Say No More

by Rose, Karen

  Beside her, Farrah soothed. ‘It’ll be okay, Merce.’

  ‘I know.’ But she sounded uncertain. Trembling, she stood as the front door was flung open and footsteps thundered across the foyer floor. She looked like she was facing a firing squad, and Rafe didn’t know how to help her.

  ‘Rafe?’ Gideon called out. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In here, Gideon,’ Irina called. ‘In the kitchen.’

  Hesitantly, Rafe stood and offered his hand, genuinely surprised when Mercy took it, squeezing hard. ‘He loves you so much,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘It will be okay.’

  Her nod was shaky, her grip becoming punishing as Gideon appeared in the doorway.

  Her brother came to an abrupt halt, staring at her from haggard eyes. ‘Mercy,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘You came back.’

  Five

  Santa Rosa, California

  Saturday, 15 April, 8.20 P.M.

  ‘Coffee?’

  Ephraim looked up from his laptop to see Regina Jewel standing in the doorway to his room, a steaming cup in her hand. ‘Please.’

  She entered without the slink in her step that she showed the rest of her customers. Ephraim had known her too long for her wiles to have any effect on him – plus, at forty-five, she was about thirty years too old for him. But she knew what he liked, from the girls she kept to the coffee she prepared.

  ‘Thank you. I needed a hit of caffeine.’ His head pounded and he felt a little sick.

  Regina eyed him with concern. ‘You don’t look so good, my friend.’

  Except that they weren’t friends. But they weren’t enemies either, and Ephraim aimed to keep it that way. Powerful in her own right, Regina owned enough cops to run her business smoothly. She was first and foremost a businesswoman, and she respected the financial relationship they’d built over the past decade.

  ‘Got a headache,’ Ephraim muttered.

  Regina stroked her fingers up his neck, then began to massage his shoulders, which felt so damn good. Until she brushed a lock of his hair at the back of his skull aside and probed, making him hiss.

  ‘Bad bump,’ she said. ‘Your headache from getting hit in the head by any chance?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ephraim had to hold back a snarl. ‘The massage felt good. More of that.’

  ‘I’ll do more later. I need to get some ice for your head.’

  ‘No, it’s not that bad. I popped some Tylenol,’ he said, then looked back at his laptop. He stored the device here, in Regina’s house. She allowed him to keep a locker in her bedroom, and only Ephraim had the key. He didn’t think she’d try to snoop, and she knew far worse things about him. Besides, his laptop was password protected, so even if she got curious, she couldn’t snoop.

  He didn’t dare use his laptop when he was in Eden. DJ Belmont was damn handy with technology, and Ephraim would bet his last dollar that DJ had rigged their system so that he could view all computer searches. There was only one computer in Eden, anyway, kept locked up in the clinic. They had a satellite hookup that enabled them to access the Internet, and that was how Pastor managed their funds. It was also how DJ communicated with the customers who purchased whatever illegal substance they happened to be making at the time. Nearly thirty years earlier, it had been pot, but the Feds had gotten good at sniffing out large pot farms. They’d dabbled in opioids, but that had required too much labor for too little profit. Now they grew and sold psilocybin, but that market was becoming iffy as well, what with cities decriminalizing it.

  They were good for now, because the market was still strong. It could be decades before shrooms were legal everywhere. Ephraim had no doubt that DJ had a plan for their next illegal venture, and it was all on that one computer. One that Ephraim wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

  ‘Who is Raphael Sokolov?’ Regina asked, looking at the screen as she resumed massaging his shoulders. Damn, the woman had good hands.

  ‘A cop. He’s the one who hit me tonight.’

  ‘Then he’s a bastard,’ Regina said soothingly.

  ‘That’s for sure.’ Ephraim dropped his head, stretching his stiff neck.

  ‘Why did he hit you?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ Ephraim lied smoothly.

  She chuckled. ‘He didn’t hit you that hard, E. Not enough to scramble your brains. But it’s okay. I heard the news reports. I know there are BOLOs out on you all over the state. The reporters say that you tried to abduct a woman from the airport. I saw her photo. She’s a little old for your tastes, isn’t she?’

