Say No More

by Rose, Karen

  ‘Why would you think to ask her if she’d told me that I have family in New Orleans?’ Gideon asked, much more kindly, although his eyes still held devastation. ‘And I didn’t yell at her, I promise. But I wanted to, so that’s why I need some time.’

  ‘I’m good to go,’ Daisy said. With Irina’s help, she’d wrapped two plates of food, and Rafe hoped Gideon would actually eat his. His friend looked too thin.

  ‘I’m going to take some time off,’ Gideon announced. ‘I’ll be able to guard her soon.’

  That really pissed Rafe off. ‘I can do it,’ he growled.

  Gideon stretched out his hand as if to calm him. ‘I know you can. I know you will. But I need to. We can figure out a strategy later. I promise. For now, I need to know she’s safe from Burton.’ He swallowed hard, his eyes becoming suspiciously shiny. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  And then he was gone, Daisy in his wake.

  Rafe glanced at Farrah, who looked like she was about to cry. ‘What is this about family in New Orleans?’ he asked gently. ‘Tell me what you can, so I can help her.’

  Farrah closed her eyes briefly, then looked up at him. ‘They have a bunch of half siblings who live in New Orleans. That’s why she landed there. Her maternal grandmother told her that her paternal grandparents had come searching for them years ago, and left their address. Mercy didn’t actually meet any of the sibs for almost two years, even though she knew where they were. She was so afraid that they’d reject her. I think that she needed to know that our family had unconditionally accepted her before she had the courage to confront her blood.’

  ‘But they did not reject her?’ Irina asked cautiously.

  ‘No. They all love her. Their family is almost as big as mine. Four half brothers and two half sisters, plus seven nieces and five nephews. Mercy has loved being their auntie. She babysits them and takes care of them. Tutors them.’ Her smile was wistful. ‘Spoils them rotten.’

  God. Six half siblings and all their families. No wonder Gideon needs time. That news was quite the bombshell.

  Rafe put the remaining pieces together. ‘She didn’t tell Gideon about them because she was angry with him, because she didn’t know that he’d run from Eden after he’d been abused, too.’

  ‘I guess so. I thought he knew about John and the sibs. I really did. I just figured that Gideon didn’t want to see them, like Mercy hasn’t wanted to see him.’

  ‘She told you that she’d told Gideon about them?’ Irina asked. ‘She . . . lied?’

  Farrah sighed. ‘Not actually, now that I go back over our conversations in my mind. But she let me believe it. I should go to her now. This is why I’m here – to put her back together again.’

  Rafe stood, grabbing his cane. ‘I’ll go in first. Maybe you can fix her a plate?’

  Farrah studied him for a moment, then nodded. ‘That I can do.’

  Granite Bay, California

  Saturday, 15 April, 9.20 P.M.

  Mercy’s head jerked up at the light knock on the door. She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, crying like a foolish child. Dinner had to be over and Karl probably wanted his office back. Drawing a breath, she swiped at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘I’ll be out in just a second,’ she called.

  ‘Mercy, it’s me,’ a deep voice said.

  Rafe. Fucking hell. She did not want him to see her like this. She did have a little pride, after all.

  No, you have too much pride. Which was to blame for this whole mess. She could have told Gideon about their half siblings at any time – any time over the last six weeks, any one of the birthdays or Christmases that he’d called her since she’d met them, or simply any other time. She’d always had his phone number.

  But she hadn’t, and now she had to bear the consequences.

  She forced herself to stand and greet Rafe with her chin up. ‘Come in,’ she said, trying to sound . . . well, not as dejected as she felt. I’ve fucked it all up.

  Not all of it. Gideon said you’d be all right. He doesn’t lie.

  No, he didn’t lie. He never had. Everyone else back then had lied to her, but Gideon had always told her the truth. He’d always been there for her, taking her punishments, making sure she had enough to eat even if it meant he’d gone hungry. She never would have believed what Eden had said about him if her mother had refuted it, but Rhoda hadn’t. Mercy had begged her mother to tell her that it wasn’t so, that Gideon hadn’t left them to suffer, but her mother had allowed her to continue believing it until that night in the bed of DJ’s truck.

