by Rose, Karen
He wanted to get closer to the house, but he didn’t dare. He’d seen Mercy arrive and now knew that she wasn’t actually staying in this house, which meant that he couldn’t leave. He needed to follow them when they left. He needed to know where Mercy was sleeping. He needed to catch her unawares.
He blinked hard when his view of the house grew fuzzy. He shouldn’t be tired. He’d gotten an excellent night’s sleep in Granny’s bed. He gave his head a shake, slapping his cheeks lightly to stay awake. Need to think. Need to plan. He might be AWOL from Eden for a while, depending on how long Mercy was going to stay. He would wait her out, but that could take days at a minimum.
He needed cash and was abruptly struck with a fresh worry. Grabbing his new prepaid smartphone from his pocket, he went to open his banking app, then realized he hadn’t downloaded it. He started the process, resigned to the fact that he’d have to add data sooner than he’d anticipated since he wasn’t connected to Wi-Fi.
Ephraim scowled at the phone as the app slowly downloaded. At least the phone had been easier to obtain than he’d thought, only requiring the bribe of beer and cigarettes to one of the kids sitting outside the store. The kid had bought him one flip phone, one smartphone, a pair of cheap binoculars, and several prepaid cards carrying data and minutes.
He could have gone into the store himself, but he hadn’t wanted to risk it, despite wearing one of the disguises he’d stolen that morning. He was certain that his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.
Of course, his mother didn’t recognize anyone anymore. She hadn’t known who he was the last three times he’d visited. He hadn’t been back in a long while.
And he wasn’t going to think about his mother right now. It was bad enough that she was dying alone with strangers. Should have taken her to Eden years ago. Should have been taking care of her myself all this time.
But he hadn’t. His brother hadn’t wanted her involved in their crimes, but his brother was long dead. Murdered by Gideon. Ephraim still remembered his mother’s tortured sobs when he’d come to give her the news. He’d offered to take her with him then, but she’d refused. Said she couldn’t abide the sight of the men who’d taken her son.
But, Ma, the boy who killed him is gone. Killed by Waylon Belmont, DJ’s father, when the boy’s mother stowed the two of them away in the bed of Waylon’s truck. When Waylon discovered them, he’d killed Gideon and brought Rhoda back for punishment. Or so he’d claimed. Clearly Waylon had lied to him too, because Gideon was alive and well. Enjoying his life while Ephraim’s brother rotted in the ground.
‘You don’t understand,’ his mother had cried. ‘I’m not talking about the boy who killed him, although I hope you’re right and that he’s dead, because if I ever found him, I’d kill him myself. I’m talking about the people who lured him there to begin with, who made him a prisoner for all these years. You both should be here, with me. Stay with me, son. Stay with me and don’t go back.’
But Ephraim had gone back, because the money that Pastor had been ‘managing for them’ all these years was his, and he wasn’t leaving Eden until he got it. At least he’d been smart enough to safeguard the stipend Pastor gave him, moving as much as he could from his ‘Eden account’ into a private bank account that neither Pastor nor DJ had access to.
The bank app had finally finished downloading and he quickly logged in to his Eden account. And blew out a breath that was part dismay, part frustration, but mostly fury.
Zero. Zero dollars and zero cents. Pastor had cleaned him out.
He was relieved that he’d moved a substantial amount of money over before he’d left for New Orleans the week before, but the relief was overshadowed by pure rage.
‘Sons of bitches,’ he snarled, closing the banking app on his new phone and reopening it, hoping for a different result. Of course it still read zero. That account had held fifty thousand dollars just days ago. He wished he’d cleaned it out himself, but he always kept his withdrawals low enough to avoid attention. He primarily used his Eden account to pay for his mother’s nursing home and Pastor knew that. Pastor always made sure the account had enough to cover the exorbitant fees.
But no longer. Ephraim stared at the screen, wondering what had tipped them off. Wondering when they’d realized he wasn’t where he was supposed to have been. He thought about the three calls Pastor had made to Regina’s while he’d been in New Orleans.