  ‘She wasn’t when I married her,’ he muttered.

  Regina stopped the massage. ‘You’re married?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’ Because all of his wives were too old now. He wished he could just get rid of them like he did his very first ball and chain, but Pastor frowned on open murder. He’d been able to pass off the first wife’s early demise as an accident to the Eden community, but Pastor knew the truth. Ephraim had been officially punished, which for him required taking on another wife who was also too old for his liking. At least most of his wives behaved themselves.

  Unlike Mercy, Rhoda, and then Miriam, who’d all run away.

  ‘That’s all you’re going to tell me? “Unfortunately, yes”?’

  ‘Yes.’ Because Regina didn’t know about Eden, and he never intended for her to. It was enough that she knew about his predilection for young girls, but at least there they each had equally damaging information on the other. Yes, Ephraim liked to fuck fourteen-year-olds, but Regina sold them, so they were at a stalemate.

  ‘So you married Mercy Callahan?’ Regina prodded. ‘Did she leave you?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Huh. And this Raphael Sokolov. Is he her new man?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ And that pissed him off. He’d been digging into Sokolov for nearly an hour and all he knew was that the man was a homicide detective on leave because he’d been injured saving Mercy Callahan from a deranged killer.

  The same deranged killer who’d murdered another of his wives. It was a CNN report about Miriam’s murder that had alerted him to the fact that Mercy was still alive.

  ‘I see. What do you know, Ephraim?’

  ‘That I’m tired of answering your questions.’

  With a thin smile, she pulled up a chair. ‘Too bad, because I have quite a few more. I’d heard Mercy Callahan’s name before tonight, but I couldn’t remember where, so I looked her up. She was one of the three women who escaped that serial killer who was taken down back in February.’

  Ephraim tamped his temper down. It wasn’t a good idea to make Regina annoyed. ‘Yes, she was.’

  ‘And before then, she was living a private life all the way in New Orleans. Where she just happened to be coming from today, according to the news reports. She’d just flown into Sacramento when you tried to grab her.’

  Damn reporters. That was more information than Ephraim had expected them to know. ‘So?’

  ‘So, you knew she was going to be there. I’m wondering how? Especially since I fielded three phone calls from a guy named Pastor, trying to find you. Apparently you left my number as your emergency contact.’

  Ephraim’s heart stuttered in his chest, but he managed to meet her shrewd gaze. He’d forgotten that he’d given Regina’s number in case of an emergency, but he remembered it now. One of his wives had been about to give birth and Pastor had insisted on a contact number. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid as to give the man the actual number or that Pastor had remembered it. It had been at least ten years ago. ‘Pastor called here?’

  ‘Three times. I told him that you were busy the first two times. The third time he demanded that I “fetch” you. I told him that you’d gone out to the store. I don’t think he believed me.’

  ‘When was the third time?’

  ‘Tonight. A few ho
urs before you showed up. I knew something was wrong. You were supposed to be here all week, but you left after one night. The same night that CNN aired a special report on that serial killer, the report that listed Mercy Callahan as one of the women who’d gotten away – aided, I should add, by Detective Raphael Sokolov, who helped to save her life.’

  Ephraim grabbed his thighs, digging his fingers deep to keep from reaching for her skinny throat. ‘If you knew who they were, why did you ask me?’

  ‘I got curious. You see, I’d expected you to stay longer than you did. I had two young lovelies all ready for you. Turned away other clients because I thought you’d be staying your normal time, but you walked out on me – without paying me. And then I find out that some guy named Pastor is asking about you, because you were obviously not where you were supposed to be. Where were you?’

  He made himself smile, even though he wanted to wring her damn neck. ‘I don’t think that’s your business, Regina.’

  ‘When I lie to cover for you, it is. Did you have beignets when you were in New Orleans?’

  He gritted his teeth. She was too damn smart for her own good. ‘Back off, Regina.’

  ‘Or what?’ She seemed genuinely confused.

