Say No More

by Rose, Karen

  Mercy’s knees wobbled as relief swamped her. ‘No, you didn’t. Thank you, Daisy. I don’t think I could have managed that tonight.’ After the day’s sorrow and fear and the walk down the haunted lane of Eden, the sexual assault video felt oddly . . . surreal. Like it hadn’t happened to her at all. Which was ridiculous, of course. It had happened to her, but the memory felt numb, like when an ER doctor had numbed her finger with novocaine before stitching up a bad cut. Kind of a distant throbbing. She’d been able to watch her finger tap the table and not feel it at all. That was how the memory seemed.

  Which was all wrong for what she now knew she wanted to say. ‘I want to do the interview, but with the video being treated as only one part of a whole.’

  Daisy tilted her head. ‘I don’t follow you.’

  Mercy’s lips tipped up sadly. ‘The video represents less than five minutes of my life. Devastating and humiliating and damaging minutes, but not the worst I’ve experienced by far. I won’t talk about Eden, not if the FBI is still hoping to keep Pastor and the others unaware while they investigate. But I will say that the assault on that video wasn’t the first in my life. And that I wouldn’t have survived any of it without a therapist and the support of good people, whether I welcomed them at the time or not. There are other victims out there, other people who’ve been hurt who don’t have anyone. People who might be so alone that they give up. I don’t want this to simply be me clearing my name or turning public opinion in my favor. I want anyone hurting to know where to get help, and I need time to gather some resources to share. I assume you all can help me with this?’ She glanced around the table, realizing she had cops, a retired nurse in Irina, a social worker in Sasha, a marketing mogul in Karl, and a radio personality in Daisy, who could give the message even more reach. If they couldn’t help her, they’d know who could.

  Gideon looked up at her from where he still sat, his eyes wet. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ he whispered, but there was pride mixed with the tears.

  She walked to his chair and stroked a hand over his hair. ‘Yeah, I kind of do. Mama died so that I could be free. So, I’m going to be free. That can’t happen if I let this video or fear of Ephraim Burton keep me chained. She wouldn’t want that. It’s my turn to be brave, brother.’

  In a fluid movement that stole her breath, Gideon was on his feet and she was in his arms. He was sobbing – silently, but so hard that his body shook with it. Mercy closed her eyes and clung, vaguely aware of scraping chairs and fading footsteps as the kitchen cleared, leaving them alone to weep and mourn the loss of their mother, of their childhoods, of the time together that they’d lost.

  ‘I missed you,’ he finally said, brokenly. ‘God, Mercy, I missed you.’

  She squeezed hard. ‘I missed you, too. But I’m here now.’

  He lifted his head, his face wrecked, but smiling. ‘You are. Because you’re already brave. Don’t ever think otherwise.’

  It was exactly what she’d needed to hear. ‘Thank you.’

  Granite Bay, California

  Sunday, 16 April, 8.45 P.M.

  Well. That’s interesting. Ephraim stared at his laptop screen, at the results that had come up from his search on the license plate he’d noted as the scrawny kid and his mother had driven away from the Sokolov house.

  The old car was registered to Geri Bunker, according to the database he’d used Sean MacGuire’s credit card to access. And a background check, also funded with MacGuire’s card, showed her only relative to be Jeffrey Bunker.

  Jeffrey Bunker, who was the author of the extremely unflattering exposé he’d read at Granny’s house that morning. The one with the video that had been taken down before Ephraim could view it.

  At least it explained Detective Sokolov’s near assault on the kid, who was some kind of prodigy, already halfway through his college degree at age sixteen. Ephraim tucked the knowledge away for future use. If Sokolov had that kind of temper, Ephraim could use it to his own advantage.

  His attention was diverted from his screen by activity at the Sokolov house. The tall blond guy in a dark suit emerged from the front door, receiving a hug from Mrs Sokolov before he jogged to a black SUV, parked on the curb. It was the same Fed whose earlier arrival had prompted Ephraim to seek safer shelter. He’d left, then come back, and Ephraim wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

  The small Asian woman who’d been involved in the scuffle with Jeff Bunker got into a Range Rover, but sat waiting while the black SUV drove away.