Fuck. The tickets. That was what had tipped them off. He’d bought the tickets with his Eden account.
God. I was so stupid. But he’d been rattled, seeing Mercy’s face on the screen, realizing that she was still alive. Seeing that his Miriam was dead, her locket taken into police custody. He’d been too rattled to think clearly and it was now biting him in the ass.
He’d figured that because he’d bought the tickets on his secure laptop – at least he’d thought it was secure at the time – nobody would know, but of course they were watching his Eden account. Or DJ was, the fucker. Ephraim could see him running to Pastor, whispering trash in his ear. They’d still be tracking him if he hadn’t smashed his old phone.
He froze, then turned the new phone off. They probably knew he was trying to access the account right now. They might even be able to track his location through the bank account. He had no idea if that was even possible, but if it was, DJ would have learned how to do it.
Ephraim knew he was probably being paranoid, but he was spooked and he hated it. Hated DJ for being a miserable worm with no sense of gratitude. Hated Pastor for taking DJ under his wing, for treating him like a son.
Their father–son relationship had started years before DJ’s actual father died. Waylon had dropped dead from a heart attack just days after Ephraim’s brother had been murdered, leaving DJ an orphan at seventeen years old. Pastor had swooped in then, taking DJ to live in his home, virtually adopting the little prick. Poor little orphan boy.
Ephraim snorted. Seventeen had been plenty old enough for DJ to take care of himself, but no one had the courage to tell Pastor that, Ephraim included. Because Pastor had declared that DJ would be his heir apparent when DJ had been only nine.
Right after Marcia had disappeared with Pastor’s real kids. Twins, a boy and a girl. Ephraim’s heart kicked in his chest. He hadn’t thought of Pastor’s first wife and kids in years. Marcia had been kind of a mom to him too, when Ephraim had been eighteen and scared and thrust into the role of a Founding Elder when Pastor had first conjured Eden.
‘It wasn’t supposed to be forever,’ Ephraim murmured. That was what Marcia had said to the Founding Elder council the night before she disappeared with her two children. Later, Waylon had publicly claimed that she’d escaped through the gate but had fallen down a ravine, taking the children with her, probably trying to escape a wild animal. But the animals had found her anyway, Waylon had claimed. He’d found their remains at the bottom of a ravine more than a week later.
Ephraim had been more than suspicious at the time, but Waylon didn’t lie. Or so he’d thought. I should have known better. Both when Waylon claimed Marcia and the kids were dead and when he’d claimed Gideon was dead. And then later, when DJ had claimed Mercy was dead.
I should have known they were all lying.
Because it was a farce. Nobody in the history of Eden had actually been devoured by an animal of any kind. It was simply a way to strike enough fear into the hearts of the membership that they wouldn’t try to escape. They killed dissidents themselves and mauled the bodies to look like they’d been ‘devoured’. Waylon had even produced three bodies that might have been Marcia and the kids.
But the remains had been too scavenged to tell for sure.
Ephraim had believed it at the time, even though he’d killed and mauled enough troublemakers himself to know the score. But he’d wanted to believe that Marcia had run. He hadn’t wanted to accept that her own husband could order her death – and the d
eaths of his two children.
Marcia and Pastor’s own daughter had been about to turn twelve and would have been given to one of the men in marriage. She hadn’t been able to bear her own daughter being ‘abused’, and had tried to get Pastor to make an exception, but he’d refused. It would cause anarchy, Pastor had said, and he was right.
Looking back, Ephraim wondered if Pastor had known the truth. Now that Ephraim knew that Waylon had lied about finding Gideon’s body, he assumed that Waylon had lied about Marcia’s kids, too. But if Pastor had known, he hadn’t let on. Instead he’d appeared truly grief-stricken, taking Waylon’s son under his wing.
Ephraim wondered if Marcia was still alive, and if so, if she would hide him if things got hot with the Feds. It had been twenty-four years. Bernice and Bo would be thirty-seven years old by now. He’d been angry at the time that she’d taken Bernice away. He’d been angling to be the one who got her for his own wife.
