by Rose, Karen
He frowned at the words on the screen, his fingers slowing to a random tap-tap-tap on the keyboard. Stop. Just stop. Admit the truth.
Which was that he wasn’t proud of this story. It wasn’t his best work and he wasn’t finished with it. He couldn’t help the feeling that he’d only exposed the tip of the iceberg. With just a little more time . . .
No, that wasn’t the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway. Yes, he wanted more time. But he’d had time today. He’d had nearly seven hours to finish the story, between airports and the flight from New Orleans. But he hadn’t even started until he’d gotten home from the airport, his heart still racing to beat all hell.
His knew he’d worried his mom, ignoring her demands to know where he’d been for the past three days. You may be in college, Jeffrey Bunker, but you’re still only sixteen years old. You can’t just disappear for three days!
She was right, of course. But he hadn’t been able to talk about it. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to talk about it. He physically couldn’t. His tongue was still as frozen as it had been ever since last night. Ever since he’d come upon that old woman’s body.
And had seen her killer’s face.
So as soon as he’d gotten home, he’d fled up the stairs to his bedroom, where it was safe. Where the killer couldn’t find him.
He hoped. Please don’t let him find me. I really am too young to die.
He’d stared at his laptop for a long time that afternoon, trying to think of what to write about Mercy Callahan, but only able to think about the man he’d seen leaving the apartment of Mercy’s next-door neighbor.
After the man had killed her. He’d killed her.
And then, as if seeing the man’s face in Mercy’s apartment building hadn’t been bad enough, the guy had been on Jeff’s flight. The man had been several rows behind him, but Jeff had sat frozen in fear for the entire flight. Did he see me? Did he recognize me? Will he kill me, too?
He’d finally thrown himself into writing this piece on Mercy Callahan to keep from thinking. To keep from remembering the body of the old lady lying on her floor amid the wreckage of her apartment. Mercy’s neighbor had been dead. He’d checked.
And had he called the cops? He huffed bitterly. And have them think he’d killed her? Hell, no. He’d backed out of the apartment, hoping he hadn’t touched anything but too freaked out to remember.
Not my business. Not my business. But he didn’t believe the mantra now any more than he had the night before as he’d chanted it endlessly as he’d tried to sleep. ‘Tried’ being the operative word.
Focus on your work. Get this story done. Then you can figure out what to do about the old lady.
But now he simply stared at the screen, only able to see the old woman’s body, crumpled on her apartment floor. He hadn’t been able to help himself – he’d lifted her to the sofa. Yes, he’d even disturbed a fucking crime scene, but he hadn’t been able to stand the thought of her lying in the middle of the trash the intruder had left behind.
The intruder he’d seen leaving the woman’s apartment.
When his phone rang again, Jeff picked up. ‘I’m not finished yet,’ he snapped.
‘Yeah, kid, you are.’
Jeff had to bite his tongue to keep the I’m not a kid from escaping his mouth. Because as much as he hated it, he was a kid. Let it go, he told himself. Stay calm and employed.
He’d been lucky to get this job with the Gabber. Not many of the students in his classes had actual real-life jobs in journalism. That this one was with a less-than-classy gossip blog wasn’t amazing, but he was getting paid. And everybody had to start somewhere. I mean, TMZ was a rag when it first started out.
It’s still a rag. His mother’s voice was like a buzzing gnat. You could do so much better, Jeffy.
Probably, but this was what he had right now.
‘It’s not finished, Nolan. I’m not finished.’
‘And I say you are. You’ve been working this story for six weeks, Jeff. It’s time to let it out into the world.’ Nolan Albanesi spoke in levels of oil. There was the sleazy, greasy Nolan and the icky, too-much-fried-food Nolan. This was the WD-40 Nolan, easy, slick, and hard to elude.
‘Why?’ Jeff asked, suspicious.
Nolan laughed. ‘Haven’t you seen the news?’
‘Not yet. I’ve been working on the story write-up pretty much nonstop.’ Which was a lie, but there was no way he was telling Nolan about the old lady’s body.
