by Rose, Karen
‘If this gets more views, the original article could get pushed down in prominence.’
She grimaced. ‘I thought that too, which is self-serving, but at this point I’m okay with that.’ She typed out a reply, then hit SEND. ‘There. Not overthinking it. I said yes. It’s done.’
He touched his forehead to hers. ‘Proud of you.’
Her smile trembled at the corners. ‘Thanks.’ She leaned into him, resting her cheek on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her. ‘This is nice, being with you like this.’
‘It is. But it’s getting late and we’re meeting the others at nine forty-five. We all leave for Santa Rosa at ten.’
She drew back, staring at him warily. ‘What others? Who is “all”?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Everybody. Or just about. André told me that we’d better take Farrah with us today, because she was an utter mess yesterday, worrying about you while they were driving up to Snowbush. And if she goes, he goes.’
‘All right. Who else is everybody?’
‘The usual,’ he said lightly. ‘Agents Schumacher and Hunter are our bodyguards and Tom’s bringing a plus-one.’
Her brows went up. ‘A plus-one?’
‘His friend who works in a nursing home similar to the one we’re visiting today. She works with veterans at the moment, specifically senior vets with dementia. Since Ephraim’s mother also has dementia, Tom thought Liza would be a good resource. And then Gideon and Daisy are coming, too.’
‘Wow. But I guess it could be worse. Molina could be coming.’
‘She wanted to,’ Rafe said, ‘but she’s got meetings at the field office that she can’t avoid.’
‘Darn,’ Mercy deadpanned. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I don’t dislike her, but she makes me nervous.’
‘Me too,’ Rafe admitted. ‘Now drink your coffee before it gets cold, then take your shower. I’ve already taken mine and we need to get dressed before folks come knocking on the door. André texted and said that Farrah’s making breakfast and bringing it down.’ He kissed her lightly before moving off the bed, but paused to take a last look. ‘You look really good in my bed, Mercy Callahan.’
Her dimples appeared, even as she blushed. ‘Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.’
It was his turn to deadpan. ‘Wow, the compliments will go to my head.’
‘I’ll spend today thinking of better ones,’ she promised. ‘Oh hey. I got sidetracked with that email from Daisy and forgot to ask about Erin. How is she?’
Rafe took a clean shirt from his closet and shrugged into it. ‘Awake and cranky, according to Sasha. Mom sat with Erin last night so that Sasha didn’t have to and could sleep, but Mom’s coming home today. Erin’s mother got there sometime during the night and can stay today. Then Sasha will stay with Erin until she’s released, at least a few more days.’
Mercy hesitated. ‘And no new news on Ephraim’s whereabouts?’
Not wanting to answer that question, Rafe picked two ties from the rack and held them up. ‘Blue or brown?’
‘The blue one. Rafe, don’t keep things from me. Please.’
His fingers stilled on the blue tie and he lifted his gaze. ‘Hunter messaged me. He figured you’d want to hear this in private, versus in a crowded car, but . . .’ He hadn’t wanted to tell her. He still didn’t. But she was waiting, expression now one of dread. ‘Ephraim killed two more people last night. A young couple in a camper.’ He had to force himself to tell her the rest of it. ‘They were on their honeymoon. He left their bodies at their campsite in the truck he stole when he ran from Snowbush. They were discovered an hour ago by the campground owner.’
Closing her eyes, Mercy pursed her lips. ‘Dammit, Rafe,’ she whispered.
‘I know,’ he whispered back. ‘We’ll find him, Mercy.’
‘I hate this,’ she said, fists clenched and voice breaking. ‘I hate that innocent people are dying because of him. Because he’s after me.’
‘I hate that he’s after you, period,’ Rafe said. ‘But last night you promised not to make yourself a target again. I’m going to hold you to that.’
She opened her eyes, devastated tears spilling over and running down her cheeks. ‘I keep my promises.’
He exhaled, not having realized he’d been holding his breath. ‘Thank you.’
Twenty-three
Reno, Nevada
Tuesday, 18 April, 10.05 A.M.
‘Again, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Edie,’ Amos said, shouldering his backpack, Abigail’s small hand clutched in his. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble for us.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ Edie assured him with a smile. She’d changed out of her McDonald’s uniform and now wore a tunic that said SMITH’S. ‘I’m happy to help.’
She pushed open the door to the public library and walked in, pausing a moment to breathe deeply. She looked at them over her shoulder. ‘I love the smell of books.’ Then she smiled. ‘Do you like books, Abigail?’
