by Rose, Karen
‘They preached that?’ Farrah asked. ‘Have nothing to do with anyone who didn’t agree?’
Mercy nodded. ‘Every Sunday. And Monday and all the days that ended in “y”. Paranoia was like mother’s milk. At least in Eden.’
Amos looked uncomfortable. ‘In Eden and in the LA church. And in some ways, I have to agree with that teaching. I’ve seen a lot today that I never, ever thought I’d see.’
‘Zoya showed him some television,’ Irina said.
Amos shook his head. ‘I’m still . . . well, it’s a very different world than the one I left.’
‘What will you do next, Amos?’ Mercy asked, seeming to need to change the subject. ‘How can we help you settle in?’
‘I have no idea,’ Amos confessed. ‘I need a job. I need a place to live. A school for Abigail. We need documents. Abigail doesn’t even have a birth certificate. It’s . . .’ He trailed off helplessly.
‘Overwhelming, Papa?’ Abigail chirped, cake all over her mouth.
‘Exactly that.’ Amos wiped her mouth with a napkin. ‘This much to do’ – he stretched his arms wide – ‘and this much time to do it.’ He closed his arms around her, wrapping her in a hug.
‘But you don’t need to figure it out tonight,’ Irina said firmly. ‘We’ve all had a long day and I’m declaring it time to rest. Daisy and I have filled boxes for each of you. Take this food home and eat it. I texted Damien and asked him to follow you home, so I know you’re safe.’
‘Molina left us an escort,’ Rafe said. ‘Damien doesn’t need to come.’ Although he’d feel more comfortable with his brother in the house with them. One more trained cop could only be a good thing.
‘As I said,’ Irina said with a raised brow, ‘Damien will be escorting you home. He just texted that he’s here. Call me when you’re safely inside your house.’ She aimed looks at Daisy, Mercy, and Farrah. ‘All of you. The boys always forget.’
Damien came into the kitchen and gave Irina a hug. ‘Got your text, Mom. I’m good to follow them home.’
Rafe got up, leaning heavily on his cane. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was exhausted. He couldn’t imagine how tired Mercy must be. This day had been a goddamn roller coaster. ‘Thanks, brother. I’ll owe you one.’
Farrah hesitated, then kissed Irina on the cheek. ‘I’m going to have to say goodbye to you all for now. My parents texted earlier. The ME released my aunt’s body this afternoon. We’re going to have her funeral day after tomorrow and I need to be home for my folks.’
Mercy looked torn. ‘I need to be there with you, but if I go, I’ll put everyone in your family at risk.’
‘They know that,’ Farrah said, cupping Mercy’s cheek. ‘And we all know that you’d be there if you could. André and I will fly out first thing tomorrow morning. If you still need me, I can be back by the weekend.’
Mercy’s smile was sad. ‘You’ll video Quill’s second line? She always said that she’d haunt us if she didn’t get a jazz funeral procession.’
Farrah hugged her hard. ‘Absolutely. I’ll even carry a parasol just for you. Let’s go, now. I need to pack and André and I need to sleep. We have an early morning.’
Santa Rosa, California
Tuesday, 18 April, 10.00 P.M.
‘Harry, come in, come in.’ Dr Burkett held his front door open, ushering Ephraim inside. He’d aged in the ten years since doing the surgery on Ephraim’s eye. The man had already been retired back then, so he had to be in his late seventies by now. And more frail than Ephraim remembered. If physical force was required, he could take the old man down, regardless of the throbbing in his pectoral where that bastard detective had shot him.
Burkett gestured at the sofa. ‘Please make yourself comfortable.’
Right. That wasn’t happening. Every muscle in his body was tense. Looking around cautiously, he set his duffel bag at his feet as he sank to the sofa. There was no way he was leaving his weapons in the stolen vehicle he’d driven from Sacramento. All he needed was for someone to take his bag, leaving him defenseless.
He was relieved to find that nothing seemed out of place inside the house, and he’d already checked the outside. No cops. Not a trap.
‘I made some coffee,’ Burkett offered cordially, as if he hadn’t threatened Ephraim into coming. ‘Would you like a cup?’
