Say No More

by Rose, Karen

  ‘And then?’ Molina asked.

  Jeff took a swallow from the water bottle they’d provided, because his mouth was suddenly dry as dust. ‘Then I had to figure out what to do about Miss Romero. The, um, the deceased. I didn’t know how long it would take for someone to find her . . .’ His gulp was audible, but he was beyond caring now. ‘You know, her body. And then when I checked the news and saw that the man I’d seen coming out of Miss Romero’s place was the same guy that tried to take Miss Callahan? I was too scared to do anything. Except get drunk.’

  ‘And then?’ Hunter asked.

  ‘I fell asleep and my mom woke me up at about one a.m. I knew I had to make this right, so I called the NOPD and reported Miss Romero’s body.’

  Molina did the one-raised-brow thing again. ‘Anonymously?’

  Like she didn’t already know the answer. He barely kept from rolling his eyes, but that would have been a knee-jerk panicked response. ‘Yes, ma’am. I was still afraid that I’d be blamed for the old lady’s death.’

  ‘But he did call,’ his mother said.

  ‘I need to make this right for Miss Callahan and Miss Romero,’ Jeff said. ‘As soon as possible. That’s why I’m here. Making amends.’

  Molina pulled two laminated sheets from her briefcase. She slid the first across the table and Jeff was startled to see a photo array. ‘Do you see the man who left Miss Romero’s apartment?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He pointed to the man the press was calling Ephraim Burton, aka Harry Franklin.

  ‘And this one?’ She passed him the second sheet. ‘Do you see the man who sold you the video?’

  Jeff searched each face carefully. ‘No, ma’am. None of these men are Stan Prescott. I have a photo of him, if that would be helpful.’ He pulled out his phone and swiped until he found the photo he was looking for. ‘This one. I took it for my own records. He didn’t know I took it.’

  Molina blinked, seeming surprised for the first time since they’d sat down. ‘I see. Thank you, Mr Bunker.’

  Jeff frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Can you send us that photo?’ Hunter asked.

  ‘Why?’ Jeff pressed. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Hunter and Molina shared a look, Molina giving Hunter a slight nod. ‘The man in that photo is not Stan Prescott,’ Hunter said. ‘We don’t know who he is yet.’

  ‘I still have the flash drive he saved the video to. I brought it with me. You want it?’

  ‘Yes, we do,’ Molina said with a brisk nod. She rose and gathered her things. ‘Agent Hunter will take it into evidence, then see you out. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Bunker.’

  Jeff drew a breath. ‘Are you . . . are you going to arrest me?’

  Molina’s mouth quirked up in the barest hint of a smile, shocking him. ‘Not today. We may ask you to come back in if we need further clarification. Mrs Bunker, thank you for bringing him in. We appreciate how hard this was for both of you.’

  Jeff’s mother said nothing until Molina was gone. Then she pressed the heel of her hand to her heart. ‘I thought you were done for, Jeffy.’

  He was so relieved that he didn’t correct her, even though it was humiliating to be called ‘Jeffy’ in front of a Fed. ‘Me too. Let’s go, please?’

  She nodded hard. ‘Absolutely. Agent Hunter, we’re ready now.’

  ‘Just a moment.’ Hunter held out an evidence bag like he was trick-or-treating. ‘Flash drive?’

  ‘Oh.’ Jeff dug it from his pocket and dropped it in the bag. ‘I don’t want anything to do with it.’

  ‘That’s smart, kid. It should go without saying, but I’ll say it anyway: Do not approach the press or respond if they ask you questions.’ Hunter wrote up a receipt for the flash drive, then sealed the bag. ‘Look, I’m not trying to scare you or anything, but you really should retain an attorney.’

  Jeff’s eyes nearly popped from his head. Beside him, his mother was nearly vibrating in a combination of fear and outrage. ‘But I didn’t do anything wrong!’ he cried.

  ‘But you’re involved. Do yourself a favor and protect yourself, okay? Come on. I’ll walk you out.’ Hunter led them through a warren of hallways until they were at the main doors. ‘Here’s my card,’ he said. ‘If you think of anything else, please let me know.’