  The garage door opened, revealing the gray Chevy Suburban that had brought Gideon, Detective Sokolov, and Mercy to the Sokolovs’ house earlier that day. Ephraim got busy, packing his computer into the backpack he’d had delivered earlier that day.

  Thank you, Amazon. He’d ordered the backpack and a few other trinkets, using MacGuire’s credit card to pay for one-hour delivery. It had taken an hour and a half, but that was still impressive, especially on a Sunday. He’d miss the little conveniences of the world when he headed back to Eden.

  He peered into the backpack, ensuring that he had everything he needed, especially if he wasn’t able to come back here. If he got Mercy tonight, he’d be long gone.

  He mentally checked off his laptop and the new high-powered binoculars and GPS trackers he’d also purchased from Amazon, along with the revolver he’d brought from Eden and the pistol he’d taken from the costume store college kid. He tucked Regina’s golden gun into his jacket pocket. The silencer made it his gun of choice. He’d need to get some ammo soon, though. The magazine held fifteen rounds, so it was technically illegal in California, but Ephraim wasn’t going to tell and Regina no longer could.

  He didn’t know how he’d manage it, but he wanted to hide a GPS tracker on Sokolov’s vehicle so that he didn’t have to risk following them so closely. Plus, not having to watch every move they made would let him actually sleep tonight, a definite plus. There was no way he’d get a tracker on any of the cars while they sat in front of the house in Granite Bay, but he might be able to get close enough once they all dispersed.

  He hurried down the stairs, double-checking MacGuire’s restraints before heading for the door. It would be easier to simply kill the guy, but something held him back. Maybe the calm acceptance in the man’s eyes. If MacGuire was trying to use reverse psychology to stay alive, it was working.

  Plus, this guy had access to a lot of money. Money that Ephraim might need, and certainly wanted. Grabbing MacGuire’s car keys from the hook on the wall, he waved. ‘See you later.’

  There were three cars in the garage – a classic Corvette, a Mercedes convertible, and a newer Cadillac, which somehow managed to look boring. He took the Caddy and backed out of MacGuire’s driveway just in time to see the convoy of cars from the Sokolovs’ house passing by.

  At the front of the line was the rental car that had arrived that afternoon, carrying the black man whose identity Ephraim still didn’t know. That bugged him, because the guy was a wild card and Ephraim didn’t like not knowing what to expect.

  Second in line was the gray Suburban in which Sokolov and Mercy had arrived along with Gideon. The Asian lady brought up the rear in a blue Range Rover.

  Ephraim had run those plates too, and they belonged to Erin Rhee. According to the Internet, she was Sokolov’s SacPD partner and had also been injured along with Sokolov the night they and Gideon had taken down that serial killer, rescuing Mercy. He’d found a number of articles on the case, once he’d known what to look for.

  Ephraim followed the caravan as it got on I-80, making sure there were always at least four cars between Rhee’s Range Rover and Sean MacGuire’s Cadillac. He almost lost them when they exited the highway, but it wasn’t too hard to find three cars in a slow-moving line.

  They came to a stop in front of an old Victorian that appeared to be fully restored and well kept. Three mailboxes were mounted near the curb, so the house had
probably been subdivided. A hot pink Mini Cooper was parked on the street in front of the house.

  At least the Cadillac fit this neighborhood better than the rusted piece of junk he’d left parked near Folsom Lake. He’d have stood out like a sore thumb if he still drove that piece of shit.

  The garage door on the Victorian lifted, revealing a red Subaru in one of the two bays and a tan Tahoe in the other. Gideon parked the gray Suburban in the driveway behind the Subaru, and the rental car stopped directly beside it. Erin Rhee’s blue Range Rover parked on the street, partially obscuring Ephraim’s view. He could no longer see into the garage, but he could still see part of the driveway, and he could see the Asian woman jumping down from the Range Rover and rushing into the garage, her gun drawn.

  The driver’s door of the rental opened and the unidentified black man got out. He went around to open the passenger door, extending his hand to help pull a woman to her feet. Dammit. That was the woman who’d come with Mercy from New Orleans. Dr Farrah Romero.