‘So industrious,’ Nolan mocked. ‘Send me what you’ve got, kid. I’ll polish it and post.’
Alarm bells were dinging. ‘Why?’ he repeated.
‘Because your subject was nearly abducted from the airport an hour ago. It’s all over the net.’
Jeff inhaled sharply. ‘What?’
‘You heard me. Some dude tried to grab her and take her right out of the airport. The fact that she’s the same Mercy Callahan who got snatched back in February hasn’t been connected by a lot of the news agencies.’
Think, Jeff. Think, for fuck’s sake. ‘You said that some dude tried. He didn’t succeed?’
‘No. But Callahan’s news again and we’re ahead of the power curve. We’ve got your article. So send it to me,’ Nolan finished, carefully enunciating every word. ‘Or I’ll give the story to someone else.’
‘No!’ Jeff exploded. Over my dead body. He winced. Bad choice of words, because the image of the old lady’s body barreled back into his mind. ‘It’s just not finished. There’s more to this story, Nolan. I know it.’
‘Then write a sequel,’ Nolan snarled. ‘But for now, send me the fucking story or you’re fired.’
Jeff’s stomach was sick. He couldn’t be fired. It wasn’t much money, but he needed every penny of it. His scholarship didn’t cover even half of his college expenses. ‘Fine. But give me a minute to delete a few paragraphs. There’s stuff there that I’m not comfortable including.’
‘Send it to me,’ Nolan said, back to his slightly sleazy self, but at least he wasn’t yelling anymore. ‘I’ll decide what gets deleted, but I want to read it in its entirety first.’
Yeah, right, Jeff thought. He might have been a little young and a little naive, but he wasn’t stupid. ‘Fine, will do.’
Ending the call, he scanned the story and deleted the paragraphs that had seemed titillating before last night. Before that dead lady’s body. So Mercy had been a party girl in college. So what? So were thousands of other women. The asshole who’d been all too ready to dish dirt for a price wasn’t relevant to her story now. He gave it one last read-through, then uploaded it to the Gabber’s server.
He closed his eyes. And now he had to figure out what to do about the dead lady. And Mercy Callahan. Because he’d be so very surprised if the man who’d tried to abduct Mercy from the airport wasn’t the same man he’d seen leaving her neighbor’s apartment. After killing her.
Jeff stood abruptly, pushing the chair back. He paced the length of his bedroom, trying hard not to spiral into panic again. He wanted to talk to his mother. Get her advice. But he knew what she’d say. He had to tell the police what he’d seen.
Shit. Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out the bottle of scotch that he’d taken from his mother’s stash. The bottle was still nearly full, because he’d found out that he hated scotch. But it was the only liquor he had, except for the Kahlúa he’d also swiped from his mother, and that had ended poorly last time.
He grimaced as he knocked back a small swallow of the scotch, then two.
By the time he’d had a half-dozen swallows, he’d finally slowed his pacing. He sank onto his bed because the room was spinning now.
I’m scum. ‘I’m a terrible person,’ he slurred, covering his eyes with his hands.
But at least he’d cut the most damaging parts of the story. That was something, right?
&n
bsp; No, that’s basic human decency, his mother’s voice said. That’s the very least I expect from you, Jeffy. Don’t disappoint me.
‘Okay, Mom,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ll call the police.’
When I’m not so drunk, because who’d believe me like this?
Four
Sacramento, California
Saturday, 15 April, 7.15 P.M.
It was humiliating. Mercy stared out the window of the SUV she was to borrow from the Sokolovs for the duration of her stay. Going all zombie like that. She hated when that happened. But the worst had finally happened. Ephraim had found her.
She drew a breath, forcing the memory of Ephraim’s cruel eye from her mind. Push it in the box. Push hard. Now nail it closed. It was a visual that usually worked. Some days she had to mentally hammer a lot more nails into the box to keep it closed. Today was one of those days.
She’d been braced for a rough road, but she’d been ready to try. Now, after staring into that one eye of his? I’m still ready. Which was kind of a shock, if she was being honest with herself.
