by Rose, Karen
‘If Matthew had a rotted soul,’ Mercy muttered. ‘I hated DJ.’ Her voice shook. ‘Hated him.’
Rafe had the sense to look apologetic. ‘Sorry.’ He closed her door, then came around to his side. ‘I was being a jealous jerk and that was wrong of me.’
‘It’s okay.’ Now that the whole charade was over, she felt a little sick. ‘DJ was here, trading Amos’s cabinets and Eileen’s mother’s quilts.’
‘Yes,’ Rafe said evenly. ‘And the timing of the last delivery matches Eileen’s disappearance from Eden.’
Mercy thought of Eileen and the family who’d found and cared for her, giving her a few good weeks before she’d been snatched by a serial killer. ‘Mr Danton found her walking along the road in Macdoel, though. That’s over by Mt. Shasta. Has to be at least a hundred miles from here. If DJ left here to go into the Modoc Forest, Eden might not have been far from here. How did Eileen get all the way up to Macdoel?’
And then a train went by, blowing its horn as it passed the town.
‘Oh,’ Mercy said softly. ‘I didn’t know trains ran through here. I guess that’s one way.’
Rafe was already searching his phone. ‘Cell signal sucks here. I barely have one bar.’ He tapped his finger against the steering wheel impatiently, glaring at his phone. ‘Shit. It timed out. I’ve got no Internet. We’ll have to check on the train routes when we’re in a less rural area.’
Mercy jumped when the back doors of the Subaru opened and Erin and Sasha climbed in, Sasha behind Rafe and Erin behind Mercy. Doors slammed, then Erin said, ‘That man is an asshole. He was yelling at Ginger and giving her the third degree once you all left.’
‘He asked Ginger to tell him exactly what you’d said,’ Sasha added, then tossed one of the bags of chips to Rafe. ‘He went behind the counter and then they were whispering so we couldn’t hear.’
‘What did she say to you at the end?’ Erin asked. ‘We were buying food and missed that part.’
‘Basically that DJ was the man who’d repped Amos’s work and that she’d followed him once into the forest.’ Mercy shook her head. ‘She had a crush on him. I’m so glad that didn’t go anywhere. DJ was vile.’
Rafe opened the bag of chips. ‘You want to see what’s up that road?’
Mercy nodded. ‘Yeah. I do.’
‘Count us in,’ Sasha said. ‘I got provisions in case we get stuck.’
‘You got chips and candy bars,’ Erin said dryly.
Sasha grinned. ‘Health food. Besides, you got deli sandwiches, because you’re the grown-up.’
Erin handed out the sandwiches. ‘Eat up. We’ll follow you out.’
‘Why not just go with them?’ Sasha asked. ‘If they’ve gotten the need for conversation out of their system,’ she added with a bawdy wink. ‘Snookums.’
Mercy was sure that her face was beet red, but Rafe just shook his head. ‘Because Erin isn’t here to keep us company,’ he said. ‘She’s here to watch our backs.’
Sasha sighed. ‘Right. Goddamn reality is such a buzzkill.’
Erin smiled, amused. ‘Give me a minute to eat and we’ll be ready to go. I don’t want to eat while I drive. Not around here.’
Mercy craned her head around the seat to see Erin’s face. ‘Why not?’
‘Because that man behind the deli counter was watching us the whole time we were looking at that jewelry box and now he’s talking on the phone. Don’t look,’ Erin added in a hiss.
Mercy didn’t twist to look through the store window, but she did glance at Rafe, who appeared unsurprised. ‘You noticed him, too?’ she asked.
Rafe nodded. ‘Yep. And it gave me the same bad feeling.’
‘Maybe we shouldn’t go off-road,’ Mercy countered. The last thing she wanted was to put these people in danger because of her.
Not because of you. Because Ephraim and DJ are monsters.
‘He could have been a homophobe,’ Sasha ventured. ‘I don’t think he liked it when I kissed Erin’s cheek.’
‘Which is why you did it,’ Erin countered.
Sasha tossed her head, making her ponytail swing. ‘Duh.’
