by Rose, Karen
Farrah bypassed Sasha’s hand, going for the hug, and Sasha made a happy sound. ‘I’m Farrah. Thank you for meeting us.’
Sasha stepped back with a mock glare for Mercy. ‘It wasn’t easy. I’ve been here for hours, waiting on every flight that could possibly have started in or transferred from New Orleans.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mercy mumbled.
Sasha waved her apology away. ‘Introduce us properly, Mercy.’
‘Sasha, this is my best friend, Dr Farrah Romero. Farrah, Sasha Sokolov.’
Sasha lifted her perfectly arched brows. ‘Doctor?’
‘I’m a biophysicist,’ Farrah explained. ‘I work for a university.’
Sasha nodded. ‘Very cool. If you’re willing, I’d love for you to chat with my youngest sister, Zoya. She wants to be a doctor. A medical doctor, I think, but she’s only seventeen, so . . .’
Farrah smiled. ‘I’d be happy to talk to her.’
‘Excellent.’ Sasha shook her head. ‘Where are my manners?’ She took a cat carrier in each hand and gave a low whistle. ‘Shit, Mercy, how many cats you got in here? And are they sitting on bricks?’
Farrah nodded. ‘Right? They’re behemoths.’
Mercy made herself smile, because her anxiety was beginning to build again. There were too many people here. Too much noise.
‘Hey,’ Farrah murmured, sensing her tension. ‘Go sit down. I’ll get our bags.’
Mercy shook her head. ‘I’ll go get our rental car and meet you at the pickup curb.’
‘Nope,’ Sasha said. ‘No renting of cars needed. I drove my father’s SUV today, which you will be borrowing while you’re here. He never drives it anymore, not since he got the Tesla.’
Tesla? Really? Farrah mouthed.
‘Karl owns a successful marketing agency,’ Mercy told her, then turned to Sasha. ‘That’s not necessary, really.’
Sasha gave her a long, long look. ‘Yes, it is. Gideon is family. You are Gideon’s sister. Therefore, you are family, and no family of ours rents a car when they visit.’
‘I’ll be here for a while,’ Mercy said, flailing for some argument she could make stick in the face of the tsunami that was Sasha Sokolov.
‘Better still,’ Sasha returned. ‘Also, I already stopped at the pet store this morning for cat supplies. Food, litter, a litter box. Even some toys. So once we get your suitcases, we can go straight to my place, where you can rest.’ With that, she stalked off toward the baggage carousel, handling the cats as if they weighed nothing.
‘Wow,’ Farrah said with clear admiration. ‘I’m impressed. It took me years to bulldoze you like that and she figured it out in a few weeks. Are they all like that?’
Mercy sighed. ‘Yes. They have a large family.’ A big, noisy, pushy, boisterous family who loved each other so much. Who loved Gideon so much. ‘There are eight kids, and Mrs Sokolov is as big a force of nature as Mama Ro.’
Irina Sokolov had also bulldozed her way through Mercy’s defenses, mothering Mercy as if she’d been another Sokolov. Mercy had balked at first, preferring solitude as she’d sat by Rafe’s hospital bed, but Irina hadn’t allowed it. They’d developed a natural rapport and by the end of her visit, Mercy had grown fond of the older woman, missing her counsel when she’d fled back to New Orleans. It will be good to see her again.
‘And Sasha’s brother?’ Farrah asked slyly. ‘Is he a force of nature?’
Ignoring Farrah’s innuendo, Mercy honestly considered the question. ‘No. There’s a . . . a quietness with Rafe that the rest of the family doesn’t seem to possess.’ At first she’d thought it was because he’d been injured and was in pain, but she’d quickly learned that his quiet ran deep, but that he hid it from his family and she’d never asked why. She wasn’t sure if she’d wanted to know, because knowing would foster the closeness that Rafe had wanted, but that had scared her to death. ‘Or at least I didn’t see it in the two weeks I was here.’
