by Rose, Karen
Copyright © 2020 Karen Rose Books, Inc.
The right of Karen Rose Books, Inc. to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by that company in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published in 2020 by
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
First published as an Ebook in 2020 by
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
Ebook conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Arden Court, Alcester, Warwickshire
Jacket photograph © Trevillion Images
eISBN: 978 1 4722 6572 2
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.headline.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About Karen Rose
Praise
Also by Karen Rose
About the Book
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Epilogue
About the Author
Karen Rose was introduced to suspense and horror at the tender age of eight when she accidentally read Poe’s The Pit and the Pendulum and was afraid to go to sleep for years. She now enjoys writing books that make other people afraid to go to sleep.
Karen lives in Florida with her family, their cat, Bella, and two dogs, Loki and Freya. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, and her new hobby – knitting.
To find out more about Karen Rose, check out her website www.karenrosebooks.com, follow her on Facebook @KarenRoseBooks, and on Twitter @KarenRoseBooks
Praise for Karen Rose
‘Intense, complex and unforgettable’ James Patterson
‘Karen Rose delivers the kind of high-wire suspense that keeps you riveted’ Lisa Gardner
‘Rose . . . effortlessly balances romance and crime . . . An excellent example of how far-reaching and varied romance can be’ New York Times
‘Fast and furious’ Sun
‘Takes off like a house afire. There’s action and chills galore in this nonstop thriller’ Tess Gerritsen
‘A pulse pounding tale that has it all’ Cosmopolitan
‘A blend of hard-edged police procedural and romance – engaging’ Irish Independent
‘Rose juggles a large cast, a huge body count and a complex plot with terrifying ease’ Publishers Weekly
‘A high-octane thrill ride that kept me on the edge of my seat and up far too late at night!’ Lisa Jackson
‘Rose is an expert at combining chilling suspense and passionate romance set within a well-constructed plot filled with twists’ RT Book Reviews
‘Another top-notch thriller! . . . You won’t be able to put it down’ Brenda Novak
‘A chilling, enthralling read that succeeds on every level’ Kirkus Reviews
By Karen Rose
The Raleigh Series
Have You Seen Her?
The Chicago Series
Don’t Tell
I’m Watching You
Nothing to Fear
You Can’t Hide
Count to Ten
The Philadelphia/Atlanta Series
Die For Me
Scream For Me
Kill For Me
The Minneapolis Series
I Can See You
Silent Scream
The Baltimore Series
You Belong to Me
No One Left to Tell
Did You Miss Me?
Watch Your Back
Monster in the Closet
Death is Not Enough
The Cincinnati Series
Closer Than You Think
Alone in the Dark
Every Dark Corner
Edge of Darkness
Into the Dark
The Sacramento Series
Say You’re Sorry
Novellas available in ebook only
Broken Silence
Dirty Secrets
About the Book
If they ever catch you, say nothing. Admit nothing. Never tell.
Mercy Callahan never thought she’d be able to talk about her past. When she arrives in Sacramento to make peace with her brother Gideon, and to help find the brutal cult that took away her childhood, she is finally ready to talk. But when Ephraim Burton – the man who made her life a living hell – follows her there, she realises she might never be safe.
Rafe Sokolov would do anything to have Mercy back in his life and would go to any length to protect her. But when it becomes apparent that Ephraim is more determined than ever to get Mercy back, even Rafe might not be able to stop the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake. As Ephraim draws near, it’s clear it’s not just Mercy who is in danger; those closest to her are firmly in his sights.
Will Mercy sacrifice herself to help bring Ephraim down? Or will he finally get what he’s always wanted . . .
To Farrah. Your books warm my heart and your characters make me wish for a place at their kitchen table. Your generosity inspires and your smile lights up the room. I hope you find Mercy’s Farrah to be as brave, intelligent, compassionate, and kick-ass as you are IRL.
To Deb. I won’t say your bravery humbles me (even though it does), because I know you’re getting through each day the best way you know how. I will say that I’m so glad to know you and that I can’t wait for us to have that tea together.
And to Martin, as always, I love you.
Acknowledgements
Sarah Hafer and Beth Miller for all the editing. Thank you for keeping track of all the cars, weapons, injuries, etc. You allow me to create accurate mayhem.
The Starfish for the plotting. Thank you!
Claire Zion, Jen Doyle, and Robin Rue for all your support, every step of the way. Thank you for loving my books and believing in me.
Martin Hafer for making sure I remember to eat and sleep while my brain is busily churning out the words, and for always reminding me th
at I ‘freak out every time, yet still manage to finish the book,’ so I should ‘stop freaking out now.’