  Jeff took it and followed his mother out into the afternoon sun. His knees were still a little shaky. He’d honestly thought they’d keep him and knew Hunter was right about getting an attorney. ‘Mom, Agent Hunter was right. I need an attorney. Do you think your judge friend would have a recommendation?’

  Her mouth firmed, determined. ‘If he doesn’t, I’ll find you a lawyer myself.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll pay you back, some day. I promise.’

  Her laugh was shaky. ‘You might have to do that, Jeffy. Right now, all I want to do is go home and take a nap for a week.’

  ‘Me too. But first, I’ve got one more stop to make, if that’s okay with you.’

  She looked at him with pride. ‘Granite Bay?’

  ‘Yes. I need to apologize to Mercy Callahan.’

  Thirteen

  Granite Bay, California

  Sunday, 16 April, 5.35 P.M.

  Ephraim had watched the house with the blue shutters for the past thirty minutes while the old man puttered in his garden. He hadn’t seen anyone else coming or going, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more people in the house. However, he needed a place to hide and this house had a view of the Sokolovs’ driveway. It would have to do.

  He’d parked the beat-up car that he’d stolen after leaving the costume store. He could go back for it if he had to, because it was only about a mile away. He’d left it in the parking area for Folsom Lake, the lot overrun by people out enjoying the beautiful spring day. The hard part had been filling the duffel bag with the rifle, handguns, rope, and duct tape without anyone noticing.

  But he must have been successful, because no one had looked twice when he’d set off toward the lake. After that, it had been easy to cut through the woods to get to this mansion with a view.

  Most people would choose the view of the lake, of course. Ephraim wanted the view of the house across the street.

  The man in the garden was about seventy, his back stooped as he pruned the roses. He wore white knee socks, a plain white T-shirt, and a pair of khaki shorts. Ephraim might have mistaken him for a gardener had it not been for the man’s shoes. They were leather and expensive-looking, so he was probably the homeowner. Which didn’t really matter that much.

  Ephraim only cared that the man didn’t look like he’d put up much of a fight. As long as he wasn’t armed, taking over this house shouldn’t be too hard.

  Ephraim waited until the old man had lowered himself into a lawn chair, gaze fixed on his roses. He heard the man sigh as he approached, the sound one more of melancholy than physical weariness.

  Giving one last look around, Ephraim drew Regina’s gun from his jacket pocket and clapped his hand over the man’s mouth. ‘If you fight me,’ he whispered, ‘you will die. If you scream, you will die. Nod once if you understand.’

  The man nodded once, strangely calm. Instincts on high alert, Ephraim looked around again, expecting to see security jumping from the bushes, but no one appeared. Yanking the man to his feet, Ephraim dragged him into the house. He’d watched the man come and go and hadn’t noticed him fooling with anything that could have been an alarm system. Once he got inside, he saw that there was an alarm panel, but it was currently green-lit. Unarmed.

  Excellent.

  Covering the man’s mouth with duct tape, Ephraim tied his hands behind his back with a length of Granny’s rope and shoved him into a chair. A heavy one that the man couldn’t move on his own. It was made of mahogany. Nice. Amos back in Eden could make better, but Amos was also a master carpenter. Ephraim couldn’t help but wonder what Amos
could make with wood like this, though.

  He filed the thought away for later. He could decorate his new quarters any way he wanted once he had Pastor’s passwords for the offshore accounts.

  He’d already observed that the man didn’t have a wallet in his pocket, but a quick look around the kitchen revealed a wallet and a set of keys. He was happy to find that the wallet contained about five hundred dollars in twenties and several credit cards. He left the cards alone and pulled out the man’s driver’s license.

  ‘Sean MacGuire,’ he murmured. The photo matched the old man’s face, still suspiciously calm. ‘What’s with you?’ he asked. ‘Why aren’t you afraid?’

  MacGuire merely watched him with rheumy eyes.

  ‘You are a freaky bastard,’ Ephraim muttered, then, Regina’s golden silenced gun in hand, went room to room checking for other occupants. After a thorough search through closets and under beds, he was satisfied that he and Sean MacGuire were alone.