Ephraim considered just killing him and being done with it, but found he was curious as to what the older man wanted. ‘That would be nice. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.’
Burkett started for the kitchen, then turned to glare at Ephraim. ‘I thought you’d see your mother before you left. She misses you.’
Ephraim rolled his eyes. ‘Have you seen the news, Doctor?’
Burkett grimaced. ‘Yes. But I could sign her out for a day visit. You could visit her right here.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Ephraim promised, but there was no way he meant it. If the Feds were watching his mother, he couldn’t take the chance that she wouldn’t be followed wherever the doctor wanted them to meet.
Burkett looked pleased. ‘All right, then.’ He disappeared for a moment, returning with a silver coffee service on a silver tray.
That was a lot of silver. Ephraim found himself mentally calculating its worth as Burkett poured the coffee. ‘Thank you.’ The caffeine would help wake him up.
Except . . . Burkett wasn’t drinking it and that had alarm bells clanging in Ephraim’s mind. He pretended to take a sip, using the napkin the doctor had provided to wipe his lips afterward.
‘You mentioned printouts of Mercy and the woman she was with today. Can I see them?’
‘Of course.’ Burkett looked away to pick up a folder from the coffee table, and Ephraim took the opportunity to quickly splash some of the coffee from the cup to the carpet. He reached for the folder when Burkett handed it to him. ‘The photos the nurse’s aide took are inside.’
Ephraim opened the folder and . . . there she was. Mercy Callahan. He’d expected her companion to be the black woman he’d seen with her at the airport, but this person was Caucasian and, to his knowledge, wasn’t a Sokolov. This was what he’d been afraid of. He’d bet money that the woman was a cop. Which meant that the cops had the key to Ephraim’s safe-deposit box. And if they didn’t, she’d likely handed it over to her Fed brother. Fucking hell. ‘You say you just missed them?’
‘Yes. What was the key for? The one your mother gave this woman?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ephraim lied.
Burkett’s brows lifted. ‘I think you do. I think it opens a safe-deposit box in a bank. And I think you’re going to tell me which one.’
‘You do, do you? Why would I do that, even if I did know?’
‘Because if you don’t, I’ll call the police and tell them that I have the man they’ve been looking for since Saturday evening.’
‘You think I’ll just wait here for them to come?’
‘Yes, because in about two minutes, you’re going to be out like a light. If you tell me, I’ll make sure the police don’t find you. If you don’t, I’ll be placing a call to 911.’
What an asshole. Ephraim feigned fear. ‘If you call the cops, you’ll just implicate yourself. You harbored a fugitive when you operated on my eye.’
Burkett shrugged. ‘No records of that exist, and do you really think they’d believe anything you say?’
‘Do you really believe you can get into my safe-deposit box even if I tell you where it is?’ Rolling his eyes, Ephraim started to rise, but sank back into the sofa cushion when the doctor drew a pistol outfitted with a silencer.
‘Where is the damn box, Harry?’ Burkett snapped.
Ephraim stared at the barrel of Burkett’s gun. I should have shot him when I first walked in the door. That’ll teach me to be curious. ‘It won’t matter if I tell you or not. You can’t get into it without me.’
Fuck. No, he hadn’t. He’d taken her key, but he hadn’t removed her as someone authorized to open the box. Ephraim pursed his lips, abruptly furious with himself and with Burkett. And with his mother, if he was being honest. It wasn’t her fault that she had dementia, but it had become a fucking pain in his ass.
‘What do you think is in the box?’ he asked, stifling a yawn. He hadn’t swallowed any of what was probably drugged coffee, but he’d also had a very long day.
‘The money you and your brother stole from that bank thirty years ago. I figure that with Aubrey dead, you get to keep it all.’
Oh. Now it made sense. His mother hadn’t known that they’d given all the money to Pastor to invest as payment for joining Eden. ‘It’s marked,’ he said. Which it had been. Apparently Pastor’s connections had known how to launder it before socking it away offshore.
Burkett’s eyes lit up. ‘So you still have it. I don’t care if it’s marked. My creditors don’t care, either. We only care that you haven’t spent it.’ He tensed his jaw. ‘Tell me which bank. Now.’