  Mercy’s old-lady neighbor had talked a lot about Farrah during Ephraim’s visit. Dr Romero was her great-niece, and Mercy’s very best friend, the two of them inseparable since college. Ephraim grabbed the binoculars from the seat beside him and focused on the man, committing his face to memory. He’d check him out, because he had a bad feeling about the guy’s sudden appearance, and an even worse feeling that he recognized him from somewhere.

  He replayed his conversation with the old lady before he’d killed her. She’d talked about every member of her huge family, and several times he’d had to steer her back toward Farrah and Mercy or he’d have been there all night long. Farrah wasn’t a medical doctor, he remembered that. She worked in a lab at the university, which made the old woman both proud and a little sad, because it meant that Farrah and her fiancé were putting off starting their family and she couldn’t wait to see what pretty babies they’d make together.

  Fucking hell. Now he remembered where he’d seen the guy – in a photograph on the old lady’s coffee table. He was Farrah’s fiancé. Quickly he opened Farrah Romero’s Facebook page on his phone and scrolled through her photos. He never got used to seeing how very free people were with their information online. After living off the grid for thirty years, the thought of anyone having information on Ephraim made his skin itch.

  There he is. It was a photo of Farrah and her fiancé. André Holmes, NOPD.

  Fucking hell. Another damn cop?

  But his focus on the now-identified newcomer fractured, his breath catching in his throat when Gideon Reynolds emerged from the gray Suburban. A petite blonde at his side rushed around the SUV to wrap her arm around Gideon’s waist. Daisy Dawson, he remembered. She hugged Farrah and the New Orleans cop, then Gideon hugged Farrah and shook hands with André Holmes.

  Mercy and Sokolov emerged from the backseat of the Suburban, but the asshole detective ushered her into the garage before Ephraim could get a good look at her. His attention returned to Gideon, who was helping Daisy back into his SUV, and Ephraim realized he’d shoved his hand in his pocket and was gripping Regina’s golden gun.

  Not here. Not now. There were too many people – too many damn cops – and Ephraim wasn’t sure he’d get cleanly away. When Reynolds and Dawson drove away, Ephraim had to force himself not to follow. Yes, he wanted Gideon, but he needed Mercy. Either dead or alive.

  Yes, Waylon had lied about killing Gideon, but Waylon was dead. His influence on the community and his claim to the millions under Pastor’s control were no more. DJ was still alive and the biggest threat. And DJ had lied about Mercy’s death.

  Mercy is key, he told himself. Once he got her, he could come back for Gideon.

  And revenge would be so damn sweet. Gideon would be sorry that he hadn’t died that night all those years ago. Ephraim would hear the bastard scream as he carved out his eyes. The first eye would be payment for Ephraim’s own eye. The second would be the down payment for killing Edward. Then he’d take his time carving up the rest of him, making him look like the raw meat that Waylon had brought back to Eden, claiming it was Gideon’s body.

  Ephraim laughed bitterly. Waylon had fooled them all. Except for Rhoda, of course. Gideon’s mother had to have known that the remains Waylon had returned hadn’t been her son, even though she’d positively identified his body.

  She should have been mine to kill, he thought, fists clenched. DJ would pay for that too, the prick.

  The garage door came down, cutting off Ephraim’s view. For the moment, no one was outside. The blue Range Rover and the hot pink Mini Cooper were unattended.

  He ran a hand over his face and patted his head, making sure his beard and wig were in place. It wasn’t going to fool them if he got up in their faces, but from a distance, in the dark? It would do.

  Grabbing two of the GPS trackers, he drove slowly next to the empty vehicles, opening his door just enough to squeeze his hand through. He glanced up at the house. Lights were going on in the upstairs apartments, but no one was looking out the windows.

  Slowing to a crawl, he paused long enough to slip the first tracker into the Range Rover’s left rear hubcap. He did the same to the Mini Cooper, then pulled his door closed and kept going until he reached the end of the block, where he pulled over.

  He opened the tracking app on his smartphone and grunted in satisfaction. There they were, two blinking dots right next to each other.

  He’d be able to follow those cars at least. Unfortunately, they didn’t belong to Rafe Sokolov or Mercy. He rounded the block, stopping on the street behind Sokolov’s.