Erin checked her watch. ‘Going into the forest will be fine, Mercy. We have more backup coming.’
Rafe lifted a brow. ‘You called Gideon?’
‘Texted him before we left your house,’ Erin replied, not one bit repentant. ‘Kept calling once we got on the road until I woke him up. He was most unhappy that he had not been invited to our little party.’
‘I tried to invite him,’ Rafe said. ‘He never replied to my texts.’
‘He was asleep, and he about had a panic attack when he saw the missed texts from you. Luckily I was specific in mine. Why didn’t you tell him what you wanted?’ Erin asked.
Rafe gave her a withering look. ‘No way was I going to put that information in writing. I’m on leave, remember?’
Erin pouted. ‘So I was your second choice?’
‘You were the one who pushed yourself into our trip,’ Rafe pointed out. ‘I would have waited for Gideon. Probably.’
Erin scowled. ‘You could have told me.’
He shrugged. ‘Before or after you tore me a new one, Detective High-Handed and Superior?’
Erin sighed. ‘Okay. I might have deserved a little of that. Sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ Rafe allowed. ‘But only because Mercy reminded me that you care.’
Mercy checked her own phone and sighed. She also had two texts that had downloaded when they’d rolled into town. There wasn’t enough signal for Rafe to do an Internet search, but there was apparently just enough to text. ‘I’ve got two messages from Farrah. She isn’t happy with me, either. She and André woke up, found me gone, and are on their way up here as well.’
‘I know,’ Erin said. ‘She texted me and Gideon, too. I figured I’d let her communicate her own irritation.’
Sasha was just staring at Erin. ‘So that’s why you bought eight sandwiches. I was wondering, since you can’t even finish one. You know, being so tiny and all.’
Erin chuckled. ‘Throw your worst, Amazon Girl. Tiny is not an insult.’ She rewrapped the uneaten half of her sandwich in its plastic. ‘I’m good to go whenever you are, Rafe.’
Rafe had wolfed down his sandwich and tucked the garbage neatly into a trash bag. ‘Me too. What’s Gideon’s ETA?’
‘About thirty minutes out. I’ll text him to follow us down the county highway rather than waiting to meet him here. Then he won’t have to backtrack. I’m curious to see what’s back there.’
‘Makes two of us,’ Rafe replied.
Erin tugged on Sasha’s ponytail. ‘Move your tall self. We’ve got places to go.’
Snowbush, California
Monday, 17 April, 1.45 P.M.
Finally. Ephraim started MacGuire’s Cadillac and headed back toward the five-building town that was Snowbush. Rhee’s car had finally begun to move. They were going south, back the way they’d come.
At some point he’d have to get gas, but he’d be good until he got to Reno. As long as the tracker kept working, he didn’t have to stay on their tails. At least he’d made good use of the time he’d spent waiting. He’d googled how to disable the Cadillac’s GPS while he’d been at Sean MacGuire’s house the night before, but he hadn’t had an opportunity to actually do it. He felt a lot more confident, knowing that no one could track him as he tracked Erin Rhee.
He let his brain go on autopilot, watching the scenery pass by. He’d really liked this area. The weather wasn’t as extreme as it had been in a lot of the places Eden had landed over the past thirty years.
Of course their original location would always be the best. Pastor owned property up there. Or he’d . . . appropriated it. His old church membership really had been a gullible group. Of course, getting away with identity theft had been a lot easier fo
rty years ago when Pastor had started his previous flock.
Back then, a man could get out of prison, pick a new name, invent a background, and – as long as that man had the gift of earnest manipulation like Pastor had – could develop an entire network of rich, naive, generous parishioners. Parishioners who never once checked his background or résumé.
Parishioners who’d believed when their pastor promised that he hadn’t embezzled from them. That he hadn’t stolen their money or bedded their women.
Ephraim still couldn’t understand people like that. They wanted to believe in a fairy tale, even when the facts were glaring them in the face.
Seventy-five percent of the original Eden settlers had been members of Pastor’s old church who’d followed him, their loyalty and devotion utterly blind. Ephraim didn’t understand them, but he could still be grateful for the money they’d brought into the coffers.
