth before I can say a word. I look down and see the denim of his worn jeans stretched tight around his swollen knee. His eyes are red and running with tears, and he swipes at them.

  “You crying?” I ask, meaning to tease, then wish I could reach out and pull my words back. I might be crying too, if my knee looked as jacked up as his.

  “Fuck you,” he growls as I stand and offer him my hand to pull him up on his good leg. Propping him up with an arm around his back, I help him hop-hobble to my pickup and get inside.

  Before I get in, I go back to Faye's truck. There is a laundry basket on the seat, but otherwise it’s spotless. The basket must be the things she didn’t want to leave behind when she ran. I grab it and empty out the glove box before locking the doors and pocketing the key that was left in the ignition.

  I can’t stop my smile when I notice the USMC keychain beside the Ford key. The lack of a house key makes me think that she must have left it behind, not intending to return.

  Fuck!

  Blake must have scared the crap out of her. I’m regretting having him keep his eyes on her, since we knew where she lived and worked. I should have just went and found her at either place, and saved her the fright and Blake the injury. Which reminds me that right now I need to get Blake to a hospital, and then figure out where on God's green earth Faye is hiding now.

  Fortunately for Blake, we really aren’t that far from Coeur d’Alene and a hospital. He is pale and sweating by the time we roll up outside the emergency room and I help him inside to wait. I check him in and tell the triage nurse a story about how we had been playing baseball and I threw the bat behind me, accidentally hitting Blake. It’s quiet enough and we don’t have much of a wait before he is wheeled back to talk to the doctor and get an x-ray. They let me tag along, and when the nurse cuts the leg off his jeans to check the injury, I wince at the huge black bruise running down his shin.

  After a brief exam and the application of an ice pack, an orderly takes him to radiology. He’s back soon and feeling better from the ice and a shot of Toradol. The doctor reviews the x-ray and says he is pretty lucky. Nothing is broken, but he will be on crutches for a couple of weeks while the swelling comes down. He is also ordered to stay off his feet for the next several days. So now we are back on the road to Spokane. I don’t like that I have to delay finding Faye, but I have to take care of Blake first. My hasty decision is what put him in this situation.

  The plan is to set Blake up at my place with painkillers and an ice pack. He’s pretty self-sufficient. Once I have him settled, I will be heading back to Idaho to find Faye. Not realizing that it’s me looking for her, I’m sure she has found a place where she feels she can safely hide. The good news is there are only so many places she can do that: motels that take cash, and shelters. I’m hoping for a motel, because a women’s shelter won’t let me anywhere near her.

  Chapter Seven

  Travis

  With Blake settled on my couch with an ice pack, the TV remote, and my dog Max by his side, I’m free to resume my search for Faye. My first stop is her apartment, where it’s easy enough for me to pick the lock and let myself inside the studio over the auto shop. The space shimmers with bright colors and energy. It is so different from the photo Blake sent me of a thin, careworn Faye.

  Inhaling deeply, I draw my first breath of air scented by her presence in years. Lemon and brown sugar, just like how her letters used to smell. She must like the combination. Something about it vaguely reminds me of her mom and I wonder if that is why she likes it. There are no clues as to where she might have run.

  The diner where she has been working is my next stop. I’m still having trouble believing that we have been in the same city and I had no idea. I wonder how long she has been here. Her apartment looked like she was well settled, so it’s been a while. I can’t help but feel shitty about that. How in the world can I be the owner of an investigations firm when I couldn’t find one specific person in the same damn city?

  The diner Blake directed me to is a shitty little dump outside of the city. Just one look tells me everything I need to know about it, and a bubble of anger builds in me knowing Faye was working here. I speak to a pregnant waitress named Ana. She seems a little older than Faye, and it’s pretty clear to me that she is hiding from someone. What is it about this place? Her hair is a dark muddy brown that is in stark contrast to her pale brows and porcelain complexion. After I assure her that I have known Faye since she was a child and that I mean her no harm, she borrows my phone to do an internet search on K&S Security. Only then is she comfortable telling me everything she knows about Faye. Or rather, Francesca Andrews, as she is now known. She doesn’t know much.

  Most of what Ana is able to tell me I have already figured out myself. She has been working at the diner for about three years. Apparently it’s a good place to work if you are hiding from someone. The manager pays cash and the tips are usually good. It’s the parking lot business that seems to draw the truckers. Ana hurries to assure me that, unlike a lot of the waitresses here, she and Francesca/Faye never cross the highway to strip and they never, ever turn tricks in the parking lot. They just work any shift available and they work together as often as possible. Safety in numbers, she says.