All mistakes are my own.
Prologue
Redding, California
Thirteen years ago
Tuesday, 22 May, 4.30 A.M.
She was going to die. Rhoda knew it was true. There was no way Brother DJ would take her back to Eden, and, even if he would, the result would be the same. She didn’t want to go back. Ever.
She cursed the day she’d first climbed into the bed of this truck, all those years ago. How many? She struggled to remember. DJ’s father, Waylon, had been behind the wheel that night that she’d gathered her children in her lap, promising them that everything would be okay. That they were going to a new home where everything would be wonderful and they’d have toys and food and a warm bed to sleep in.
How stupid was I? Naive and stupid.
Mercy had only been a year old, so she’d never known the scary time before when they didn’t always have dinner because Rhoda hadn’t turned enough tricks the previous night. But Gideon had seen her come home from a night on the streets of San Francisco with bruises on her face and no breakfast for them because a john had refused to pay. When she’d promised her son a better life, he’d believed her, willingly – eagerly – climbing into the bed of the truck that would take them to paradise. To Eden.
To Eden. She’d spit, but her mouth was too dry. Eden had been no paradise. It had been hell.
Gideon had only been five years old that day, so precious and smart. Wise before his time. My beautiful boy. He’d be seventeen now. Well on his way to becoming a man. She hoped. Prayed.
Gideon. My beautiful son. She’d never see him again in this lifetime. She hoped he was well, that he’d survived. She’d cursed herself every night for the past four years for leaving him alone on his thirteenth birthday, injured, maybe even dying. Watching Waylon dump his limp body behind a dumpster, trying to catch one last glimpse of her son as Waylon tied her hands behind her, pushing her face-first into the truck bed, then taking his payment for Gideon’s escape from Eden, leaving her torn and bleeding . . . It had been the worst day of her life.
Until she’d climbed into the bed of this truck a third time, her daughter in her arms. This time it was being driven by Waylon’s son, DJ, who’d inherited it when Waylon died. DJ’s price for the ride out of Eden had been the same as when Waylon had driven her to this same bus station while she clutched at an injured Gideon.
And even though she’d been married to other men both times, she’d complied. She’d sold her body before Eden for a lot less. What was food and shelter when the lives of your children were in danger? Nothing. So she’d paid without complaint.
The day she’d gotten Gideon out, Brother Waylon had taken her back to Eden to pay for her crimes. She had a sick feeling that today’s outcome with DJ would not be the same.
She looked down at the trembling body she held too closely. Mercy was burning up. Eden’s healer hadn’t been able to help, but that hadn’t been too big a surprise. Sister Coleen dealt with colds and minor cuts.
Mercy had an infection. It was bad. Very bad. So progressed that it could be detected by scent alone. Coleen simply wasn’t equipped to deal with such things.
Which was why Rhoda had taken this drastic step. Why she’d bartered her own life to get Mercy out. To get her away. Hopefully to safety, although anywhere was better than the place they’d left behind.
Eden. Rhoda quelled what would have been a bitter laugh. She’d welcome death were it not for the small body she held. Lovingly, she brushed a lock of black hair from Mercy’s sweat-covered forehead. How I wanted to see you grow up!
Although Mercy was already grown up. She’d had her twelfth birthday nearly a year ago. Rhoda remembered turning twelve. Remembered playing games with her friends. Mercy’s birthday had been nothing like that.
Mercy’s birthday had been filled with tears and pain. And fear. So much fear. It’s all my fault. I agreed to go to Eden. To blindly take my children with me. I believed a stranger. He’d promised her food and shelter and a safe place to raise her children. And Rhoda had believed him, her children paying the price for her stupidity.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Rhoda whispered. ‘So very sorry.’
Mercy’s eyelids fluttered, her lashes lifting to reveal bright green eyes so like those of her brother. ‘Mama?’ Her murmur was hoarse and harsh. ‘It hurts.’
‘I know, baby. It’ll be better soon.’ Rhoda had no idea if that was true or not. But the words seemed to soothe her precious daughter, who closed her eyes again. Hopefully she was asleep.
Or unconscious.
Rhoda hoped it was the latter, actually. She hoped that Mercy had been unaware when DJ Belmont had stopped the truck an hour into their trip, and then another hour after that. And yet another hour after that, taking his payment from Rhoda’s body.
But getting Mercy out of Eden would be worth anything Rhoda had to endure.