Ephraim yawned again, this one faked. ‘Ask my mom,’ he said, slurring his words for effect.
‘I did. She doesn’t remember. Listen to me, Harry, and listen well. Once that sedative drags you under, you’ll be asleep for at least twelve hours. If you tell me where to find the safe-deposit box, you’ll wake up. If not, I’ll kill you and tell the cops that I shot you in self-defense because you broke into my home.’
It was what he’d expected, but rage still boiled up from Ephraim’s gut. Asshole.
He could go for his own gun, but the doctor would shoot him before he could draw it from its holster. He swallowed hard. And pretended to be getting sleepier. Play along until he lets his guard down. ‘What difference does it make what the key is for? She gave it to Mercy. The cops probably have it.’
‘True, but they’ll have to get a warrant. All that takes time.’
‘And if I tell you, I’ll wake up?’
Burkett nodded too eagerly. ‘I promise.’
Yeah, right. He let his eyelids dip to half-mast, so that he looked affected by the sedative but could still see Burkett. ‘What if she’s too batshit?’
Burkett frowned. ‘Your mother?’
Ephraim made a production of swallowing hard. ‘Yeah. What if the bank knows she’s incon . . . incomp . . .’ He pretended to be frustrated. ‘Incompetent?’
Burkett’s frown melted into a smile. ‘Then you and I will take a trip to the bank together. When you wake up, of course.’
Fuck you, asshole. But the asshole still held a gun on him, so he continued to play along. ‘Won’t work. Cops will catch me. Bank will call the cops.’
‘No, because I’ll stay with the bank teller, and if she tries anything, I’ll give her the same thing I just gave you. She won’t be making any phone calls.’
Ephraim snorted drunkenly. ‘And she’ll just drink your coffee?’
Burkett smiled. ‘I have other ways to administer the drug.’
Ephraim smiled back, making himself look as goofy as he could. ‘Then I can see my mother?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll bring her here when we’re done at the bank so that you can see her with your own eyes.’
‘Okay.’ Ephraim dropped his head to his shoulder. ‘Costa Bank,’ he slurred. ‘Main branch.’
‘Thank you,’ Burkett murmured. ‘Was that so hard?’
Ephraim let out a sleepy groan and let his eyes droop closed. He was tensed, though, listening for the sound of Burkett’s finger on the trigger of his silenced gun. So far so good, he thought when nothing happened. I’m still here. He played possum for at least two minutes, biding his time until he heard the shuffle of the doctor’s shoes on the carpet, followed by an audible sigh of relief.
‘Sleep well, Harry,’ the man said softly. ‘Sorry about this, really.’
Amateur, Ephraim thought with contempt, then braced himself when he heard the jangle of . . . It didn’t matter. Springing from the sofa headfirst, he stayed below the line of fire to head-butt the doctor’s gut. Burkett dropped like a rock with a cry of shock, discharging the gun as his back hit the floor. The bullet hit the ceiling harmlessly, sending plaster dust falling like rain.
Ephraim kicked the gun away, then shoved a knee into Burkett’s chest. Grabbing his head, he snapped the doctor’s neck. ‘Sleep well, Doctor,’ he mocked, breathing hard. ‘Sorry about this. Not really.’
He glanced to one side, realizing that the jangle had come from the handcuffs that Burkett had dropped to the carpet. He shoved them into his pocket, then, threat eliminated, fell back onto the sofa. He needed to think. There was a chance that Mercy still had the safe-deposit box key, that she hadn’t turned it over to the cops. At least not yet. They wouldn’t have even gotten back to Sacramento until well after six. If she didn’t know what she had, she might be waiting until morning to hand it over.
And you might be wishing for a miracle that’s not coming.
Regardless, he needed to empty the contents of that safe-deposit box before the cops got a warrant. He had a key of his own, but he couldn’t just waltz into a bank and ask to open his safe-deposit box. Because thanks to Rafe Sokolov and that damn airport video, his face was all over the news.
I could go back to Eden and not worry about it. He’d be safe in Eden. Ironically enough, Eden was the only place he could be safe right now.
