by Rose, Karen
Ephraim felt kinship with the kid. He’d experienced Sokolov’s strength and the back of his head still ached from it. Fucking cane. If I ever get that man alone, I’m going to beat his head in with it.
His attention was diverted when more people tromped out of the house, holding court on the porch. Sokolov was joined by Gideon Reynolds and a woman that Ephraim recognized from his Google searches as Irina Sokolov, the detective’s mother. Then two more women – a tall blonde with a high ponytail who’d been at the airport the night before and a small blonde who clung to Reynolds like a limpet.
Her, Ephraim also recognized. She’d been featured in that CNN special about the serial killer. She was the third survivor, Daisy Dawson. And she was clearly with Gideon.
That was interesting. He tucked the knowledge away for later. If he wanted to make Gideon pay, basic garden-variety torture of his girlfriend would do nicely.
A black man had also come from the house to stand glaring at the kid who’d been mauled by Sokolov, and Ephraim was irritated that he couldn’t ID him. The man had arrived about an hour before in a red rental car and had been let straight into the house, so he’d been expected and welcomed.
Unlike the kid, who was now hiding behind another woman, who looked related to him. The woman was glaring back at Sokolov, her body vibrating with . . . something. Fear, maybe? Or rage? Or both. She had the look of a mother bear.
Like his own mother. Before she’d stopped recognizing him.
He shoved the distraction aside, waiting for Mercy to appear. But she never did and after what seemed like an eternity of talking, the kid wrote something on a sheet of paper and handed it to Sokolov.
Seemed like the crisis had been averted, and Ephraim was a little disappointed. If Sokolov had managed to hurt the kid, he’d be in trouble. Maybe even spend a few hours behind bars – hours during which Mercy would be more vulnerable.
Unfortunately, when the kid left, everything went back to the way it was before. Ephraim focused his binoculars on the license plate of the kid’s car as he and his mommy left, noting it for a further look. Something important had just happened there. He’d figure it out.
He put the binoculars down and sat in the comfy recliner, his gaze still glued to the Sokolov house. He’d figure it all out. Now that he knew DJ’s secrets, Ephraim held the real power.
He told himself that again as he pulled his second phone from his pocket. He hadn’t made a single call on it and wouldn’t use it for anything but talking to Pastor.
He dialed the man’s cell phone number from memory, relieved when he got Pastor’s voice mail. He wasn’t sure he could pull this off without losing his cool if he heard Pastor’s voice.
‘Hi, it’s Ephraim.’ He made his tone both raspy and self-deprecating. ‘I dropped my phone and it broke. Had to buy a new one. You can reach me at this number.’ He faked a cough and cleared his throat before reciting his new digits. ‘I’m in Sacramento now, by the way.’ Best to ’fess up, since Pastor knew he was there. ‘I . . . well, I met an old friend from my high school days when I was in San Francisco. An old girlfriend, actually. She’s a pediatrician now and said it looked like I might have strep throat. She invited me home and she has a kid. A daughter. I’m going to stay here for a few days and she’s getting me some antibiotics for the strep. No good bringing it back to the compound, right? Gotta go. Call if you need to.’
He hung up and rolled his eyes. He’d sounded like he was lying. Pastor would know it. But then, so would DJ, if Pastor mentioned it. Which Ephraim was pretty sure he would. DJ would know something was up, and maybe it would make him nervous.
Of course it might make DJ strike out and further defame him, but Ephraim was beyond caring. When he brought Mercy back to Eden, he’d make sure the whole compound knew that both Pastor and DJ had been lying to them.
The thought made him smile as he got comfortable, his gaze still fixed on the Sokolov house. He’d bought himself some time, at least.
Granite Bay, California
Sunday, 16 April, 7.30 P.M.
Mercy rubbed at her sore eyes. Her head hurt and the ibuprofen Irina had given her wasn’t working nearly fast enough. Her face felt like hamburger from crying so much, and Farrah didn’t look any better. They were surrounded by friends and family, of course. André was at Farrah’s side, Daisy at Gideon’s. Rafe was a solid presence next to her. Sasha sat with Karl at the head of the table, Karl looking . . . a little older than he had when she’d first arrived the day before. He still felt bad about how he’d told her about the damn article last night, but Mercy was completely past that. Now she grappled with what seemed to be the actual truth about the kid who’d posted the video evidence of another violation of her body, of her soul. Of whatever innocence she’d thought she’d had left at the time.