  He couldn’t see into the house, but he could see headlights if anyone left. That would have to be good enough for now. Plus, no one could leave except for the pink Mini Cooper, not with the Range Rover parked across the driveway. Rhee would need to move her vehicle first, which would send an alarm to his phone.

  Ephraim settled down into his seat, watching as windows in the Victorian began to go dark. They were settling in for the night. He could close his eyes for a little while.

  Just a little while.

  Sixteen

  Sacramento, California

  Sunday, 16 April, 9.45 P.M.

  Rafe didn’t think he’d ever been so drained. The single step from his garage into the foyer might as well have been a steep mountain climb.

  ‘Need a hand?’

  He turned to see André giving him a sympathetic grimace. ‘I broke my leg a few years back. Took me months to get back to normal.’

  The women had already gone into the house, Erin at the forefront, clearing every room before declaring his house safe. His partner had made herself their personal bodyguard and Rafe was grateful. He certainly wasn’t up to the task at the moment.

  ‘But you obviously recovered,’ Rafe said, André’s words giving him hope.

  ‘Eh.’ André waggled his hand back and forth. ‘Mostly. I’m not as fast as I used to be, and a lot of days start and end in the whirlpool. You got a good PT?’

  ‘The best. My brother Cash.’ Who’d gone the extra mile, concerned for his mental health in addition to the rehabilitation of his leg.

  ‘Good. Plan on using him for a long, long time. It’s been eight years, and I still have to go in for tune-ups occasionally. Not just my leg, y’understand. Now it’s my knees and hips, too. Turns out you distribute your weight differently. Have to compensate. So, not to be all doom and gloom, but you’re in this for the long haul.’

  ‘But you came back to the job.’ It was a glimmer of hope and he held on to it.

  ‘Yep. You okay if I help you up the stairs?’

  Rafe nodded, stifling the embarrassment and irritation at having to accept it. André put his arm around his shoulders, practically hefting Rafe up the single step.

  Ouch. Now his shoulders hurt too, but he nodded, thankful. He pressed a set of keys into André’s hand. ‘I think
Sasha’s already let Farrah in, but here’s a key to the third-floor apartment in case you need to come and go. Feel free to drive the Tahoe if you don’t want to keep paying for the rental.’

  ‘What about you? Don’t you need it?’

  Rafe pointed to his Subaru, on the other side of the garage. ‘That’s mine. The bullet hit my left leg, so I can drive myself.’ And he was grateful for that stroke of luck. ‘The Tahoe is my dad’s, but he got a midlife-crisis Tesla, so the Tahoe sits in his garage. We borrowed it for Mercy, but I don’t think she’ll be driving anywhere alone until we get Burton, so you might as well use it. Sasha’s the hot pink Mini outside, so she’s good, too.’

  André chuckled. ‘That’s a car no one can miss.’

  Rafe smiled with affection for his sister. ‘Sasha likes to make a splash wherever she goes. The garage door code is programmed into the Tahoe, in case you drive it. You’ll find extra blankets and pillows in the closet, and the deli down the street delivers. There’s a magnet with their number on the fridge and a shit ton of take-out menus in the kitchen drawer.’

  ‘I don’t think food is going to be an issue. Your mother gave us enough for a week.’

  Rafe smiled at that, too. ‘Mom cooks when she’s anxious, but I think you guessed that for yourself. Let me or Sasha know if you need anything else. And get some rest, okay?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s going to be an issue, either. Thanks, Rafe.’

  ‘You got it. Do you know what Farrah’s plans are? I assume she’ll go back to New Orleans as soon as possible. Her family must need her.’ He’d been wondering that all the way back to the house.

  ‘I don’t know. She’s pretty attached to Mercy and she’s torn. Her mama told her to stay for a few more days at least, for Mercy. Besides, it’ll take another few days to get her aunt’s body to be released by the ME’s office, so at this point they’re mostly planning Quill’s celebration.’ He smiled sadly. ‘That’ll be something to see. Quill lived an amazing life and never met a stranger. I think the street’s gonna overflow with her parade, and Quill would want Mercy there for it, so they’ll hold off as long as they can if Mercy can come back.’