They were almost there. Almost to the bus stop where she’d left Gideon four years before. She leaned down to whisper in Mercy’s ear. ‘Mercy, honey. Are you awake?’ Mercy’s chin dipped in a silent nod. ‘I need you to listen to me. This is important. Find Gideon. He’ll help you.’
Mercy’s eyes opened wide, her shock apparent. ‘He can’t. He’s dead.’
‘No, baby. He’s not.’ Please let that be true. ‘He escaped. I smuggled him out that night, just like I’m getting you out now. He is alive and you need to find him.’
Emotion flashed in her daughter’s green eyes. ‘He is alive? But you said—’
‘I know what I said,’ Rhoda hissed, prepared for Mercy’s disbelief. I played the part of a grieving mother too well. Except that she hadn’t been grieving his death. She’d grieved the fact that her actions had put both of her children in danger. She’d grieved that she’d left him alone, here, at this bus stop, while he bled and suffered. ‘But you need to believe me now. He is alive. And he will help you. Find him, Mercy.’
Mercy’s nostrils flared, her eyes narrowing in anger. ‘No.’
Rhoda blinked, stunned to hear the venom in her daughter’s voice. ‘What? Why not?’
‘He’s selfish and I never want to see him again. He escaped. He lived. While we . . .’ Tears welled in Mercy’s eyes. ‘We suffered, Mama. We suffered because he was selfish.’
‘No, Mercy. He wasn’t selfish. Never that.’
‘No. I’ll be fine without him. We’ll be fine, you and me.’
Rhoda’s eyes filled with tears. Not we, my sweet girl. Just you. She wouldn’t be allowed to go with her daughter, she was certain. ‘Mercy, baby. There’s something you need to know about Gideon.’
Mercy turned her face away, clenching her eyes closed. ‘No.’
‘There was a reason he left.’ A good reason. Good enough that she’d chosen to part with her child. Her only son. Leaving him here, hoping that someone would find him. Help him.
‘I know. He didn’t want to be apprenticed. He didn’t want to work. He was lazy and selfish.’ Mercy spat the words she’d been fed by the community. By Mercy’s own ‘husband’.
Words that Rhoda had been too terrified to call what they were: evil lies. Now she was going to lose both of her children, because she was never going to be allowed to live after this latest show of defiance.
How had she let this happen? How had it come to this?
‘No, Mercy.’ Rhoda shook her head. ‘He wasn’t lazy. He wasn’t selfish.’ He was attacked. He was beaten. He was all but dead. ‘He was—’
The truck abruptly stopped, and Rhoda cursed herself for putting the truth off too long. It was too late. She had so much to tell her daughter and only seconds to do so.
‘Mercedes,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘You are Mercedes Reynolds.’
Mercy’s eyes widened in confusion. ‘What
?’
The driver’s door opened. DJ was coming. Seconds. You have only seconds. Choose your words wisely.
‘You are Mercedes Reynolds. Not Terrill.’
Mercy’s brow furrowed. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘My parents are Derrick and Ronnie Reynolds in Houston. Find them. They’ll take care of you.’
‘Mama?’ Mercy’s fingers clenched Rhoda’s handmade coat. ‘You’re not making sense.’
But she was making sense. For the first time since believing a stranger’s lies about paradise, she was making sense. She was making it right. No, she could never make it right. She could only tell the truth.
‘Your brother is Gideon Reynolds. You need to find him. Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him that I love him.’ Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away, not caring where they fell. ‘I love you. Always and forever.’
Mercy’s lips trembled. ‘Mama?’
‘Selena. My name is Selena Reynolds.’ Then she hissed when the back of Brother DJ’s hand connected with her jaw.
‘Silence!’ DJ thundered.
Mercy recoiled, clenching her eyes closed as she stiffened, waiting for the next blow, but DJ didn’t have a problem with Mercy so the blow never came.
Touching the tip of her tongue to her bleeding lip, Rhoda met DJ’s dark eyes and said nothing. As she’d been taught.
DJ shot her a warning glare. ‘No more of your lies, Rhoda. You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.’
Rhoda dropped her eyes to the terrified child in her arms. She’s a child. The community held that Mercy was a woman grown, but she was not. Rhoda’s daughter was an almost-thirteen-year-old girl, scared out of her mind, but too beaten down to fight back. Emotionally and physically. Mercy’s husband had beaten her, had taken her so roughly that she’d bled. Again and again.
My fault. All my fault. I should have stopped him.
But that was an impossibility. Rhoda had been unable to stop the man’s harsh treatment of her own body, much less Mercy’s.
They’d been possessions. Nothing more.
‘You’ll keep your end of the bargain?’ she asked.