  ‘Or you’ll wish you’d listened.’

  Regina laughed. She actually laughed.

  Ephraim was holding on to control by a thin thread. But he remained silent, already visualizing how he’d snap her neck. It was his preferred method of disposal – quiet and easily explained away. It was how he’d killed his first wife, which hadn’t exactly been planned. More like he’d lost his temper and grabbed her. He guessed she’d been more delicate than he’d thought. Regina was not a delicate woman, but he’d had a lot of practice since then, most recently with Miriam’s family. Snapping the necks of Miriam’s parents and brother had been incredibly satisfying, and justified. They shouldn’t have helped his wife run away from Eden.

  But he needed to be more careful with Regina. She was armed. He saw the slight bulge of a pistol in the pocket of her housecoat.

  When he said nothing, she smiled sweetly. ‘I watched that news report again after I heard that you’d tried to grab Mercy Callahan tonight,’ she said. ‘They interviewed a woman who’d also escaped the killer’s clutches after being held and tortured. She wanted the viewing audience to remember the women who didn’t survive. She read all their names and mentioned that Mercy had also escaped, along with another woman. She said that Mercy had been childhood friends with one of the dead women – an Eileen Danton. Name ring a bell?’

  Ephraim took a steadying breath. ‘Nope.’ Because her name wasn’t Eileen. It was Miriam. Miriam Burton. And she was my damn wife.

  And she’d run. He wasn’t exactly sure how she’d gotten away, but her family had had a hand in it, of that he was certain. For their crime, he’d killed them and buried them in an unmarked grave. And then, because he hadn’t been able to find Miriam, they’d had to consider that she’d gone to law enforcement for help. Which meant they’d had to move Eden. Again.

  That had been a pain in the ass, especially in November, with winter approaching. ‘Never heard of her.’

  Regina smiled again, way too sweetly. ‘That’s really interesting. Because, you see, the killer apparently took trinkets from his victims.’

  Ephraim shrugged. ‘So? That’s normally what they do, right?’

  ‘Right. But he took a locket from Eileen. They showed it on the news. Said that the third lady who’d escaped him – a Sacramento radio personality named Daisy Dawson – had ripped it from his throat while fighting for her life. It was an important clue, apparently.’

  Stay calm. Just breathe. He’d seen the telecast, just as Regina had. He’d seen the locket on the screen. And he’d been afraid that his face would be recognized, that he’d be identified. The newscast had made no mention of finding any photos inside the locket, so he’d assumed Miriam had removed them. But now he knew better. That damn cop in the airport had recognized him, so clearly the police had the wedding photo.

  Goddamn wedding photos. I’m going to murder Pastor as soon as I get back to Eden.

  With Mercy in tow. There was no way he was going back without Mercy now.

  ‘And?’ he managed in a smooth voice that didn’t tremble at all.

  ‘And there was a design on the locket. Two children kneeling in prayer under a tree, all under the wings of an angel holding a fiery sword.’

  ‘Sounds pretty.’

  ‘Oh, it is. Just like the tattoo on your right pectoral.’

  Ephraim stiffened. What the fuck? ‘What makes you think I have a tattoo?’ He never removed his shirt. Never. Except . . . motherfucking bitch. Except when he showered.

  Her lips curved smugly. ‘Yes, I can see that you understand. Of course I keep cameras in the showers, Ephraim. It’s for your protection, you see.’ She tapped a manicured fingernail on the edge of his laptop. ‘So this is what I think happened.’

  My protection, my ass. He tensed his fingers, readying himself to break her fucking neck. ‘Please, enlighten me,’ Ephraim said, hoping he sounded bored. And not rattled. Because he was rattled. And he suspected he knew exactly where this was going.

  ‘Oh, I will. I think you saw the telecast, saw Mercy and Eileen. Saw that Eileen was dead. She was tied to you somehow. I don’t know how yet. Hell, maybe she was your wife, after Mercy left you. But they said that Mercy had returned to New Orleans after her rescue from the killer, so that’s where you went.’