  She now understood her mother’s reasons, even though she remained a little bitter. Her mother had known that if Mercy knew the truth about Gideon when she was nine years old, she would have openly defied the lies of the Eden leadership, causing her own punishment and endangering Gideon’s safety. Rhoda had ensured Gideon’s escape through perpetuating the lie, but none of any of this was Gideon’s fault.

  The door opened and Rafe appeared, his face somber, his eyes soft. No judgments. His mouth lifted in a rueful half smile as he closed the door behind him and she was suddenly frozen in place, caught between the desperate need to flee and . . .

  An even more desperate need to stay. To feel safe again. To feel accepted. Wanted.

  It was selfish, so damn selfish, but she wanted Rafe Sokolov to hold her. Even if she was going to have to tell him it would never work out. They had different lives. They lived in different parts of the country. But none of that seemed to matter at the moment.

  He hadn’t said a word since entering the room, leaning heavily on his cane as he slowly made his way toward her. Giving me time to run. But she didn’t run, the understanding in his gaze making her chest tight. New tears clogged her throat again and she didn’t have the energy to hold them back.

  ‘Hell, Mercy,’ he murmured when he reached her. He propped his cane against the chair in which she’d been sitting and opened his arms.

  Without hesitation, she walked into them, shuddering when his arms closed around her, holding her as she cried. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but she felt the tensing of his body as he leaned his hip into the chair. He was hurting.

  I’m hurting him. She tried to pull away, but his arms tightened their grip. ‘You need to sit.’

  ‘Don’t go,’ he murmured into her ear, making her shudder again as he shuffled them sideways and lowered them into the chair. Together. She was sitting on his lap, her weight resting on his good leg, the injured one stretched out straight.

  She shouldn’t be doing this. She should get up, sit in the other chair. But he was warm, his arms strong, and she allowed herself to admit that she needed this. Craved the feel of him. But she shouldn’t be selfish. ‘I’m hurting you,’ she protested, even as she rested her head against his shoulder. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ Not your leg. Not your heart.

  ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘We’re fine, Mercy. You’re fine. Don’t go. Not yet.’

  Exhaling a sigh, she burrowed closer, letting him hold her, so grateful not to be alone. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what?’ he asked lazily, stroking her hair in a way that made her want to close her eyes and sleep.

  ‘Um, for falling apart in your father’s office?’

  His chuckle rumbled under her ear. ‘You aren’t the first. Won’t be the last. I think all of us kids have fallen apart in this office at one time or another. I don’t think Dad gets much work done in here, to be honest.’

  His warm voice was making her even sleepier. ‘You’ve fallen apart in here?’ She covered her mouth when she yawned. ‘Really? When?’

  ‘Really,’ he said lightly, still stroking her hair. ‘I’m a good listener, if you want to talk. If not, we can sit here as long as you like.’

  She didn’t miss that he hadn’t answered her question, but that was okay. She was also a good li
stener and understood the value of patience. ‘If it’s okay, I’d rather be quiet for a while. I’m not used to talking so much.’

  He chuckled again. ‘Hopefully you can get used to everyone else talking around you, or you’re going to tire of us Sokolovs pretty quickly.’ He abruptly stilled. ‘Do we bother you?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not. You’re the kind of family I always dreamed of. Like Farrah’s family.’

  ‘And . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Your brothers and sisters?’

  She sighed. She hadn’t doubted that Gideon had shared the bombshell she’d dropped on him. ‘Yes.’ She was quiet again, and he let her be. But finally she said, ‘Gideon was so upset and he had a right to be.’

  ‘He’ll come around,’ Rafe promised. ‘I’ve known him for sixteen years. He loves you. He has dreamed of your acceptance for so long.’

  ‘He shouldn’t,’ Mercy whispered, ‘but I hope you’re right.’