Amos glanced down to see his daughter’s eyes wide once again. Her mouth had fallen open and the expression on her face was one of awe.
‘Papa,’ she breathed. ‘So many books.’
He squeezed her hand lightly. ‘Miss Edie asked you a question, Abigail. Do you like books?’
‘Oh yes. Yes, ma’am. But I’ve never seen so many.’
Edie looked around fondly. ‘When I was your age, the library was my favorite place.’ She leaned down to whisper, ‘You want to know a secret? It still is.’
Abigail grinned, saying nothing at all, content to simply take it all in.
Edie straightened. ‘Let’s find Miss Abigail some books. Then I can show you how to use the computer.’
She strode toward the children’s section, leaving Amos and Abigail to follow. Amos chuckled when Abigail took off after her, dragging him along. For all her energy, Abigail loved stories. They’d had only a few books in Eden, all well worn, well read. Amos still had a few books that had belonged to Mercy. One of his best memories was reading Mercy a story before tucking her into bed each night.
It had been an impulse to tuck one of Mercy’s old books into his backpack, a slim volume of fairy tales that Amos had found in the pile of her and Rhoda’s belongings that Pastor had planned to burn after their bodies had been buried. Rhoda’s body, anyway. Like Gideon, only Mercy’s remains had been found. Unlike Gideon, Mercy’s remains had not been brought back to Eden. DJ had buried her in the woods, so as not to attract wild animals while he’d searched for Rhoda.
Or so he’d said.
Amos didn’t believe anything that any of Eden’s leaders had told him. Not anymore.
He’d packed the book on the off chance that Mercy really was alive and that he’d be able to find her before DJ did. Once she was safe, Amos would give her the book.
It wasn’t anything close to reparation, but hopefully it represented a good memory. Either way, it was all he had to give her.
‘What kind of stories do you like, Abigail?’ Edie asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.
‘I don’t know. Papa reads to me sometimes.’ Abigail was suddenly shy. ‘My school has a book. It has Bible stories.’
‘I’m sure we can find you one like that,’ Edie said, ‘but for now, how about this one? My daughter loved this one and my grandchildren love it, too. I bet you will, too.’ She chose a book from the shelf and put it in Abigail’s hands. ‘It’s called Ramona the Pest.’
Abigail’s eyes shone. ‘I can have it?’
‘Abigail,’ Amos warned, and her little face fell.
She dropped her gaze. ‘I’m sorry, Papa.’
Edie slowly dropped into a crouch, grimacing at the audible popping of her knees. ‘Abigail, you may read this book as long as you’re here. And once your papa gets settled, he can get you a library card of your very own. And th
en you can borrow whatever books you like. You can take them home, read them, then bring them back for more.’
‘Oh.’ Abigail’s smile was back and she hugged the book to her chest. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s my pleasure, sweetie.’ Edie straightened with a quiet groan. ‘Standing up used to be easier. Come with me, Amos. Let’s sign in to a computer.’
Amos watched as she went to the desk, showed her library card, and then pointed to him and Abigail, who’d already sat in one of the chairs at the computer table, Ramona the Pest open in front of her.
Edie came back and patted the empty chair beside the computer she’d been assigned. ‘So . . . this is how you start.’
Within a minute and a half Amos’s brain was already full. Edie was typing so fast that he could barely keep up and she maneuvered the mouse with terrifying ease. He remembered just enough from his high school computer lab days to not be completely overwhelmed.
‘We are now online,’ she said, with a ta-da gesture.
‘I had a friend who had a computer when I was a teenager,’ he said. ‘He had a . . .’ He searched for the word. ‘It had these cups and you put the phone in them. I guess that’s ancient history, too?’
‘Oh right.’ She laughed. ‘A modem. I remember those days.’ Lowering her voice, she mimicked the beeps and noise the device would make, bringing back a whole host of memories. ‘The modems are all internal now. They plug right into the wall.’
‘Wow,’ he murmured.
‘You’ll get used to it easily,’ she promised. ‘If I can learn this, anyone can. And if all else fails, let Abigail try. Kids are the best at this computer jazz. All right. This is called a browser window. It gets you into the Internet. There are a lot of browsers to choose from, but I use Chrome because it’s what my daughter put on my computer. Then we go to Google. See? That’s the search engine I usually use.’
Amos studied the slim screen. It looked like the one he’d seen in Sister Coleen’s office at the Eden clinic. Was that really only four days ago? He wondered if Sister Coleen could access the Internet, up on the mountain. Edie had explained that the computers on the table were linked into a massive network of buried cables, so Amos wasn’t sure how it would work. Unless the satellite dish allowed them access.