  ‘You should be a writer. Such intriguing fiction.’ Except she’d figured it out. Every fucking detail.

  She simply smiled. ‘And I checked your laptop. You purchased a one-way ticket to New Orleans in the name of Eustace Carmelo – less than five minutes after the news report ended.’

  He stared at her. ‘You checked my laptop?’ How? How had she gotten past his password? ‘What the actual fuck? This is my property.’

  ‘My house, my rules.’

  ‘My locker. My fucking property.’

  She shrugged. ‘You’re missing the point here, Ephraim.’

  He was seething. So damn furious. ‘What is your fucking point, Regina?’

  ‘That you booked a flight to New Orleans with a fake ID as soon as that CNN special was over. But something must have gone wrong there, because you followed her back here.’

  Something had gone wrong. He’d followed Mercy for days, trying to figure out when he could safely grab her. Determining her schedule had been easy enough – she went to work, her apartment, and her half brother’s house – but the woman always had too many people around her, leaving Ephraim frustrated. She worked at the New Orleans police department, so grabbing her outside work was not going to happen. Each time she’d returned home for the evening she’d pulled into her parking place and was immediately met by one of the other residents of the apartment house, usually gathered on the stoop. She was a popular person, his Mercy, clearly liked by her neighbors.

  The discovery of the half brother had been lucky, actually. That information had come from the man’s daughter, a chatty little thing, about nine years old. A little too young, unfortunately. Give the girl another few years and she’d have been perfect. Ephraim had followed Mercy from her office to the man’s home Thursday night and had almost had her in his hands when she’d left after dinner, but her brother had accompanied her home, walking her to her door then driving away with her car. Ephraim had wondered why her brother had taken her car as he’d ventured into the apartment building, but she hadn’t answered her door, and he’d been unable to break in.

  So Ephraim returned to the half brother’s house yesterday, learning all about Mercy’s reunion with her half brother’s family from the little girl. She’d shared that her mother had borrowed Mercy’s car because the family car was in the shop, which explained why the brother had taken her car the night before.
>
  All of that information had come in handy when he’d knocked on the door of Mercy’s next-door neighbor, introducing himself as Mercy’s brother, John, and asking if the woman had seen her. The neighbor had invited him right in, telling him that she wasn’t home because she was spending the night with her best friend and returning to Sacramento the following day. Her neighbor had been so happy to meet Mercy’s ‘brother’ that she’d given him freshly baked cookies and told him everything he needed to know about Mercy Callahan. Everything except that she’d have some big blond surfer boy detective meeting her at the airport. Bastard.

  So yeah. Something had gone horribly wrong.

  ‘Well?’ Regina asked coyly. ‘How did I do?’

  She’d gotten everything perfect. He drew a breath. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘What I always want, Ephraim. Or should I call you Harry Franklin? Both names are on the BOLO.’

  He ground his teeth. Fucking hell. Goddamn motherfucking hell. ‘I don’t know that name.’

  ‘Well, maybe not. It has been thirty years since you disappeared after robbing a bank and killing three people. I’m assuming Ephraim is your alias, although it’s a truly horrid name.’

  She was right about his name. It was horrible. ‘Ephraim’ had been Pastor’s choice, not his own. Just as ‘Eustace Carmelo’ had been. And the names weren’t just Pastor’s choice. They were Pastor’s punishment, a constant reminder that Pastor held him in contempt.

  But Regina wasn’t right about the robbery. He hadn’t been involved, not that anyone would believe it. He’d been an innocent bystander that day. And the only other people who knew the true story were now dead. ‘How much?’

  ‘The Feds never recovered the money you stole. I imagine you’ve got it squirreled away somewhere. I’ll take that.’

  He kept his outer expression tense, but relaxed inside, knowing exactly what he needed to do. ‘I don’t have it. My brother gave it to Pastor for safekeeping.’

  ‘Then you’ll get it from this Pastor guy.’

  Fat chance. But all he said was, ‘I’ll need some time. Plus, you should know that all that cash is marked.’