  ‘Tell me about your brothers and sisters,’ he murmured quietly.

  He was changing the subject, distracting her from her fears without chiding her or diminishing her. Mercy liked that a lot. ‘The oldest’s name is John Benz. He and Angela were our father’s legal children.’ She hesitated, then sighed. ‘My mother named me Mercedes.’

  Rafe went still for a moment, then snorted a laugh. ‘She was young?’

  ‘Eighteen, give or take a few months. All the sibs winced when I told them and then they died laughing.’

  Rafe continued to stroke her hair with the perfect amount of pressure. ‘How often do you see them?’

  ‘Every week. Brunch with John and his wife and kids. The kids think I’m like CSI, so I’m cool for the moment. When they meet Gideon, they’ll be so impressed that he’s FBI.’

  ‘I’m glad you have them, and once Gideon’s temper cools, he will be, too.’

  His strokes had become slower as she relaxed against him. ‘You need to let me go, or I’ll fall asleep right here. It would be awful for your leg if that happened.’

  His hand slid from her hair to her back, his touch a little more intense now, fingers massaging the muscles that were the tightest. ‘Where do you want to go, Mercy? Mom’s going to insist that you eat, but after that, you need to decide if you want to stay here at Mom and Dad’s, or come back to my house and stay with Sasha. Either way is fine with me. I’ll make sure you have someone guarding you, wherever you sleep.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She thought about it for a moment. ‘Will your mother be offended if we don’t stay here?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  He sounded confident, but Mercy would check for herself when she saw Irina again. ‘If she’s really okay with it, I’d like to get to your place. I love Farrah’s family, and John and the others are the best, but I get overwhelmed with all the talking and the noise. I think your family would be similar.’

  ‘They can be . . . friendly,’ he said, affection clear in his tone. ‘That’s why I left home when I was eighteen. My grandmother left a house to all of us kids, but it needed work. I lived there while I went to college, fixed the house up whenever I had free time, then bought the others out when I’d saved enough money. It’s always been my oasis. I can always come here anytime if I need a little drama. I’ll let Mom know that you’re going home with me.’ He kissed her temple, then met her gaze. ‘I want to make all of this better for you, but I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘You’re doing it,’ she said, pressing her cheek to the hard wall of his chest. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  For a long, long moment they sat there in the quiet, the steady thumping of his heart beneath her ear the only sound that mattered. ‘I need to help,’ she finally said wearily.

  ‘Need to help with what, specifically?’

  ‘Finding Ephraim Burton.’ Somehow saying both of his names together made him feel more like a stranger, less like her own personal nightmare. A little bit, anyway.

  His hand rubbed big circles on her back. ‘All right.’ His reply wasn’t condescending. It was simple acceptance, like it made perfect sense that she’d help.

  ‘But I don’t know where to start,’ she confessed.

  ‘Let’s start tomorrow,’ he said softly. ‘Tonight, you need to take care of you.’

  She wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy. ‘All right,’ she said, intentionally mimicking his words and tone, making him chuckle.

  ‘Good,’ was all he said before falling silent once more. He rubbed her back, occasionally stroking her hair, his constant touches more than mere comfort. His hands anchored her. His arms made her feel safe.

  Safe enough to sleep.

  Sacramento, California

  Saturday, 15 April, 10.05 P.M.

  In hindsight, Ephraim should have waited until morning to kill Regina, so that he could have gotten a decent night’s sleep. His head still pounded and he was exhausted, but hotels were not an option. He didn’t want to risk even a shitty motel because Regina had been right about the BOLOs. Cops and Feds all over the state were looking for him. The airports would be alerted, as would the borders if he tried to hang out in Mexico.

  But he didn’t want to be in Mexico. He wanted to be wherever Mercy Callahan was, so he’d headed back to Sacramento. He hadn’t been able to find Raphael Sokolov’s address online, no matter what search engine he’d used, so he’d have to track Mercy another way. He didn’t know what that way would be, but he’d figure it out in the morning.