‘I cannot wait to meet him,’ Farrah said. ‘I’ll help Sasha find our bags. Why don’t you go to the ladies’ room to freshen up? It’ll be quieter there. We’ll wait for you by the door over there.’
Mercy nodded, grateful. ‘I will. Thank you.’ She paused a moment, though, watching Farrah and Sasha getting to know each other by the baggage carousel. Farrah said something that made Sasha throw back her head and laugh and in that moment, she looked so much like her brother that Mercy’s heart hurt.
Rafe had laughed like that. Not often – he’d been in too much pain – but once or twice she’d say something wry and his laugh would boom out, joyful and happy. He’d been golden in those moments. Beautiful. Untouchable by someone like me.
And then that last time, the last day she’d been there, he’d sobered, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. Stay, he’d murmured. Let’s see where this goes. Please. And then he’d kissed her, shattering everything she’d thought she’d known about who she was and what she wanted.
That was what had made her run home, the straw that broke the camel’s back. That terrifying, beautiful, amazing kiss. He should be so angry. Maybe he wouldn’t even want to see her again. Maybe she should find a hotel, like right now.
Or maybe she should grow the hell up and stop being a frightened child. Deliberately turning her body, Mercy headed for the ladies’ room, trying to calm the butterflies in her gut that had changed to angry bees.
Sacramento, California
Saturday, 15 April, 5.00 P.M.
Finally. Ephraim had been waiting for hours, his own flight from New Orleans having landed early that afternoon. Mercy had led him on quite the merry chase, with two cross-country flights in under a week.
He’d booked his flight to Louisiana as soon as he’d seen Mercy’s face on the TV on Monday night. Or at least as soon as he’d recovered from his shock at seeing her alive when he’d thought her dead for thirteen years.
The CNN interview had been full of shocks. Mercy was still alive. She’d survived being abducted by a serial killer. But there was another victim – Eileen, who’d been given the name of Miriam when Ephraim had married her. Now she was dead at this serial killer’s hands. And the most dangerous shock of all – Miriam’s locket had been found and was now in the hands of the police. Which meant that, unless Miriam had removed their wedding photo from the locket, the cops now knew his face.
Fortunately, he no longer wore the pirate patch like he had in the photo. Not out in the world anyway. Only in Eden, because no one in the community could know that he’d gotten surgery none of them would have access to.
But the real chances of the cops knowing his face were slim. If they had his picture, they’d have it spread all over the TV. Just like Mercy’s had been in that broadcast.
The CNN reporter had been so helpful, telling her viewing audience where Mercy now lived. Ephraim had followed Mercy around New Orleans for days, learning her routine. He’d planned his grab for last night, only to learn from her neighbor that she was flying back to Sacramento and he’d missed her.
He hadn’t planned to kill Mercy’s neighbor, but the woman had seen his face. He’d had no choice. His preferred method of eliminating threats was snapping his victim’s neck – and he was damn good at it – but he wanted the old lady to look like she’d died of natural causes, so he’d suffocated her instead, which took more effort. Tracking Mercy had been a lot more trouble than he’d expected.
But it had all worked out because there she was, walking toward the ladies’ room. Mercy Callahan, or so she called herself now. When she’d been his wife, she’d been Mercy Burton. And since Eden didn’t permit divorce, she was still Mercy Burton.
Slowly, he moved toward the restrooms, not wanting to attract any attention. He had no idea if Mercy or her bastard brother had told anyone about him, but there was a chance that his photo from Miriam’s locket might have surfaced, and he wasn’t go
ing to be careless.
Careless men got caught. I will not get caught.
Not for the first time, he cursed Miriam, wishing he could have been the one who’d snapped her neck instead of the random stranger who’d killed her. If she’d stayed where she was supposed to be – in Eden, with me – she’d still be alive. Her locket would be safe, instead of in the hands of the police. His photo would still be secure.
He’d told Pastor that putting their wedding photos in the women’s lockets was a terrible idea, but the man seriously thought he was infallible. After thirty years of being told he was God’s emissary, Eden’s own priest, Pastor believed his own press and had developed a serious God complex.