  The old man’s bedroom held a few clues. There was a framed photo on the nightstand of MacGuire with an older woman, both smiling broadly, the Eiffel Tower in the background. Another showed them smiling in front of the Taj Mahal, and yet another had them wearing parkas and standing next to a signpost that read Antarctica. The couple appeared to be intrepid travelers.

  Or they had been. The man’s bed was unmade, but only half was used. The other half looked as if it hadn’t been touched. There were no women’s things on the dresser and only a few female outfits in the closet. They were the ones in the photos, Ephraim noticed.

  He got an odd lump in his throat as he realized that the old woman had probably passed away, leaving the man alone.

  Hopefully alone. It would suck if someone else lived here or visited.

  But still. It made him not want to kill the guy. Maybe I won’t. It would depend on the man’s attitude and behavior. After all, once he grabbed Mercy, he was headed back to Eden. Nobody could find him there, so it wouldn’t hurt to let the old man live.

  But if MacGuire tried something, Ephraim would kill him without a second thought.

  He chose the room with the best view of the Sokolovs’ front door and pulled a chair in front of the window. For now, the driveway was filled with the same vehicles that had been there when he’d arrived, in the same places, which was a relief. The black FBI SUV was gone, but unless the tall Fed had taken Mercy and Gideon with him, Ephraim was still in luck.

  He went back to the kitchen to find the man still sitting, the expression on his face unchanged. ‘Your old lady’s dead?’ he asked.

  The old man flinched. So it’s probably new.

  ‘Sorry to hear that. Look, Sean, I don’t want to have to kill you, but I will. Just leave me be and I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.’ He opened the commercial-sized refrigerator. ‘I’m starving. You want me to make you something, too? Nod once for yes.’

  A single nod.

  ‘Okey-dokey then,’ Ephraim said cheerfully. ‘Is it just you, wandering around this big old house?’

  No nod. Nothing but a fleeting glimpse toward the far wall. Where there was a photo of a woman who appeared to be about forty, her arms around a little girl with red pigtails and Mickey Mouse ears. Sleeping Beauty Castle was in the distance. A man stood next to the woman, with a baby in one of those papoose things, or whatever the hell people called them these days.

  ‘Your daughter?’ Ephraim asked.

  No response once again, but now the man’s eyes flickered in fear.

  ‘Yeah, your daughter.’ Ephraim constructed two sandwiches. He ate one, then the other before making a third for MacGuire. He pulled the tape from the man’s mouth, taking more care than he normally would. ‘If you try to scream or bite me—’

  ‘You’ll kill me,’ MacGuire said with a faint Irish accent. ‘Got it.’

  Ephraim held the sandwich to the man’s lips, waiting until he took a bite. ‘Why aren’t you afraid of me?’ he asked.

  ‘Because I don’t care. As you’ve so noted, my “old lady” is dead. We were married forty-nine years. I’m ready to go.’

  At least he was honest. ‘All right, then. I’m quite willing to send you to her, just remember that.’ He gave MacGuire another bite of the sandwich, then put it in the fridge. ‘You can finish it later.’ Maybe. ‘I’ve got things to do.’ Once MacGuire had swallowed, he applied another piece of duct tape to his mouth and went to find the router so that he could get the Wi-Fi password. He had some purchases to make, and then he’d post himself at the window until the party across the street broke up and Mercy went home.

  Granite Bay, California

  Sunday, 16 April, 6.00 P.M.

  ‘You can call John back if you want to,’ Gideon said, breaking the tense silence as Mercy stared at her phone. She’d been willing herself to do that very thing from the moment he’d brought her phone from the kitchen. It gave her something else to obsess about, she supposed. Something to help take her mind off Farrah, who was still in Karl’s office with André. I’m so sorry, Ro. So damn sorry. But there wasn’t anything she could do for Farrah right now, so she was trying to gather the courage to call her half brother and at least make that situation right.

  They sat sideways on the edge of the guest-room bed, hip to hip, silent until Gideon had suggested she return her brother’s call. No, our brother’s call. Mercy really wanted to be by herself for this, but she sensed that Gideon needed her. Or he needed her to need him.