He’d found her. After all these years, Ephraim had found her. And she wondered why she hadn’t been afraid before that he would. She had wondered what the Founding Elders had told the people of Eden after her disappearance. Probably that she’d been torn apart by wolves. It was what they’d said when Gideon had run away.
And I believed them. She imagined the people of Eden had believed the lie about her ‘sad demise’ as well. But DJ had known the truth. No wolves tearing her limb from limb, just a monster wearing the pretty face of a young man with white-blond hair. Who shot girls and their mothers with his gun.
And . . . she wasn’t going to think about that right now. In the box. Hammer the lid. She visualized her hand gripping the hammer, each strike confident and sure. Each nail entering squarely, with finality. The lid staying closed. The bad things trapped inside the box.
A soft meow came from the ball of fur in her arms. The first thing she’d done when the SUV doors were closed was to let Rory out of his carrier. She’d asked no one’s permission and no one had said a word in protest.
‘He’s very pretty,’ Rafe said from beside her, startling her even though his deep voice was purposefully quiet. Nonthreatening. She truly appreciated his effort.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘He’s a good cat. They both are.’
Rafe had climbed into the backseat with her after Sasha had loaded their luggage and his wheelchair into the back of the SUV. Farrah was up front with Sasha, who was driving a little faster than she probably should have, but she was nervous. As she should be.
I’ve brought trouble to their door. And that wasn’t okay. Mercy would have to find another place to stay, but she hadn’t even tried to suggest it tonight. She was too tired to argue with all of them.
Fortunately, Sasha wouldn’t be getting a ticket. They had a police escort, but it hadn’t lessened their fear. Everyone had been silent up until the moment Rafe had spoken. The atmosphere was so tense, it could have been sliced with a knife.
‘How old is he?’ Rafe asked.
‘They’re six years old. Littermates.’
Rafe was quiet for a long moment. ‘Rory brings you comfort?’
‘He does.’
Another silence, then Rafe sighed. ‘We need to tell Gideon. It’s not fair for him to hear about this from the news or another Fed.’
Mercy’s first reflex was to say no. Firmly. But Rafe was right. ‘Can . . . can you do it? I’m still . . .’
‘I understand.’ He reached out and she thought he’d touch her, but he gave Rory a stroke instead.
‘Soft,’ he commented.
She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved that he’d touched the cat and not her. But she supposed it was okay to be unsure. She had, after all, just endured what Farrah would call a ‘trauma’.
Mercy glanced at Rafe from the corner of her eye. He was as handsome as she’d remembered, blond and somehow tanned in April, although he had dark circles under his eyes, too. She wondered why he hadn’t slept well. Wondered if it was because his injuries still pained him or if he’d been worried about seeing her.
Retrieving his phone, he caught her staring. One side of his mouth lifted, but he made no comment. Instead, he hit a contact on his phone and Mercy closed her eyes.
Gideon.
She’d hoped to have a little more time to prepare herself, but it didn’t matter. She’d had plenty enough time. Weeks since learning why her brother had escaped Eden. Years since they’d been reunited after her escape.
She didn’t remember the day of their reunion very well. She’d been out of it, still. Thirteen years old and traumatized. In pain from the surgeries she’d endured after being discovered nearly dead at the Redding bus station by a well-meaning bystander. She’d been placed in foster care after her release from the hospital, but she’d had no idea how much time had passed, having rocked herself for hours at a time.
And then Gideon had walked through the door of the foster home, looking handsome and healthy and strong and so excited to see her. But she hadn’t wanted to see him. She’d wanted to scream at him and claw her hatred into his skin. She’d wanted her brother to pay for every time Ephraim had hurt her. For every time the monster had hurt Mama. She’d wanted Gideon to pay for Mama’s death at DJ’s hand. She’d wanted Gideon to drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness, but he hadn’t and she’d hated him for that, too. Everything in her life that was bad was because Gideon had run from Eden. Abandoning them. Abandoning me.
