Page 42 of So Savage

Turk probably only understood “follow me,” but it helped Faith to talk to him like he was a person sometimes.

She switched her flashlight and steeled herself.This would potentially be the most dangerous part because it was the part that would result in the most noise.

She shielded her face and swung the flashlight into the glass.It shattered with a noise like a train wreck.She cried out and jumped back, leveling her weapon, startled by the sudden explosion of sound where before had been silence.

She was greeted with nothing but the echoes of the shattered glass ringing in her ears.She sighed—red from fear and self-embarrassment—and used the flashlight to break another piece of glass.

Now that the first shock was passed, the rest was easy.Within seconds, she had the doorway clear of hanging glass.The glass on the floor was a concern for Turk, though.Faith would have to leave him outside.

“Okay, Turk—”

Before she finished that sentence, Turk leaped through the door with the grace of a dancer, landing in a clear spot on the floor and jumping twice until he landed clear of the minefield.

“Never mind.”

She walked through carefully, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.Inside, the damage was worse than on the outside.She stood in what had once been the reception area.A high counter still stood in front of her, forming an L-shape.The rooms past that were inaccessible, blocked by debris and the brown silt of snow and dust.

Turk peeked around the corner of the L and barked.Faith approached swiftly but cautiously, handgun raised.

There was no one there, but someone had clearly been here very recently.A sleeping bag was stretched haphazardly behind the counter, and a trash bag filled with food wrappers and water bottles sat in the corner of the ruined wall and at the far end of the counter.A collection of magazines—some of the dirty variety, all dated within the past month—stood next to the bag, and a battery-powered lantern sat on top of them as a paperweight.

She holstered her weapon.She’d found James Cooper’s hideout.She’d call Marcus and have them stake the place out.As soon as he returned, they’d pick him up.

She reached for her phone, but before she could dial Marcus, the phone buzzed, and the screen lit up with his caller ID.She answered.“I was just about to call you.I found James Cooper’s hideout.”

“We found Delgado.”

The somberness in his voice told Faith it was bad news.She sighed and nodded.“Where?”

“In a drainage ditch a mile east of the airport.She’s alive.”

Faith’s eyes shot open.Alive?

She pumped her fist and whooped for joy.If she was alive, then she could identify her killer.They could know for sure exactly who was killing these handlers.

Most importantly, she was alive.The killer hadn’t won.He hadn’t killed anyone else.She could still beat him.She could still keep people safe.

“She’s alive, but barely.We’re transporting her to the hospital now.”

“That’s still good news,” Faith said.“Send me the address.I’ll meet you there.”

In FBI work, bad news was par for the course.It made moments like these even more precious to her.

The darker the night, the brighter the light shines,she thought as she started the truck and headed back for the city.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Faith’s good feelings faded when she saw Delgado.The woman had been beaten until she was nearly unrecognizable.Underneath all of the tubes and wires and bandages, Faith caught glimpses of swollen, purple skin, misshapen features and dried blood.Her eyes were puffy, her nose crushed and bent sideways, her ears pulped.

And she was in a coma.In the joy of her victory, Faith had forgotten how broad the definition of “alive” was in the medical sense.

"She's got a list of injuries that's miles long," Marcus told her."Nine of her ribs were broken, both her arms and one of her legs.She has two skull fractures, a broken nose, and five herniated discs.Numerous ruptured internal organs, frostbite on four of her fingers…" He sighed."And she's in a coma.Doctors need to keep her that way for several days at least to try to give her some chance to heal.Maybe even longer than that.They don't know if they'll be able to wake her up when the time comes."He shook his head."He beat herbad.This is among the worst things I’ve ever seen.Definitely the worst thing I’ve seen someone survive.

An old memory came to Faith, a vivid reminder of when she had been left in a similar state.

Jethro Trammell, the Donkey Killer, approached slowly, his eyes gleaming with insanity.He approached Faith and leaned close, a manic grin splitting his face.Faith’s nostrils flared as his sour breath wafted across her face.

He showed her his knife, the blade rusty and pitted save for the edge which was polished and sharpened so that it gleamed bone-white in the soft light that filtered through the barn’s window.“Let’s see how you bleed, little girl.”

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