Tom Hunter was also at the table, having arrived a few minutes before. He’d come to ask her questions about Eden, but also to tell her about Jeff Bunker, the sixteen-year-old journalism student who’d dragged her past through the mud. He’d been surprised to learn that Bunker had already been there, to apologize and deliver a letter to Mercy. As far as Mercy knew, no one had told him the small detail about Rafe’s near-throttling of the idiotic boy. Hearing that part of the story from Rafe had made her a little happy, she had to admit.
‘Let me get this straight,’ Mercy said to the table in general and to Tom and Erin in particular. ‘This . . . kid, Jeff Bunker, was duped by Stan Prescott’s roommate?’
She’d read the letter the young man had written with an initial skepticism that she was rethinking now that Hunter had confirmed the story Rafe had relayed to her in private before this family meeting. The letter was sincere, to the point, and very apologetic.
She didn’t want to let the anger at the kid go, but . . . hell. She’d held on to her anger at Gideon for all these years and it had nearly ruined whatever relationship they might have had.
Gideon had forgiven her freely. Maybe she should pay it forward.
‘Yes,’ Tom said simply. ‘His story checks out. He kept all the emails from his editor and all of the drafts of the article. He didn’t set you up on purpose, Mercy.’
Farrah wasn’t quite in the forgiveness phase and Mercy couldn’t blame her. ‘Could he have killed Aunt Quill?’ Farrah asked.
‘Maybe,’ André said, ‘but his story checks out there too, from a timing standpoint, anyway. The apartment building didn’t have any cameras, but the home across the street did and we got a view of the front entrance. Ephraim Burton entered twenty minutes before Jeff Bunker walked up. Burton left and got in a rental car. Five minutes later, Bunker runs from the house looking like he’d seen a damn ghost. He hightailed it to the bus stop.’ André rolled his eyes. ‘The kid was using the city buses because he’s too young to rent a car and he doesn’t actually have a driver’s license yet.’
‘He’s some kind of whiz kid genius,’ Rafe added. ‘But he’s still sixteen. Sounds like his editor used that to manipulate him.’
‘I don’t want to feel sorry for him,’ Farrah said stubbornly.
Mercy covered her friend’s hand with hers. ‘You don’t have to. Even if he didn’t kill Quill, he knew who did. Yes, he’s young. Yes, he was scared and, having been on the receiving end of Ephraim’s rage, I know he had a right to be. But he waited too long to do the right thing.’ She bit her lip. ‘I actually can relate to that.’
‘Not the same,’ Gideon murmured.
‘Yeah, it kind of is,’ Mercy murmured back. ‘But my point is, your feelings are your feelings and you don’t have to harbor kind thoughts about this kid. If he had come forward, we . . .’ She trailed off.
‘We what?’ Farrah pressed.
‘We wouldn’t have gotten on that plane. I wouldn’t be here right now, in this kitchen.’ A thought struck her and she shivered. ‘I might not be here on the planet anymore, because Ephraim would have
killed me there and no one would have known it was him.’
Silence descended over the table, heavy and thick.
Farrah let out a watery sigh that was half sob. ‘God, Mercy. Now I feel like I should thank that fool kid.’
Mercy’s lips tipped up. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ She patted Farrah’s hand, then passed her the box of tissues they’d been sharing for the last hour. ‘But I know how scared he must have been. And to have been on the plane with him? For hours? I don’t think my heart would have survived that.’
‘He did get the video taken down,’ Farrah muttered grudgingly.
Mercy shrugged. ‘He’s a kid, Ro. Not perfect. Hell, it took me all these years to decide to take Ephraim down.’ Lifting her chin, she caught Rafe’s gaze. ‘So maybe we can talk about that now.’
Farrah’s nod was firm. Defiant. ‘Yeah. Let’s take that motherfucker down.’