  Which I do. She could be honest with herself about that, at least. Finally.

  ‘He’s got to be worried sick about me,’ she murmured. John had called twice in the past ten minutes, had left two voice mails and ten texts imploring her to call him.

  ‘Mercy, you don’t need to tell him about me. Not until you’re ready.’

  ‘I am ready,’ she insisted. ‘I’m just scared.’

  Gideon stroked a gentle hand down her back. ‘Do you want me to leave?’

  Yes. And no. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I told him that I’d lied to him.’

  Gideon blinked. ‘Really? When?’

  ‘When he called me at two a.m. after André had called him. After you called André. He didn’t understand, but he was kind. Said we’d all get together and figure it out.’

  ‘And we will.’ Gideon looked away for a moment, then locked his gaze with hers. ‘I was hurt. Partly because you were so angry that you kept them from me, but mostly because you chose him to be your brother.’

  Mercy’s eyes filled with new tears. She couldn’t deny Gideon’s words, because they were true. ‘I’m sorry.’

  His smile was sad. ‘But I get it and we will figure it all out. Now, do you want me to go or stay?’

  She braved a smile, the tension in her chest loosening when he smiled back. ‘Stay.’

  ‘Then I’ll stay,’ he said simply. ‘Want me to call?’

  ‘No, I can do it.’ She unlocked her phone, her finger hovering over the number for John Benz.

  ‘I still can’t believe Mama named you Mercedes,’ Gideon said.

  ‘Her mother said that we were both breech and had to be delivered by C-section. Apparently “Mercedes” was the result of postsurgery painkillers.’

  ‘Mama never did drugs,’ Gideon said thoughtfully. ‘Not even when we were desperate and things were horrible.’

  ‘I don’t remember any of that.’

  ‘Why would you? You were barely a year old when we arrived in Eden. I have spotty memories of the time before and I was almost five. But we usually had food and you were always clean. She wasn’t a good mother in some ways, but she did her best.’

  ‘She saved our lives,’ Mercy said simply.

  Gideon swallowed hard. ‘Yeah, she did. Let’s do this call before my allergies make my eyes water.’

  ‘Allergies suck, don’t they?’ she asked as she hit John’s nam
e on her phone screen. ‘Time for you to meet your brother.’

  Gideon stiffened, taking in a huge lungful of air. ‘I’m nervous,’ he confessed.

  Mercy patted his knee. ‘You’re going to love each other. Don’t worry.’

  John answered on the first ring. ‘Mercy? Is that you?’

  ‘It is. I’m sorry I missed your calls. We’ve had a . . . situation here. Have you seen the news about Farrah’s great-aunt?’

  ‘Yes. That’s why I was trying to call you. Are you all right?’

  ‘I will be. Listen, John . . .’ Just say it. ‘I’m with Gideon. Can I switch to FaceTime?’

  A long moment of silence. ‘Does he really want to talk to me?’

  ‘Yes, he really does. He would have been talking to you all along, if I’d told him about you.’

  Gideon squeezed her shoulder. ‘If he’s not comfortable talking to me, it’s okay. We have time, Mercy.’

  ‘Do we?’ They didn’t know what life was going to throw their way. They didn’t know if they’d survive this latest fracas. I don’t know that I’ll survive Ephraim Burton.

  Gideon blinked at her, startled. ‘Of course we do.’

  ‘Is that him?’ John asked in a choked whisper.

  Oh God. John was crying. Which made Mercy’s tears start all over again. Dammit. ‘Don’t cry, John. Please don’t cry.’

  ‘I’m not,’ John claimed, then laughed weakly. ‘Okay, I am. Put us on FaceTime, Mercy.’

  She did and grabbed a few tissues to wipe her face. God, her face hurt. Why did crying hurt so much? ‘John, this is Gideon Reynolds. Gideon, John Benz.’

  Gideon stared at the screen, a look of wonder on his face. ‘Hi.’

  John chuckled awkwardly. ‘Hi yourself. I’m . . . Well, this is unexpected. I’m . . . I don’t know what to say. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Gideon.’