Unless Mercy gave the key to the cops and they opened the damn safe-deposit box.
The Feds would raid the compound faster than they could move to a new location. And all those beautiful millions under Pastor’s control would be confiscated by the motherfucking government.
Unless he got the bank codes first.
Or . . . I could just chuck it all and go to Mexico. There were ways to slip over the border undetected. He could figure it out. He’d be free. But poor.
Dammit. It was simply too much money to leave behind. With all that cash, he’d never have to work again. He could retire someplace warm where he had no responsibilities. And hopefully he’d be surrounded by beautiful girls who were exactly to his liking. I want that money. I earned that money.
So once again, it came back to Mercy. He needed her. Needed to haul her ass back to Eden. And preferably before she handed that damn key over to the cops. Once the Feds opened the safe-deposit box, it was all over.
He rubbed his temples, trying to think of what to do next. First on the list was to trade the old vehicle he’d stolen that afternoon for Burkett’s ride, which would be less noticeable around Rafe Sokolov’s Victorian. He searched the dead doctor’s jacket pockets, staring in surprise when he pulled out four prepared syringes and a bottle.
Ephraim held the bottle to the light to read the label. Ketamine HCl.
‘Fucker,’ he snarled under his breath. This was how Burkett had planned to keep him asleep for twelve hours. The sedative in his coffee would’ve been only the beginning.
He pocketed the bottle and syringes and searched Burkett’s pants pockets, finding his key ring. Adding Burkett’s gun to his duffel, he shouldered the bag and dragged the other man’s body to the garage, which held a chest freezer and an Escalade.
Perfect. The Escalade was shiny and new, and would blend into Sokolov’s neighborhood. It would also haul the honeymooners’ camper with no trouble at all. He opened the chest freezer, pleased to see it nearly empty. The doctor fit well enough, after Ephraim cracked a couple of his bones.
He dumped the body into the freezer, then stepped back, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. The guy was heavier than he looked. And I’m tired. At least he hadn’t reopened his wound. The bandage was still dry. No new blood. Time to get out of here.
Drawing a deep bre
ath, he took a step toward the Escalade and froze. Then inhaled again.
Cigarette smoke. Fresh cigarette smoke.
Someone is here. Or was here. Drawing his weapon, Ephraim turned in a tight circle, searching the shadows for the smoker. But he was alone.
He hadn’t been, though. He took more deep breaths, scenting the air, following the smell of smoke, but it was already fading. Ephraim might have wondered if he’d imagined it.
Until he found the butt on the garage floor. Gingerly he picked it up and held it under his cell phone flashlight. Marlboro. Most of the name was visible and the butt was still warm.
His jaw tightened. DJ. DJ Belmont smoked Marlboros when he went off property – not many, because he managed to never smell of cigarette smoke when he returned.
But DJ couldn’t be here. That was impossible. There was no way that DJ could have tracked him here. Unless . . . Fucking hell. Fucking fucking hell.
Burkett had gotten Ephraim’s number from Pastor. Pastor could have sent DJ here to get him.
Except . . . Eden was almost six hours’ drive to Santa Rosa. For DJ to have beaten him here, he would’ve had to have left at four that afternoon at the latest. That was possible, depending on when Burkett had called Pastor.
I could call Pastor and ask him. Of course that would tip Pastor off if he had sent DJ.
Ephraim scowled, unable to think of a better way to discover when Burkett and Pastor had their little chat. He hadn’t found a phone in Burkett’s pockets and he didn’t want to hang around here to search. DJ was younger and Ephraim wasn’t at his fighting best. If DJ was lurking outside, Ephraim didn’t think he could win a face-to-face showdown. Not tonight.
Just go. If he shoots at you, shoot back. He stowed the duffel on the Escalade’s passenger seat and started the engine before hitting the button for the garage door opener.
Gun clutched in one hand, he hunkered down as the door slid up, put the SUV in reverse, then started down the driveway, expecting a bullet to pierce one of the windows at any moment. DJ was a damn good shot. Better than me.
But there were no bullets. No gunfire.