Cut and Run(81)

“I’m sorry I didn’t see your message right away. Life has been crazy the last couple of months. And honestly, as much as I wanted to know the truth, I was afraid of it.”

“I know. I had started to think I’d made a mistake when I didn’t hear from you. First few days I checked the site twenty times a day, and then I had to pull back because I was driving myself crazy.”

“You sound braver than I have been. I put up my DNA and didn’t have the nerve to check back.” Their shared fear chipped at some of the ice.

“So you’re adopted?” Marissa asked.

“I am. I found out when I was a kid.”

Marissa was staring at her, and Faith knew she was searching for similarities just as she was. “Was it a shock?”

“I didn’t really understand it when I was a kid, but by the time I was a teenager, it was pretty overwhelming. How long have you known?”

“I’ve always known. I have four older brothers, who are Mom and Dad’s biological children. I call them the Bio Boys. Mom always wanted a girl, and my dad started looking into an adoption. They found me and brought me home when I was two days old.”

“Do you know anything about your biological family?”

“Mom said the lawyer told her my birth mother was a medical student and that she chose career over motherhood. She thought we’d both be better off going our separate ways.”

“Do you have the name of your biological mother?”

“No. It was all closed. And I’m still trying to wrap my brain around my bio mom having a medical background. I’m a painter. And the sight of blood scares me. What about you?”

“I’m a doctor. A pathologist. I have no information on my biological family.”

“I was hoping you did.”

“Who handled your adoption?” Faith asked. “My father handled mine. He was with the law firm of Slater and McIntyre.”

Marissa leaned forward. “For real?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“That’s the firm that handled my adoption,” Marissa said.

“What year were you born?” Faith asked.

“I was born May 1, 1989.”

In the magazines, that was the year Olivia Martin had been held captive. Faith recalled the words Olivia had written.

Things I like. “Tell It to My Heart” by Taylor Dayne. “Wild, Wild West” by The Escape Club. Chocolate. Sunshine. The feel of grass. My mom’s burned spaghetti sauce.

“Do you think we have the same mother or father?” Marissa asked.

It would take DNA testing and more investigation. But if Faith had to guess, Marissa and she had been born to different women and they’d both been fathered by a monster. “I don’t know yet, but I have a few lines in the water. As soon as I know more, I’ll be happy to share it with you.”



Hayden arrived at the Crow salvage yard less than an hour after he left Faith. As he drove through the piles of scrap metal and cars, he caught the flash of several cop car lights near another trailer. Three sheriff’s deputies’ cars greeted him when he pulled up.

He placed his Stetson on his head, got out of the SUV, and walked toward the trailer as Brogan stepped out. Hayden paused to shake hands with the deputies on duty and then crossed to his partner. “What did you find?”

“Dirk’s dead. Someone roughed him up pretty good before his throat was cut. There was also a playing card on his lap. It was the ace of diamonds.”

Hayden removed his hat and slid on black latex gloves as he stepped inside the trailer. It was almost a mirror image of what they’d found at Crow’s, only Dirk was sitting in his recliner. His fingers were broken and one knee was shattered. The place appeared to have been ransacked.

“What the hell is this guy looking for?” Brogan asked.

“He knows who’s responsible for taking those girls thirty years ago,” Hayden said. “And he knows there’s evidence that could ruin him or he’s protecting someone.”



Faith arrived back at the medical examiner’s office midmorning. She found Nancy in what was now called the bone room with the remains from the ranch. The first two sets had been arranged in anatomical order, and the third was partly complete.

Faith grabbed a fresh set of gloves and took in the sight of the three gurneys arranged side by side. All likely had been young girls held in that basement room, murdered, and then buried.

“Any idea how long sets two and three have been in the ground?” Faith asked.

“Rough estimates are at least twenty-five years, but it could easily be longer. At this stage we’re only guessing,” Nancy said.

“That timetable matches with forensic evidence found in the room in the ranch. We have an idea of who we might be dealing with here, but so far no confirmed identification.”

“We might have caught a break with victim number three,” Nancy said. “She has a metal plate in her right femur.”

“Did you reach out to the manufacturer?” Faith asked.

“I contacted the surgical implant company late yesterday, and I heard back just a few minutes ago,” Nancy said.

“What did you discover?” Faith asked.

“The plate on the femur of victim three was indeed surgically placed in a young girl by the name of Kathy Saunders. In 1985, Ms. Saunders, age fifteen at the time, was involved in a bad car accident. She suffered a broken femur requiring the plate.”