The millions that Pastor now managed in offshore accounts had started with that money plus the money his brother Edward had gotten from the bank heist that had put him and Ephraim on the FBI’s most wanted list – sending them on the run. And into Pastor’s fold.
And thirty years later, Ephraim was still there. Still serving the community. But really just waiting for Pastor to finally kick the bucket.
I would have helped him do it years ago if I’d known those damn bank access codes.
Ephraim wondered if DJ had the bank codes, and his eyes narrowed. He wouldn’t be surprised. DJ had been sucking up to Pastor – literally and figuratively – ever since he’d been old enough to understand the community’s true power structure.
Ephraim was so deep in thought that he nearly missed the blip on his phone’s screen. He drew a breath, suddenly tense. Rhee was turning onto the county road.
Toward where Eden had existed up until the November before. Up until Miriam ran away, forcing us to move. Fucking hell. Motherfucking hell.
Ephraim found himself stomping on the gas pedal, then forcibly calmed himself. Think. It wouldn’t do to get stopped by the sheriff’s department, because they did patrol.
He didn’t want to have to kill a cop. That got messy and was a lot harder to hide.
So he slowed to the speed limit, making sure he put on his blinker before cautiously turning onto the road that led to the home he’d left behind.
Nineteen
Eden, California
Monday, 17 April, 1.45 P.M.
Amos was itchy, grateful for Monday. Grateful for work to keep his hands busy, even as his mind whirled. He’d had far too much time to think the day before, it being the Sabbath. No one worked, except those who fed the animals. And the women who cooked for their families, of course.
Amos missed that, having a woman in his household. He hadn’t loved Abigail’s mother, not like he’d grown to love Rhoda, but he’d liked her. Respected her. Had even waited two years to . . . well, consummate their marriage. She’d only been sixteen when her family had brought her into the community, and the thought of touching her then had made Amos physically ill. And she’d been so scared. He hadn’t been able to hurt her, so they’d slept in the same bed for two years, celibate, until she’d turned eighteen. It had still been awkward, but she’d grown to care for him during those two years. He didn’t think she’d loved him either – if an eighteen-year-old was even capable of such love – but she had respected him, too.
It had almost killed him to watch her die after giving birth. But when the healer had put a red-faced, squalling Abigail into his arms, it had been a balm to his soul. A reason to keep going.
One of the other women in the community had been weaning her own baby and had agreed to nurse Abigail for the first year. It had been difficult for Amos, handing his baby over, even to a woman he’d known for years. Especially in the night, when he’d had to take the baby to her and wait for Abigail to finish.
Luckily the healer had sent Brother DJ into town with instructions to buy a breast pump, which Amos had heard of, back in the world, but had never had cause to witness. He’d been only nineteen years old when he’d arrived in Eden.
So young. So foolishly trusting.
His heart hurt with the knowledge of truth, like having the scales ripped from his eyes. But he was no longer nineteen and foolish. He was forty-nine, with a daughter to protect. So he’d spent the Sabbath day sitting in the rocking chair that he’d made with his own hands, thinking and planning until darkness had fallen.
He was still thinking and planning. He had been all day today as he’d worked in his woodshop. He stepped back from the cabinet he’d made for their newest family – a single mother with two children. They’d recently been brought in from the city. He thought about the woman, about why she’d chosen to come to Eden. Her son was barely twelve and had already gotten involved with a dangerous gang. The daughter was fourteen, pregnant, and clearly unhappy to have been ripped away from civilization. Even unhappier to have been immediately married off to one of the compound’s men.
Luckily neither of them had been given to Ephraim or DJ. The mother accepted the rules of the compound – had embraced them, even. She’d been grateful for the structure, pinning her hopes on Eden helping her children to straighten up and fly right. Her attitude was common enough.
No one was brought here against their will. Not bound and helpless, anyway. Rhoda had been lied to, she’d confided. Or at least hadn’t been informed that she’d be required to wed within hours of her arrival.