Whatever. The truth remained that Pastor treated DJ as a son, and even knowing that DJ had lied about Mercy might not change Pastor’s mind. If that happens, I’ll change the mind of the entire community. Ephraim would be the wronged party and he’d convince the membership to attack both Pastor and DJ and he’d sit back and laugh as he watched the membership take their revenge.
But he wouldn’t let them cast Pastor out of Eden. Not until the old bastard gave him the passwords for the offshore accounts. Then the membership could do as they pleased. He’d be on his way to a private island where he’d sit on a beach and drink rum for the rest of his life, the rightful steward of Eden’s millions.
He’d lifted his binoculars to take another look at the Sokolov house when he heard the quiet rumble of an approaching vehicle. He ducked low just as a black SUV passed without stopping.
He peeked above the steering wheel in time to see the vehicle parking in front of the Sokolovs’ house. Fuck. That was an official law enforcement vehicle. It wasn’t the first. There had been a black sedan parked in front of the house all afternoon, but it hadn’t moved.
Now a tall blond guy in a black suit got out of the SUV, flashed some kind of ID at the guy in the sedan, then was admitted into the house.
This was what Ephraim had been afraid of. Feds and cops coming by. Any of them could get in his business just for sitting too close in a junky car that didn’t fit the neighborhood, and if they searched his car, they’d find Granny’s rifle, Regina’s golden gun, his own revolver, and the college kid’s .22. A search of the trunk would reveal Granny’s preserved and canned veggies as well as the rope and duct tape that he’d stolen. He suspected that the Feds wouldn’t care about the preserves. The guns, however, would get him into a lot of trouble.
He needed to find somewhere else to wait, and quickly. Mercy wasn’t staying here and if he wanted to follow her to wherever she was staying, he’d need to be able to see the front door.
Time to take a ride around the neighborhood and check out the real estate.
Granite Bay, California
Sunday, 16 April, 4.20 P.M.
Rafe led Tom Hunter through his parents’ house and into his father’s office. Motioning to the chairs in front of Karl’s desk, he took one and waited until Tom had done the same.
‘The last time I saw you was the night Mercy was abducted,’ Rafe said. That had been the only time, actually. ‘I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize you.’
Tom’s smile was rueful. ‘I’m glad you didn’t. It gets a little awkward sometimes, especially when I’m trying to do my job. Besides, we were all focused on getting Mercy back that night.’
‘Thank you,’ Rafe said quietly. ‘I’m not sure what you did that night to help, and I don’t need to know. But thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Tom pointed to the cane. ‘Injuries are a bitch, right?’
Rafe nodded, racking his brain for what he could remember about this man and his former career. ‘You got hurt, too.’
‘Torn ACL,’ Tom said with an eye roll. ‘Benched me for the rest of the season.’
Rafe studied him carefully. ‘NBA to FBI is a pretty big leap. Can I ask what prompted it?’
Something moved in Tom’s eyes, something a little bitter and a lot sad. ‘I . . . well, I lost someone around the same time. I needed a new start.’
Rafe nodded. He knew what that felt like. He thought of Bella, of what life had been like with her. What his life had been like after she’d been murdered. The utter and debilitating grief. It wasn’t something he’d allowed himself to think about often. It hurt a lot less now that he’d met Mercy Callahan. ‘Been there, too. My leap was more like a hop, though. I went from Gangs to Homicide.’
Tom held his gaze, his nod understanding. ‘I was recruited by the Feds at DEF CON, back when I was still in college, but I put them off at the time. My contact kept trying over the years. I heard from him a few months before my injury, asking if I was still interested in the Bureau. I was ready to leave the game anyway, so I told him yes, that I’d be available after the season was over. But then . . .’ He gestured at his leg. ‘I was lucky. I’d recovered enough to pass basic training at Quantico by the time the next class started.’
Rafe’s brows shot up. ‘DEF CON? The hacker convention?’ He’d heard of it but hadn’t met anyone who’d ever attended. At least not that he knew of. Most hackers were very closemouthed about their craft.