  I have to admit, witnessing the women working the parking lot when I arrived had alarmed me. Blake had warned me, but seeing it with my own eyes and absorbing that this is the place my sweet Faye has spent a lot of her time… well, it’s just not acceptable to me. She won’t be coming back.

  Faye will never work another day in this cesspool. Not if I have anything to say about it. I’ve already decided that once I get her home I will have to find something new for Ana as well. I can’t leave someone who has been a friend to Faye in circumstances I wouldn’t want her in.

  “Just find her and keep her safe. She sounded scared when I talked to her earlier.” Ana says as I turn to leav
e. That fear was my fault and I turn to go. On impulse I turn back to hand her a business card with my personal number on it and a hundred-dollar bill.

  “Thanks for your time,” I say. “My job is keeping people safe, so if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to call.”

  My simple words are loaded with honesty and she smiles for the first time. I can’t help but notice that beneath the exhaustion and fear she is a very pretty woman. I will make sure she and her little one have better opportunities in this city. It’s the least I can do.

  I’m sure Faye will like that.

  It’s getting late enough that traffic on the highway isn’t heavy, and I roar down it in silence. My mind is whirling with thoughts about where to begin my search once I get back to Coeur d’Alene. The ringing of my phone rips me from my contemplation. It’s Blake checking in. He says he is feeling better, the pain meds and ice are doing their job, and he wants to assist. He had one of our employees bring over his laptop, so he’s already hacked into the systems of every hotel in the city, checking to see if Faye is a registered guest at any of them. Armed with her full alias, he promises to run it again and be in touch as soon as he has info for me.

  Thirty minutes later he calls back. Neither Faye or Francesca is registered at any of the hotels or any of the women’s shelters. At least not the ones with computerized records. How he found all that in only half an hour, while on pain meds, is a mystery to me. It’s why we are such a good team: where Blake excels at hacking and navigating the web for information, I’m better at surveillance, negotiations, and a good old-fashioned smash and grab. I’m grateful for the intel though, because it narrows my list to less than a handful of shitty motels and two shelters that don’t have computers keeping track of those in residence.

  I’m really hoping that once I find her I can convince her that I’m me and that she doesn’t have to run anymore. If I can’t... I will happily smash down a door or two to get to her. Nothing is going to come between us anymore. I have had enough of that to last the rest of my life. She is stuck with me from this day forward.

  Blake’s SUV has GPS tracking, so I go to it first, hoping to find her somewhere nearby, but I find it in the parking lot of a strip mall right near a bus line. She is long gone, and none of the motels on my list are in the vicinity. What worries me is that she left her baseball bat in the car, which means that wherever she is, she only has whatever mace is left in the canister she sprayed at Blake. It’s a good thing that she either doesn’t know how to use it, or is actually that intent on using it properly. She ended up mostly missing him when she sprayed it, and just made his eyes burn and water a little. He was almost recovered from the minor exposure when I got to him, and my harassing him about the teary eyes just pissed him off about the whole situation.

  I figure that the motels will be the best place to start, not to mention way less trouble since I won’t have to contend with staff trying rightly to protect victims. I head to the first dive on Blake’s short list. Getting the desk clerk to talk doesn’t take much, just handing the stringy-haired desk clerk a couple fifty dollar bills and turning down the offer of a mostly toothless blowjob. She tells me that no one matching Faye’s description has checked in today. I’m actually happy that she isn’t in this place, and thank the clerk for her time before getting back on the road to the next one.

  The next place is slightly worse than the first, and I’m in and out fast. The young man working the desk takes the money I offer and sends me on my way to the last motel Blake suggested I try. This is the one that I am hoping she isn’t at, even if it means I have to try bribing someone at the women’s shelters. This place is a by-the-hour motel that caters to hookers, drug dealers, and addicts looking for a semi-safe place to buy, sell, and partake of their goods.

  I park in front of the dismal motel and sit for a few long minutes, watching the activity in the parking lot. There is a small crowd of guys lingering near a door across from the dimly lit lobby near a dirty vending machine. They look over at my truck and a couple of them laugh before turning their backs on the parking lot and gesturing toward the door to the room they are standing near. Icy cold grips my gut as I open the door and step onto the pavement.

  The rough-looking men loitering outside glance my way again when I slam the door, and I make sure they get a good long look at the pistol at the small of my back and the double holsters under my arms as I pull my jacket on. I hope that the weapons, coupled with my intimidating size, convey the message that I am the toughest son of a bitch here at this moment. Multiple pairs of eyes drop to the ground as I walk past, so apparently they got the point. For the moment, anyway.