There was a small gasp from behind them and they turned to find Zoya, the youngest Sokolov, staring at them. But it was admiration in her eyes, not shock. ‘Can I help?’
Irina frowned from where she was kneading yet another loaf of bread. Baking was Irina’s tell, Mercy had discovered. The place looked like a restaurant, food covering every available flat surface. ‘What are you doing here, Zoya?’ Irina demanded.
Zoya pouted. ‘I’m hungry. I’ve been banished to my room all afternoon. And I’m bored,’ she added in a whine.
‘Does not matter.’ Irina pointed a dough-covered finger to the door. ‘You are re-banished. Go.’
Zoya sidled up to her mother and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I could at least help with the bread. Besides, I’ve heard just about everything that’s been said in this house today, including what the boy on the porch said.’ She unrepentantly met her mother’s glare. ‘I have windows, Mom. I opened one and listened. At least I didn’t let down my hair and beg to be rescued.’
Irina snorted a small laugh before shaking her head. ‘You are no Rapunzel.’
‘And he is no Flynn Rider,’ Zoya shot back, then grinned, her dimples appearing. ‘But he is kind of cute. You know, for a kid.’
Mercy rolled her eyes. ‘He’s only a year younger than you.’
Zoya left her mother’s side and pulled a chair to the corner of the table, plunking herself down between Mercy and Farrah. ‘A year is like five at my age, Mercy. You know that girls mature faster than boys.’
Mercy bit back a smile. ‘I have heard this, yes.’ Then she became serious. ‘But we’re about to talk about things you shouldn’t hear. Not because you’re not old enough,’ she said before Zoya could object. ‘But because . . .’ She glanced at Rafe. ‘I may have to talk about things that make all of us uncomfortable. I’d prefer you not have to carry my memories. And that’s the real reason.’
Zoya’s expression softened and she looked so much like Rafe in that moment that Mercy couldn’t look away. The real Rafe was this vulnerable. The real Rafe wasn’t a frat-boy surfer. The real Rafe felt more deeply than he wanted to admit, and Mercy wished he didn’t think he needed to hide that part of himself. Although I’m a fine one to talk about hiding parts of myself.
‘Mercy,’ Zoya said quietly. ‘You are family now. I know all about what happened to Gideon. I can connect the dots to know what happened to you.’
Gideon’s eyes had widened. ‘How? How did you know?’
The young woman shook her head. ‘Everyone thinks I just go to my room or go to a friend’s house because I’m told to. If I did that, I’d never learn anything about anyone in this house. So if I’m also a member of this family – and I am, because we did DNA testing in my biology class and I am fully your kid – then I want to be here. I want to help.’
Mercy shrugged. ‘It’s up to you, Irina.’
Irina dropped her chin, her shoulders sagging. Then she turned to face them, wiping her hands with a dishcloth. ‘When did my baby grow up?’
‘Six weeks ago,’ Zoya said without a trace of sarcasm.
Six weeks ago, when all the Eden shit had been resurrected after Daisy tore a locket from the throat of a serial killer.
‘Fair enough, dochka maya.’ Irina sat next to Karl. ‘So, what steps are required to . . .’ She lifted her brows. ‘Take the motherfucker down?’
‘Love you, Mom,’ Zoya said, her cheeks dimpling again. ‘You are badass.’
‘Don’t push your luck, Zoya,’ Irina warned, her own cheeks growing rosy with undisguised pleasure at her daughter’s compliment.
Mercy dabbed at her eyes. ‘My mother was badass, too. She was . . . brave. I mean, even to pick up and go to Eden at the beginning was brave. She was nineteen and scared with two kids to feed. She made a choice that should have been a good one, but it wasn’t and she did her best to save us.’
Gideon had gone dangerously still, his eyes glittering with tears of his own. ‘I want Ephraim to pay,’ he growled. ‘If that’s life behind bars, so be it, but I want his life over. And then, we go after that prick DJ Belmont.’
‘He killed our mother,’ Mercy told the rest of the family. ‘And I guess I need to tell you about how that happened.’
‘You don’t have to tell us anything,’ Karl said gruffly, one arm around Irina’s shoulders, holding her to him as if she were the most precious thing in his life. Which she was, and that made Mercy so damn happy.