‘One and the same. I wanted to play basketball, but I knew it wasn’t going to be something I retired from as an old man. My father played for LA until he got hurt. He became a college professor, so I guess I grew up knowing there should be options after sports.’ Tom hesitated. ‘I, uh, well, I asked for this interview. With you.’
Rafe’s eyes widened abruptly. ‘What? Why?’
‘I should tell you up front that I know your brother Cash. We went to college together.’
Rafe nodded warily. He remembered that, now that Tom mentioned it. ‘And?’
‘Well, I saw him a few weeks ago. Wrenched my knee running and I knew he was Sac’s team PT, so I made an appointment.’ He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I knew Cash wouldn’t out me to the Bureau. I didn’t want to be put on . . . y’know. Disability.’
Rafe made a face. ‘Yeah, I know.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re the one who recommended the therapist.’
‘Yes, I did. I didn’t tell him specifically I was mentioning it for you, but I knew you were still out on DB. I . . . well, Gideon has been a good mentor and he talks about you sometimes. That wasn’t the reason I made the appointment with Cash, you understand. That was purely selfish on my part.’
‘But once you were there, you couldn’t resist.’ Rafe fought the urge to get up and walk away. Or limp, anyway. Tom Hunter had a sincerity that made it difficult to really be angry with him.
‘Kind of. I know where you are right now. The uncertainty is the hardest part. Where will you go from here, what can you still do? You want to be useful and . . . involved. You wanna be a cop. Am I close?’
Rafe nodded. ‘Pretty much.’ Tom wasn’t just close, he was right on the money.
‘I saw the therapist I recommended while he was in Boston, but he’s moved to San Francisco, started a practice there. I bet he’d drive to Sacramento to talk to you if you bribe him with that cake I saw on the table.’
Rafe found he could still smile. ‘Thank you. You got a business card for him?’
‘I can shoot you his contact info.’ Tom waved his phone. ‘AirDrop okay?’
‘Yes, please. And thank you,’ he repeated, because Tom hadn’t needed to do this, hadn’t needed to be so honest. Or helpful.
He put his phone away after accepting the contact exchange and drew a breath. ‘Do you still need my statement?’
‘Yes, if you would.’ Tom produced a tablet and perched it on his knee, his fingers poised to type. ‘Ready when you are.’
Rafe to
ld him everything that had happened in the airport the night before, down to seeing Burton’s revolver on the security footage.
‘Got it,’ Tom said when Rafe wound down. ‘Tell me, did you notice anything else about Burton? Anything that surprised you?’
‘Well, first off, he was there,’ Rafe said sourly, and Tom chuckled.
‘Besides that.’
Rafe considered it, went through every moment of the altercation. ‘He had an eye. I assume it was glass, because Mercy said he didn’t have a prosthetic when she was—’ He cut himself off, unable to say the word ‘married’. It had been rape, pure and simple. ‘When she knew him. He must have had some kind of surgery . . .’
Tom smiled encouragingly. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, if he had surgery, someone has to have done it, and probably outside Eden. I don’t think they had an actual doctor there, just “healers”.’ His heart started racing, in sync with his mind. ‘Maybe we can find out who did it.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. That’s kind of a needle in a haystack.’
Rafe looked at his foot, tapping a rhythm that matched his quickened pulse. ‘He grew up in Santa Rosa, and you know about the brothel madam, right?’
‘You’re suggesting that his surgeon might also be located in the same area?’
‘Yes. His mother’s nursing home is there, too. What if we started there? Asked if there were any surgeons who worked with Mrs Franklin?’
‘We could try. It’s unlikely they’ll tell us. HIPAA regs and all.’
Rafe blew out a frustrated sigh. ‘Dammit.’ But Tom was right. ‘It was just an idea.’
‘It was a good idea,’ Tom said thoughtfully. ‘But we might have to try unconventional methods to get that information.’
He had Rafe’s attention. ‘Like?’
‘Like finding someone on the inside. Or someone who can get on the inside.’
‘I can go undercover.’
‘Probably not the best plan. You’re not supposed to be working this case and, besides, your face is all over the TV and Internet right now.’