Or so she’d thought. Now she’d be begging his forgiveness.
‘Hey, it’s me,’ Rafe said softly when his call had connected.
With Gideon. God. He should hate me. He still might before all this is over.
‘Well . . .’ Rafe cleared his throat. ‘Yes, something’s happened. First, I need you not to freak out. Everyone is okay.’ Rafe winced and Mercy could hear Gideon’s voice from where she sat, even though Rafe had not put his phone on speaker. ‘Mercy is here.’ Another wince. ‘Yes, here in Sacramento. Here with me and Sasha. Plus a friend who came with her.’ A pause and more wincing. ‘I don’t know exactly why she’s come back or how long she’s going to stay, but, Gid, I need you to listen.’ He blew out a breath and continued. ‘I’m not sure how to say it, so I’ll just say it. Ephraim Burton was in the airport, waiting for her.’ A pause, then, ‘You still there?’
Apparently Gideon was still there, because for the next two minutes Rafe nodded, listening. ‘I understand,’ he finally said. ‘I was shocked, too.’ Rafe glanced at Mercy with a slight grimace. ‘She’s physically okay. Burton sliced her side, a cut about two inches long.’ He massaged his temples. ‘He tried to drag her away. I . . . stopped him, but he got away.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Of course I reported it. I called it in to SacPD dispatch and I called your boss, too. They’ve got airport police pulling surveillance tapes to figure out where he went. Then I called you because I didn’t want you to hear about it from someone else.’ He listened again, his expression softening. ‘No apologies necessary. I knew you’d be upset. You have every right to be. But she really is okay. We’re just on our way to Mom and Dad’s house for a little bit of first aid.’ He offered the phone to Mercy, then mouthed, He wants to talk to you.
It’s time. Mercy swallowed hard and forced her hand to reach for the phone. ‘Hello?’ she said, barely able to hear her own voice over her beating heart. The phone was warm and it smelled like Rafe. She drew the scent in, letting it calm her as she’d done weeks ago when she’d sat by his bedside after he’d saved her life. He smelled like citrus and clean wood smoke and it was the best scent ever.
‘Mercy?’ Gideon’s voice broke, drawing her mind away from Rafe’s scent. ‘Tell me you’re all right.’
‘I’m fine. I promise. I’m not bleeding anymore.’
‘Where are you, exactly?’
‘In an SUV. The backseat. Right side.’
There was a huff, then a shaky laugh. ‘Right. I forgot. Miss Literal. I guess you must not be too hurt or you couldn’t make jokes.’
Mercy wasn’t joking. She’d simply answered his question, but after giving it a few seconds’ thought, she could see where he might have thought she was joking. She’d never quite gotten the hang of humor.
‘Right. I’m only a little hurt, like I said.’ She hesitated, then pushed forward. ‘I came back to see you. To . . . explain some things. Can we schedule a time to meet? I know you must be busy—’
‘Mercy, stop. There is nothing that is more important to me than seeing you. I’m already in my car.’
‘With me, Mercy!’ a female voice called out. Daisy. ‘Hi!’
The memory of Gideon’s fearless girlfriend made Mercy smile. The woman bubbled joy. ‘Hi, Daisy.’
‘We’re on our way to the Sokolovs’ house,’ Gideon went on. ‘If that’s okay.’
Her smile faded. No, no, no. It was not okay. I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. But Rory was purring in her arms and Rafe was smiling at her encouragingly. ‘Yes, of course. I mean, if it’s okay with the Sokolovs.’
‘It is,’ Gideon said with the assurance of someone who knew he was always welcome.
Mercy had that with the Romeros. And with her brother. Her other brother, anyway. The half brother whose green eyes matched her own.
And Gideon’s. It was time she told her brother that she’d found their father’s family. And admitted that she’d hidden the information because . . . I’m selfish.
‘Then I guess I’ll see you soon. Bye.’ She handed the phone back to Rafe, cuddling Rory closer, nuzzling his soft fur. His purr was a relaxing sound on a good day.