It also made Mercy want the same. And that nearly had her freezing with fear, but she breathed through it. Someday. Someday she’d have a lover, know that she had his unconditional support. It might even be Rafe. But for now she just let herself . . . belong.
Farrah caught her eye and gave her a knowing smile. ‘Took you long enough,’ she muttered.
Zoya bumped shoulders with Mercy. ‘You’re stuck with us, Mercy. Like it or not.’
Mercy liked it. She liked it a lot. There was strength here, free, easy, and available for the taking. The sharing. It was there with the Romeros, too. Just as free and easy. And she’d taken strength from them, from all of them. But this was different. And the reason why was like a bolt of lightning.
The difference was Rafe. And that was something she’d need to consider a lot further.
For now she took some of their strength. ‘So. Let’s start with the main characters in this tale of the dark side.’
Fifteen
Granite Bay, California
Sunday, 16 April, 7.50 P.M.
Rafe slid his hand over Mercy’s thigh under the table, giving her a supportive squeeze. ‘You don’t need to do this.’
Mercy slipped her hand into his, holding on for dear life. ‘Yes, I do. It’s time.’ She squared her shoulders because this wasn’t going to be easy. ‘I don’t remember anything before Eden,’ she started. ‘Gideon does, a little, but from my earliest memories my mama was called Rhoda. Her real name was Selena. Selena Reynolds. She told me that right before she died.’
‘Then we will get justice for Selena Reynolds,’ Rafe said softly. ‘And for you and for all the others that they abused. I promise.’
‘Thank you.’ She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them to see the same determination on each of the faces around the table. ‘My mother was married to a man named Amos when we first arrived.’
‘Married the very next day,’ Gideon said. ‘She was told that it was against the laws of Eden that a woman be unmarried. It presented too much temptation to the men of the compound. But she got lucky, because Amos was a good man.’
Mercy nodded. ‘I think he honestly believed in the Eden principles – you know, purity of living, back to the basics, nature’s way, and all that. He believed in God and the Bible. Sometimes he didn’t agree with the Founding Elders, but he was never disrespectful. He told me once that no one place and no one person or group was perfect. That what we did when no one was watching was the true mark of a person. Amos was kind. Even after Gideon left and Amos was pu
nished by Ephraim taking Mama for his own wife, he was kind. He missed her, of course, but he promised her that he’d take care of me and he did. He woke me up in the morning, traded furniture with the ladies for chores like making my clothes, darning our socks, things he couldn’t do himself.’ She found herself smiling. ‘Although he tried. He was really bad at it.’ She sighed. ‘When I was almost twelve, he came home after building houses all day, so angry. Angrier than I’d ever seen him.’ She looked at Gideon. ‘He cried that day, because he’d just been told that Ephraim was going to marry me.’
André blinked. ‘When you were twelve?’
Mercy had forgotten that he didn’t know about Eden. ‘Yes. Girls married at twelve. A lot of the men waited until the girls were older to . . . you know.’ She aimed a sideways glance at Zoya, who patted her shoulder, sympathy in her brown eyes.
‘They waited to consummate the marriage,’ Zoya said. ‘I get it. But Ephraim didn’t wait.’
It wasn’t a question, and was phrased so matter-of-factly that it helped Mercy go on. ‘No. He didn’t. He had a number of other wives, so it could have been worse for me, but it was bad enough. And that everyone knew that he was a brute and did nothing to stop him made it worse. They were all complicit.’
‘Even Amos,’ Gideon gritted.
‘Even Amos,’ Mercy agreed. ‘Anyway, I’d made Ephraim angry one day and he . . . well, it was enough to spur Mama to action. She was desperate and made a deal with DJ Belmont. He went into town every week or so to trade for supplies.’ She didn’t have to elaborate on the nature of the deal. She could see that everyone understood. ‘DJ was twenty-one at the time. He’d inherited the responsibility for supply runs when his father died.’
Gideon looked down at the table with a sigh. ‘When our mother smuggled me out, it was with DJ’s father, Waylon. I don’t know why Waylon let me live. It’s . . . haunted me for years.’