  Now, he just needed to find a place to sleep.

  He stopped in a northern suburb of Sacramento, a community in which every house was dark. Slowly he drove through the streets, checking for any place that looked unoccupied, but the houses were close together and he didn’t want to risk surprising someone inside who might yell loudly enough to be heard. He followed the main street out of town, finding himself on a farm road, not unlike the one where he’d dumped the woman’s body earlier this evening.

  What was her name again? Right, June Lindstrom. He needed to remember the details, needed to listen to the news for word of her discovery. Her death couldn’t directly be traced to him, but eventually the cops would figure out that she’d left the airport at the same time that he’d fled.

  He turned off his headlights as he approached the old farmhouse at the end of the lane. It had definitely seen better days. Even in the darkness, he could see that the paint was peeling and the weeds grew high all around the property. Quietly, he got out of the car that he’d stolen after ditching Regina’s sleek Lexus. This car was an older model, a real clunker. It still had a cassette tape deck, for God’s sake, so it was unlikely to have GPS. Which was exactly what he needed right now to stay off the grid.

  He walked toward the farmhouse, keeping to the shadows. Checking all the windows, he found only one occupant – an old woman sitting in her recliner, watching TV.

  Drawing Regina’s gun from his pocket, he made sure the suppressor was on tight and crept to the back door, ready to break one of the small window panels so that he could reach in and unlock it. But to his surprise, it was already unlocked.

  He opened the door and slipped in, checking for any kind of home alarm system, but he saw nothing. He crossed an old kitchen into a drab hallway, stopping cold when a floorboard squeaked.

  ‘James?’ a frail voice called from the living room. ‘What are you doing home?’

  He had no idea who James was, but this was a bad idea if the guy would be returning soon. Ephraim wanted to sleep and not worry about anyone else coming in.

  He continued walking toward the living room, wincing when more floorboards creaked.

  ‘James?’ the old woman called again, a thread of fear in her voice. ‘Is that you?’

  He wondered what would happen if he said yes, then froze when the lights abruptly came on. The old woman stood at the end of the hall, one hand on the li
ght switch.

  The other cradling a rifle like a baby. And not just any rifle. It was an AR-15 with an extended magazine. Ephraim blinked in surprise. The rifle she held wasn’t legal in California configured as it was, so the old woman wasn’t afraid of breaking the law. He had to admit to being reluctantly impressed.

  She stiffened. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Who is James?’

  ‘My grandson,’ she said, lifting the rifle to her shoulder with a speed and grace that surprised him.

  Granny may have been badass, but she wasn’t as fast as Ephraim. He shot her in the chest, both the gun and the suppressor doing their jobs. All he heard was a slight pop and she dropped like a rock.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured as he crouched next to her body. He really was. It was a shame that such a feisty old lady should meet her end so anticlimactically. He moved the rifle from her arms and took her pulse. She was still alive, dammit. With regret, he shot her again, then put her body in the chair, making it look like she was still watching TV.

  Then he locked all the doors, placing chairs under each of the doorknobs. If James the grandson came home early, he’d have to break a window and Ephraim would hear that.

  Climbing the stairs, he found a nice bedroom decorated with paisley and lace. A second bedroom looked like a tornado had struck, dirty clothes on the floor and posters of basketball players on the walls. Must be James’s room, he thought. He found a laptop on an old desk and, figuring it couldn’t hurt to try, tapped the keyboard with one finger.

  To his utter shock, the laptop turned on – with no password protector.

  Granny must trust James a lot. Or James must not think Granny is very smart.

  A quick search of his email revealed that James, a fourteen-year-old, was camping with his Boy Scout troop this weekend. Ephraim grimaced, the very sappiness of the situation leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Boy Scouts? Really? He didn’t know kids still did that shit. Maybe out in the country they did.

  At least he’d get some uninterrupted sleep. James wasn’t due home until tomorrow afternoon.