But Pastor was old. And I’m next in line. The only threat to his taking control of Eden after Pastor’s death was DJ Belmont.
And I’m about to grind him into the ground like the cockroach he is. As soon as he dragged little Mercy back to Eden, he’d be able to prove that DJ had lied. DJ had sworn to Pastor that he’d killed Mercy and buried her where her body would never be found.
But DJ’s lie was evidenced by the young woman walking into the ladies’ room, all by herself.
That she’d separated from her companions was a bit of luck. He didn’t want to have to kill the other two women, but he would if he had to. He wanted to take only Mercy back with him.
Where she belonged. And nobody was going to stop him.
Two
Sacramento, California
Saturday, 15 April, 5.03 P.M.
Luckily the ladies’ room was completely unoccupied and quiet. She could think in the quiet. Not that she really wanted to think.
She was back in California. Back to Gideon. Back to Rafe. And back to the memories of Eden that seemed so much closer to the surface here.
Eden. As much as she dreaded having to face Gideon and Rafe again, just being in California had her nearly hyperventilating. Eden was here, somewhere. Somewhere north of Sacramento, way up in the mountains where monsters could hide and continue their abuse.
Monsters like Ephraim Burton and DJ Belmont. She shuddered. DJ had killed her mother, but it was Ephraim who’d terrified her to the depths of her soul. He still did. The memory of him, big and hulking, harsh hands that hit and hit, still had the power to reduce her to the traumatized girl she’d been. His one eye, intense and so cruel. His body that had . . . hurt her.
Say the word, Mercy. He raped you for an entire year. Until she’d nearly died. She would have died, had it not been for her mother’s sacrifice.
But Mama had sacrificed, enabling Mercy’s and Gideon’s escapes. Gideon had been searching for Eden ever since. He’d become a special agent with the FBI, to help people. To find Eden. To free the others who were still enslaved. Still afraid and hurting. While I ran away to hide from him, to hide from life. To hide from everything. All the while refusing to help him find the monsters that had taken everything.
No more. Everything had changed, all because of Gideon and his passion for the truth. The FBI knew about Ephraim Burton now. They knew that he’d been Harry Franklin before robbing a bank had sent him into hiding. Had sent him to Eden. An FBI task force was looking for him.
If they found him, they’d arrest him for murder and sexual assault. So many victims. The FBI would want her to testify against him. She’d have to see him again. To look at the face that still haunted her nightmares.
The angry bees in her gut swarmed and she was abruptly glad she hadn’t had anything to eat on the plane. Ephraim Burton was out there. And so was DJ Belmont. Walking the earth as free men when her mother was dead. And I’ve been hiding all this time, afraid of my own shadow.
No more. Because she’d returned to do the right thing. ‘I may still be afraid,’ she muttered quietly, ‘but I’m sure as hell not hiding anymore.’
She looked up, stared at her own reflection. She was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. But her eyes were clear and she straightened her spine, suddenly refilled with purpose. You are not weak. You have survived. You are here. And you are not a little girl anymore, cowering in fear as he raped you. You’re a grown woman, in charge of your future.
She was here in Sacramento to make amends. To Gideon, to Rafe. But if she could make amends and destroy the men who’d tortured her and her mother and so many others at the same time?
That was an empowering thought. ‘You can do this,’ she said to the woman in the mirror.
She would make amends. She would make the men who hurt her mother pay. One step, one breath at a time. I’m back, you sons of bitches.
Mercy gave a hard nod to her reflection. She knew what she had to do now. She wasn’t sure how to do it, but she wouldn’t have to do it alone.
She had Gideon. And Rafe. They might hate her, but they’d help her take Ephraim and DJ down, because they were both good men who did the right thing.
And it wasn’t like she’d have to face Ephraim today. The FBI was searching for him, but it wasn’t like he was going to pop up and surrender himself. So she had a little while to bolster herself.
She turned to the mirror to give her face a light coating of foundation and to apply her lipstick. At least she didn’t look like death warmed over, even if that was exactly how she felt.