  A single bare bulb lights the lobby, and I’m actually grateful that it’s dark in here. I’ve been in some pretty rough places over the years, but this one might just take the cake. The carpet is an avocado green shag left over from when this was probably a decent place to stay. It’s filthy, as are the walls. They used to be white, I’m sure, but now are yellowed from years of tobacco smoke and God knows what else.

  There is an old man working at the desk whose appearance is at complete odds with the shabby, filthy decor. Where everything around him is dirty and worn, this man sits ramrod straight at his post behind the high counter in a starched white shirt and a tie.

  “Good evening, sir,” he says, and I can see his ears turning pink even in the bad lighting. He’s ashamed to be working in this establishment. “Can I be of some assistance to you?”

  “I’m looking for someone. A young lady.” He nods encouragingly so I cut right to the heart of things.“She may be registered as either Faye Cooper or Francesca Andrews.”

  “Little gal?” he asks, gesturing with his hands. “Reddish hair?” I nod, encouraging him to continue. “Oh! I’m glad her man is here for her. This isn’t a good place for her to be.” He glances out the window, shaking his head in disgust. “Ain’t a good place for anyone to be.” He mutters the last bit more to himself than me as he slides a key across the desk. “Room 104. Down at the end. I put her there ‘cause I can see it through the window. In case I needed to call the cops. They,” he points toward the group of men loitering outside what I now know is Faye’s room, “saw her check in. I’ve been waiting for them to make some kind of move to get her to open the door.”

  I feel the growl vibrating in my chest before I hear it, and the clerk jumps a little, his eyes widening. “Just leave the key in the room. Someone will get it in the morning.”

  Reaching a hand across the counter, I shake his hand and murmur my thanks as I slip him my business card and a hundred-dollar bill.

  “If you decide you want a new line of work, feel free to call my offices. I’m sure there is something we can find for you,” I say, and when his worn face creases in a happy smile I know I did the right thing.

  As I approach room 104 I sense a couple of the thugs sneaking up behind me. I slip my hand under my jacket and bring out one of my Sig Sauer P320s and let it come to rest by my thigh. The silent threat, coupled with my size, causes them to fall back. I hear angry whispering, but I don’t spare them a glance as I slip the key in the lock and push the door open. I step inside, closing it and locking it behind me before anyone can attempt to force their way in behind me.

  Faint light from the bathroom casts the small room in shadow, but I can see her there. She is curled around a pillow on top of the bed in a tattered USMC sweatshirt I remember leaving in my closet when I left for boot camp.

  She is tiny. I don’t know why I’m stunned by her diminutive size, but I am. I feel like there is a fist twisting my heart in my chest, and my lungs won’t draw a full breath. Seeing her alive and whole is overwhelming, but seeing her tiny body enveloped in something of mine breaks something loose inside of me. Something I have never felt for anyone before. Something completely new, that replaces everything I ever felt for her in one shocking moment. I can hardly breathe.

  Of all the things she could have worn to bolt, she chose my old hoodie. Her
keys, still in my pocket, on a Marine Corps keychain like wives and girlfriends sometimes have. She didn’t forget about me. She’s been waiting for me to find her.

  I move the chair from the desk in the corner so that it is under the knob as an additional precaution. It will ensure that it’s more difficult for someone to force their way in, and since I'm not sure how Faye is going to react to me being in her room in the dark it will keep her from running out the door and into the trouble waiting outside.

  Slipping my jacket off, I set it on the scarred desk and disarm myself before sitting on the edge of the lumpy mattress.

  I just need to look at her for a minute.

  She is exhausted. Her complexion is wan. Dark shadows bruise the fragile skin under her eyes, and the sweatshirt drapes over the sharp bones of her hips and shoulders. She hasn’t had enough to eat or enough sleep in God knows how long. Maybe since the day Brad and Claire died.

  The ease with which she made the decision to run, to fight to get away from Blake, tells a story of its own.

  That ends tonight.

  There will be no more fear. No more running. No more turning her beautiful hair this awful muddy brownish red color. I find it offensive that she has had to hide something that is so much a part of who she is.

  Softly I run my fingers through her silky tresses, barely touching them. She stirs, murmuring wordlessly as she presses the cool flesh of her cheek against the rough heat of my palm. My heart stutters at the rightness of feeling her cuddling into me.

  “Travis,” she whispers with a sigh as she hugs the pillow closer to her and curls herself a bit tighter around it.

  My heart breaks while expanding at the same time.

  “I'm here, Sweetpea ,” I whisper, tears burning in my eyes as I lean toward her. I thought for a moment she might be awake, but when she whispers again—“Travis? Where are you?”—the distress in her voice is palpable even though she is clearly still asleep.