She was happy with me, though. He hoped so. God, he hoped he’d at least done that right.
‘Brother Amos?’
Amos spun around, startled at the sight of DJ Belmont in the doorway of his workshop. He put his hand to his racing heart and forced a smile. ‘Brother DJ. What brings you here?’
What if he knew? What if DJ knew that he’d listened to Pastor’s call? That he’d seen Ephraim kill three people? That he’d seen the computer in the office?
He realized that he’d gripped the carving knife in his hand a little too tightly and dropped it on the worktable beside him.
DJ didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘I was wondering if you had any finished items to take into town.’
‘Not at the moment,’ Amos said. The hope chest was almost finished, but he was saving that to smuggle out Abigail, if he could find the right time. That time is now. ‘But I will in a few days.’ He tilted his head, wondering how much latitude he’d earned for his thirty years of service to Eden. ‘I have a piece in mind that will be rather substantial and will require two people to move, plus some setup once it’s delivered. I was wondering if I might accompany you on one of your deliveries.’
He had no such piece in mind, but he needed to know if his request would be shut down immediately. He needed to know if he’d be able to accompany Abigail once he had the hope chest finished.
There was no way he was putting his child in a chest and simply turning his back on her. She was no Moses to be hidden in the bulrushes, hoping for a good person to find her at the other end of her journey. Besides, they’d already tried to smuggle Miriam out. Amos had made the chest big enough for her to hide in, but something had gone wrong and there’d been no one to help her. Now she was dead, as was her whole family.
Surprise flickered in DJ’s eyes before he smoothed his expression to one of almost condescension, as if Amos were a small boy asking for a pet pony. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Pastor.’
Which meant no. Well, then. That answers that. Disappointment swirled with the panic in his gut, but Amos merely nodded, keeping his own expression smiling and mild. ‘Of course. Let him know that the piece I’m considering should bring a good price from any of the shops, but if he doesn’t believe it wise for me to accompany you, then I won’t plan to build it.’
DJ inclined his head. ‘I’ll tell him. When do you think you’ll have’ – he startled abruptly, blinking as if someth
ing had shocked him – ‘something ready for me to take to town?’
‘In a few days. Thursday at the latest.’
DJ smiled absently. ‘Thank you, Brother Amos.’ He turned and hurried out the door.
Amos went to the window, watching as DJ crossed the common space, heading for the gate. You need to follow him. Find out what’s happening in this little corner of hell.
As casually as he was able, Amos ambled across the yard, then, looking both ways, slipped into the trees that bordered the community.
On instinct, he headed toward the boulder that hid the satellite dish, gratified when he spied DJ perched on the same fake rock where Pastor had sat on Saturday evening. Amos had passed that boulder a hundred times over the almost six months since they’d moved here, but he’d never really seen it. He paid attention to trees, not rocks. He might have passed by it another hundred, maybe thousand, times without ever thinking to check beneath it.
DJ had a device similar to the one that Pastor had used, tapping it as Pastor had. Putting the phone to his ear, DJ snapped, ‘What is it?’
He listened, his body growing more and more rigid as each second passed. ‘What did she look like?’
Who is ‘she’? Amos wondered, then stared when DJ paled.
‘Are you sure? Mercy Callahan? Are you sure that’s what her credit card said? Mercy?’
Mercy? Mercy? Amos covered his mouth with his hand to cover his own gasp. He didn’t know the name Callahan, but how many Mercys could there be? Especially how many Mercys could make DJ this agitated?
But Mercy was dead. DJ had told them so. She’d died when Rhoda had smuggled her out.
A kernel of hope began to take root in his rapidly beating heart. What if DJ lied? Ephraim had lied. Pastor had lied. Why not DJ, too?
Which meant . . . Mercy might be alive. Mind reeling yet again, Amos watched as DJ lurched to his feet and began to pace.
‘What did she buy?’ A pause. ‘Yeah, I remember it. “Surely goodness and mercy.” Fucking goddamn verse. I never should have let him start carving that stupid Bible verse into the fucking wood.’