Gathering her things, she squared her shoulders and walked from the ladies’ room.
Only to come to an abrupt halt, her breath seizing in her lungs. No. It’s not possible. It’s a dream. A nightmare. It’s not real.
But then her nightmare smiled, a glass eye glinting as it reflected the overhead lights. ‘Hello, wife.’
The eye was new, but the voice was familiar. So damn familiar. You like it, don’t you. Tell me you like it. Tell me. Tell me or I’ll break your fucking arm, you little whore.
Mercy stared up at him, her mind beginning to fuzz, little black dots dancing in her vision. Ephraim. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be real.
‘Nothing to say?’ he mocked. ‘No greeting for your husband?’
A snick seemed to echo in the silence between them and Mercy had only a split second to wonder what it was before feeling the bite of a blade against her wrist. He grabbed her other hand and yanked.
‘You’ll come with me,’ he growled, ‘and you won’t say a word. Nod once if you understand.’
Her brain was telling her to run, but her feet were made of stone. She stood there, able only to stare at him, her heart beating like a wild thing in her chest.
He yanked again, pulling her hand through his arm. The knife now pressed against her side, through her blouse.
He’s going to ruin it, she thought numbly. He’s going to make me bleed on it.
Her feet still didn’t move, even when he yanked her again.
‘Move your ass, bitch,’ he whispered in her ear.
And then another voice, one that made her shiver. ‘Mercy?’
Oh God. Rafe. He spoke in her best daydreams, deep and musical. But she didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. She was . . . not there.
‘Mercy!’ He was shouting now, from behind them.
Her feet were finally moving. She was walking to the door. With Ephraim.
I’m not going to get the chance to be brave. I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry, Gideon.
And then there was a loud crack and the arm holding hers was gone.
Eden, California
Saturday, 15 April, 5.05 P.M.
Amos Terrill rubbed his thumb over the lines of the script he’d just carved into the lid of the hope chest. He was almost finished with it, this special project on which he’d been laboring for the past five months, mostly in secret. He’d made countless hope chests, coffee tables, kitchen cabinets, armoires, and jewelry boxes over the thirty years he’d lived in Eden. All of them had been gifts for the membership or items to be sold to bring money into the community coffers.
This was the first time he’d ever made something for himself. Something he didn’t intend to share with anyone.
No one except his Abigail. His heart.
A splinter caught at his thumb and he pulled it out, sucking at the small wound before returning to his task. He could sand the hope chest later. He didn’t have much more time to himself. Everyone knew he stopped working at suppertime, and then people would start dropping by.
Amos, can you fix this? Amos, a minute of your time? Amos, need a pair of strong hands to help with . . . It didn’t matter what. It was all the same after thirty years.
He picked up the detail blade, his favorite of all of his carving tools. He’d brought it with him to Eden, when he was young and full of hope, ready to change the world.
Now he knew the truth and every day had become a struggle, each harder than the day before.
He had to stay positive. Had to keep smiling. Had to stay patient. Had to nod and pleasantly reply that all was well when he was greeted in passing.
In other words, he had to lie.
He finished carving the last word and took a look at his work. It had become something of a trademark, a personal signature he’d added to all the larger pieces of cabinetry he created.
The words were carved in a scrolling, old-fashioned script: Surely Goodness And Mercy Shall Follow Me All The Days Of My Life. Psalms 23:6. Anyone in the community would think it simply a beautiful Bible verse, one that matched the song that used to be in his heart.
But it wasn’t. It was a tribute. Penance, even. His way of trying to make it up to a beautiful little girl whom he’d failed. So utterly.
Mercy. He thought of her often, especially after the birth of his Abigail, whose name meant father’s joy. As with most things in his life, Abigail’s birth had been bittersweet, losing her mother just minutes after they’d held their baby for the first time.
He’d thought he’d lose them both. Like he’d lost his first family. Mercy. Gideon. Rhoda. Dammit, Rhoda, I’m so sorry. You tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen.