by Rose, Karen
Six weeks ago he’d pushed her for more than she’d been comfortable giving him, kissing her when he’d known he needed to give her more time. More space. She was a survivor of rape, for God’s sake. But he hadn’t been able to resist her lips when she’d smiled at him on that last day. But then she’d run, leaving him to curse himself for his clumsiness.
Why she’d returned was still a mystery, but Mercy wasn’t saying anything right now, even though her friend from New Orleans was pleading with her to speak.
I can’t do this to Gideon. Not right now. He found the contact information for Special Agent in Charge Molina, Gideon’s boss.
He handed Sasha his phone. ‘Stay with the 911 operator, please.’
Sasha swallowed hard. ‘What’s going on, Rafe?’
‘Just wait. I need to make another call.’
The woman who’d followed Sasha dropped to her knees on Mercy’s other side, gently lifting the hem of her blouse. ‘It doesn’t look deep. I don’t think it’s bleeding anymore.’
Rafe exhaled, too relieved to speak for a moment. ‘Good. Just . . . I don’t know. Watch her for a minute.’
He dialed Molina’s number and a crisp male voice answered. ‘Special Agent in Charge Molina’s office, this is Jerry Fowler speaking. How can I help you?’
‘This is Detective Sokolov, SacPD. I just saw Ephraim Burton in the airport, aka Harry Franklin. He’s a fugitive, wanted for—’
‘I know the name, Detective,’ the man interrupted. ‘Where are you, exactly?’
‘In Sac airport, at baggage claim. He was trying to abduct Mercy Callahan, who just arrived from New Orleans.’
‘I see,’ the man said. There were clacking keyboard noises on the other end. ‘Have you notified SacPD?’
‘Yes. They’re en route. Miss Callahan was injured, but it doesn’t appear to be life-threatening.’
‘May I speak to her?’
Rafe studied Mercy, who still stared sightlessly. ‘No. She’s conscious, but appears to have disassociated.’
There was a long pause with more keyboard clacking. ‘I see,’ the assistant finally repeated. ‘I’ve notified SAC Molina and our dispatch. Will you be available for interview?’
‘Of course. Whatever you need. But I’ll be at the hospital with Mercy. I’m leaving as soon as SacPD gets here and cordons off the crime scene.’
‘I’ll send whatever agents SAC Molina assigns to the hospital. Do you need me to know anything else?’
Rafe made himself think. ‘I don’t think so.’ But his mind was coming off the adrenaline rush and he began to remember the things he’d forgotten to tell the 911 operator. ‘Oh wait, he didn’t have an eye patch, like in his photo from the locket. He had a glass eye. It reflected the light. But his face had tan lines. The area around his eye was lighter, like he still wears the patch sometimes. He also has a little gray at the temples.’
‘Noted. Thank you, Detective. Can we reach you at this number?’
‘No, this is my sister’s phone. My phone’s still tied up with 911 dispatch.’ He gave Molina’s assistant his cell phone number.
‘Thank you. We’ll be in touch very soon.’
The call ended and Rafe handed Sasha her phone before holstering his weapon and turning to the woman still kneeling at Mercy’s side. She was sheltering Mercy from the barrage of clicking camera phones, and for that Rafe was grateful. Mercy had just been assaulted. She’d hate having her privacy violated as well.
‘I’m Rafe Sokolov,’ he said.
‘Farrah Romero. I’m Mercy’s friend from New Orleans.’ Quiet tears were running down her face, and the woman’s Southern drawl was currently thin with fear and panic. ‘What happened?’
Sasha had crouched in front of him, sheltering him from the camera phones as well. ‘Why isn’t she responding?’
‘I don’t know.’ He gently pushed Mercy’s hair away from her face and cupped her cheek. ‘Mercy, honey, you’re safe. It’s okay.’
‘What happened?’ Farrah asked again, more forcefully this time.
‘She was coming out of the ladies’ room and . . .’ Rafe hesitated, not knowing how much Mercy had told her friend. He opted for discretion. ‘Someone from her past was there. He tried to drag her away. He had a knife, but it looks like we were lucky and she’s not hurt badly.’
Farrah met his eyes and somehow he knew that she knew about Eden. About Burton.
‘You told the FBI that he had a glass eye,’ Farrah whispered. ‘He didn’t when Mercy knew him. You’re sure it was Burton?’
He nodded. ‘Absolutely positive. Sasha, can you get my wheelchair?’
‘Of course.’ Sasha stood, then laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you all right, Rafe?’
‘Yeah. Just . . . get my chair, please.’
Sasha nodded and went to fetch his wheelchair, which had rolled away when he’d launched himself out of it to strike Burton with his cane. Wish I’d shot him in the back when I had the chance. But he hadn’t, and it pissed him off. He’d grabbed his cane instead. His fucking cane.
He’d been on disability for six weeks, but as soon as he’d been able to stand, he’d gone to the range every damn week to keep his skills sharp, his reflexes sharper. And to feel like a cop again, just for a little while, even though he wasn’t sure he ever would be one again.
Why hadn’t he drawn his weapon? Why had that damn cane been his first reflex?
He’d have to worry about it later. For now, he needed to focus on Mercy. At least he’d kept her from Burton’s clutches. For now.
The man had come for her thirteen years after her escape. Rafe had never believed he’d given up. But how had Burton found her? How had he known she’d be at the airport today? He started to ask Farrah who else had known they’d be on that flight, when the woman exhaled in audible relief.
‘I think she’s coming around,’ Farrah said in a low voice.
Mercy was blinking now, slowly. With purpose, unlike the robotic way she’d blinked before. She looked to the right, then left, then closed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.
‘For what, baby girl?’ Farrah whispered in a kind of crooning singsong tone.
Mercy shook her head slightly. ‘I don’t know. Is he gone?’
‘Yeah,’ Rafe answered. ‘He’s gone. You’re safe. Are you hurt anywhere other than your side, anywhere that we can’t see?’
She touched her side, opening her eyes to see her blood-covered fingers. ‘Oh.’ Then she turned to Rafe, her head tilted in the exact way that Gideon’s did when he was puzzling something out. ‘You’re here.’
He wasn’t sure if it was a yay-you’re-here, or a why-the-hell-are-you-here, or simple surprise to see him. It was impossible to determine from her flat expression and tone. ‘I came to meet you. But I didn’t want to overwhelm you in case you didn’t want to see me, so I stayed out of the way until Sasha could tell you that I’d come along.’
But he wasn’t giving Mercy the option to tell him to leave. There was no way he was letting her out of his sight. Not now.
Sasha crouched beside them again, having retrieved his wheelchair. ‘I was going to ask you if you were okay with him being here when you came out of the ladies’ room, but then . . .’ She shrugged.
‘Yeah,’ Mercy said in a monotone. ‘Then.’ She was talking now, responding to conversation, but her expression was completely closed off, her eyes unreadable.
But at least she wasn’t blankly staring. That had been damn creepy.
A team of medics made their way through the crowd and one of them went down on one knee in front of Mercy. ‘Hi. I’m Rick. I understand you had a bit of excitement here. How can I help you?’
‘She needs stitches,’ Farrah said.
‘I’m fine,’ Mercy said in that same flat tone.
‘You’re not fine,’ Farrah said sha
rply. ‘Goddammit, woman, will you let someone take care of you for once?’
Mercy didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Just sat there as calmly as if she’d been meditating. ‘I am fine.’ She looked at the medic. ‘I’m so sorry to have bothered you, but as you can see, I don’t need medical attention. A few Band-Aids will be sufficient for the cut on my side.’
‘Mercy,’ Farrah whispered brokenly. Tears were slipping down her cheeks. ‘Please.’
Mercy patted Farrah’s hand absently. ‘I’ve had a lot worse, Ro. I’m okay. I promise.’
That did not make Rafe feel even a little better. Or Farrah, from the way her face crumpled.
Sasha met Rafe’s gaze helplessly. ‘We can’t force her to get medical attention.’
Rafe sighed. ‘Let’s take her to Mom and Dad’s.’ He glanced at Farrah. ‘Mom’s a retired nurse. She’ll know what to do.’
Farrah’s nod was shaky. ‘Okay. Thank you.’
‘Are you okay with that, Mercy?’ Sasha asked.
‘I have to get the cats settled,’ Mercy replied, not answering the question. But she hadn’t said no and Rafe wasn’t going to ask again.
‘I can get the cats settled for you,’ Sasha said. ‘Will you allow me to do that for you, at least?’
‘I need Rory.’
Rafe frowned, the sudden spurt of jealousy both irrational and real. ‘Who is Rory?’ Then he remembered. ‘The cat. Right. Jack-Jack and Rory, right?’
Mercy looked at him then, her expression so serene it was terrifying in its own right. ‘Right.’ She drew a breath. ‘Thank you. I . . .’ She looked away. ‘Just, thank you.’
He didn’t dare touch her. She was so incredibly fragile. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he did know that I was doing my job or Anytime were bad responses. He decided on, ‘You’re welcome.’
Sasha handed Rafe his phone. ‘The operator came back. She said the ambulance is here.’
‘No,’ Mercy said loudly, and then she did flinch, having startled herself. ‘No hospital. No ambulance.’
‘I’ll take care of it,’ Rafe said, making his voice as gentle as he could, then relayed the information to the operator, but it was too late.
Another pair of medics rushed in, pushing a stretcher. Rafe ended the call with 911 dispatch, then reached for his cane. Grimacing, he pushed up, his good leg bearing his weight as he lowered himself into the wheelchair. He only used the chair when there was a lot of walking involved, like at an airport. He hated the chair, but he found his legs were weak and rubbery. It was his adrenaline crashing, but knowing that didn’t make him any happier about having to use the chair. Hooking his cane over the back, he propelled himself to meet the medics halfway.
‘Do you need help, sir?’ one of them asked.
‘Not me.’ Rafe showed them his police ID. ‘The injured woman is over there.’ He pointed to where Sasha and Farrah were helping Mercy to her feet. ‘She doesn’t want medical attention.’
‘Now that we’re here, we have to have her sign the form.’
‘I’m sure she will. Be easy with her. She’s had a shock.’
‘Of course.’
Rafe watched as the medics approached Mercy as one might an animal caught in a trap. Mercy’s expression remained unchanged as she reiterated that she didn’t want transport and signed the medic’s form. Her hand didn’t even tremble.
Rafe was trembling, though. Now that it was over, all he could see was Ephraim Burton’s snarling face. All he could hear was the way he’d called Mercy ‘wife’.
The man would try again, but there was no way that asshole was laying a finger on Mercy. He’ll touch her again over my dead body.
Rafe knew that Mercy wasn’t his. She might never be his, no matter how much he’d wished for it, for her to return to him. But he would make sure that she lived whatever life she wanted, with whomever she wished to live it, wherever she wished.
Even if it’s not with me.
Life had dealt her far more than any one person should have to bear. She deserved peace.
Eden, California
Saturday, 15 April, 5.25 P.M.
Amos left the healer’s clinic, still reeling from seeing a computer in Eden, but stopped short when he saw the crowd gathered around Pastor in the central courtyard. Amos scanned the group for Abigail, quickly making his way to her side, then kept his expression concerned, mirroring the rest of the community as Pastor gravely announced that Brother Ephraim was missing. The man had gone out to the mountain to fast and pray, as he did several times a year. And now he couldn’t be found.
Which, given that Ephraim was a killer, was also probably a lie.
A killer and abuser, Amos thought grimly. I knew. I knew, but I didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to admit that Ephraim Burton destroyed my family.
That he’d beaten Gideon. That he’d destroyed Rhoda.
That he’d been so cruel to Mercy that Rhoda had died saving her.
I should have been at Rhoda’s side. I should have been the one to save my daughter.
Because Mercy had been his daughter. Not of his blood, but of his heart.
And I failed her the most. He’d allowed her to be given to a brute, even though she’d cried and begged him, her father, to help her.
Amos swallowed hard, willing himself not to cry. Not here. Not now. Not again.
He had failed Mercy, but he would not fail Abigail. He held his daughter’s hand gently, feeling her dismay. Her fear.
He was afraid too, but not for the same reason. Abigail was only responding to the tension of the adults around her. Amos was afraid because he now knew that Eden was no paradise. The healer had a computer. Pastor had to know about it. Nothing happened in Eden that Pastor didn’t know about. Amos wondered who else knew. He wondered who he could trust.
He doubted everything and everyone. For the first time in more than thirty years, he doubted his pastor.
He’d stood behind the man thirty years ago, when Pastor had been accused of embezzlement and fraud. Of stealing from their church. Amos had been young and impressionable and more than a little in awe of the man. So when Pastor let it be known among his trusted flock that he was moving to start a new kind of church, Amos had followed him.
To Eden. And for thirty years, he’d been a faithful servant – to God, to Pastor, and to the community.
But no more. He would get them out, him and Abigail, and then he’d tell the world about the marriage laws that forced twelve-year-old girls to marry brutes like Brother Ephraim. He’d tell the world about the apprentice laws that forced thirteen-year-old boys to serve masters who tried to rape them.
He hadn’t believed Gideon when he’d run to them seventeen years before, pale and trembling and crying. He hadn’t believed that Brother Edward had touched his son inappropriately. He’d believed the Elders, who’d claimed Gideon had killed Brother Edward, that he’d maimed Brother Ephraim. That Gideon was lazy and hadn’t wanted to work. Even though Amos had known that Gideon wasn’t lazy. He’d been a good boy. A good son.
He’d told himself there was nothing he could do when Brother Ephraim took Rhoda, claiming she was compensation for Gideon’s sin of murder and for stabbing Ephraim’s eye out. He’d told himself that there was nothing he could do to keep his Mercy from sharing Ephraim’s bed. He’d believed Pastor and the Founding Elders at every turn.
But no more. He’d get his Abigail out, and then he’d tell the world what Ephraim had done.
Three
Sacramento, California
Saturday, 15 April, 5.25 P.M.
What a clusterfuck. Crouched behind the driver’s seat of a beat-up family minivan, Ephraim held his breath as the woman pulled up to the booth to pay for the time she’d parked. Her name was June Lindstrom, and she was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. If she didn’t give him up on purpose, her fear just might.
‘Remember,’ he said quietly, ‘I’m here and there is a gun pointed right at you.’ Which was mostly true. It would take a second for him to move from his hiding place to take her out, but he could manage it.
If there was one good thing about Eden, it was that manual labor kept him in shape. He was as flexible and strong as he’d been when they’d started the community thirty years ago. Stronger, actually. He’d been a scrawny seventeen-year-old. Now he could lift a weaned calf. He could certainly take out a scared woman, even if he hadn’t been armed.
‘I r-remember,’ she stammered. ‘Don’t hurt me, please.’
‘I won’t, if you keep our bargain. Act naturally when you pay at the parking kiosk. Use the automated lane. Do not get in the lane with the attendant.’
‘I’ve never paid that way before.’
‘Well, today you learn something new.’
The car rolled to a stop and June fumbled with her ticket and then her credit card, mumbling prayers under her breath as she paid.
At least she’d obeyed and hadn’t stopped at an attended lane. He didn’t want to kill an attendant, too.
Finally they were moving again. ‘I did what you said,’ June said pitifully. ‘You said you’d let me go. You promised.’
Like that meant anything. Ephraim had made millions of promises in his life, none of which he’d ever intended to keep.
‘Just drive,’ he ordered, risking a peek through the middle window. She’d mounted a shade over the window, which had been a godsend. It kept anyone from seeing into the minivan’s interior and allowed him to peer out, also without being seen.
June obeyed, then said, ‘Where do I go? We need to go north or south on I-5.’
‘Go north.’ Once they went far enough, he’d have her pull over and dispose of her. The van was old enough that it might not have GPS, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He’d dump the van as soon as possible and steal another car. He needed to get away so he could think.