My head hurts. ‘Okay. So how do you . . . find things?’
‘Depends. What do you want to find?’
‘How about a phone book?’ he asked.
She chuckled. ‘Okay, so we’re back to that. Who or what are you looking for?’
Amos glanced at Abigail, but she didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them. ‘It’s a “who”. Her name is Mercy Callahan.’
Edie frowned. ‘Huh. That name sounds familiar.’ She typed Mercy’s name into Google and then sat back with an exhale. ‘Oh wow. That’s why her name sounded familiar. She’s been in the news. There was a CNN special interview just last week and she was mentioned. It was an intense report.’ She cast a worried glance in Abigail’s direction. ‘Um, you should probably read it to yourself. You can’t watch videos without earphones and they don’t have those here. I don’t have any with me, either. Click that link for a summary of the program.’
‘Link?’
Using the mouse, Edie moved the pointer to one of the lines of text. ‘These are links. Use the button on the mouse to click on it and it’ll open the article. Like this.’ She clicked and moved to one side, tilting the screen so that he could read it.
Amos could feel the blood draining from his face. ‘Dear God,’ he whispered. Mercy had been mentioned in a program about a serial killer?
‘They caught him,’ Edie murmured. ‘She got away. Only three women did. Most of his victims weren’t so lucky.’
His heart was racing, his hands shaking as he read the article. The man had truly been a serial killer, just like in the movies he’d seen as a teen. Horrified, he read about the man’s victims, their names accompanied by a brief description of who they’d been, along with photos of each woman and the souvenir the killer had kept of her.
So many women. So much death.
But no mention of his Mercy. He got to the bottom of the screen and turned to Edie, who was watching him with pity. ‘How do I read more?’ he asked hoarsely.
‘Just scroll down,’ she said, showing him how.
‘Thank you.’ He kept reading, reaching for the mouse when he reached the bottom of the screen once again. He scrolled down and gasped.
Because there she was. In the middle of the page. Mercy. It’s her. She’s not dead.
Older, of course, but still recognizable as his Mercy. She was so thin, her beautiful green eyes dull and flat.
His vision blurring, Amos touched the screen, tracing the lines of her face.
‘Who is she to you?’ Edie asked, so softly he almost couldn’t hear the question over the pounding of his heart.
‘My daughter,’ he whispered, hearing her gasp. He turned to her, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. ‘She was taken from me. When she was almost thirteen. They told me she was dead.’
‘Oh, Amos.’ Edie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He gave Abigail another quick look. She was engrossed in her book. Thank the good Lord for that. He wasn’t sure he could answer any questions she asked right now.
‘But she got away from the serial killer,’ he said quietly. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. She wasn’t interviewed for the program, but the woman who was on the show talked about how Mercy was rescued by her brother.’
Her brother? Amos had to grip the side of the table for support. ‘Brother?’ he managed to ask.
Edie was watching him warily. ‘Yes.’ Turning the screen so that she could see it, she typed Mercy Callahan brother into another screen. Browser. Whatever.
When the picture came up, Amos covered his mouth with his hand to keep the sob in. Gideon. ‘Oh,’ he breathed. ‘My son, my boy. Gideon.’
‘They told you he was dead, too?’
He looked at Edie and nodded. ‘They showed us a body. They said it was him. But look – he’s alive.’
‘And an FBI agent,’ Edie added. ‘With a girlfriend, according to this article. Just one in a gossip blog, but here’s a photo.’ She clicked again and a photo popped up, in full color.
It was him. Gideon. With a small blond woman who smiled up at him like he’d hung the moon.
‘Daisy Dawson,’ he murmured, reading the caption below the photo. Then he frowned. ‘Her name was in the other article. From the program. Is that gone? Can I see that again?’
‘Not gone. Nothing’s ever really gone on the Internet, or so my grandchildren tell me.’ Edie did something on the screen and the first article returned. ‘You’re right. The woman with Gideon was one of the three who escaped. She lives in Sacramento.’
But Amos was now leaning closer to the screen, squinting at the grainy photo above Daisy Dawson’s.
‘Let me zoom in,’ Edie said, and a second later, the photo was enlarged.
It was very grainy, but it still made Amos’s racing heart stumble and stutter. ‘Miriam,’ he whispered.
‘You know her, too?’ Edie sounded like she didn’t believe him, but Amos didn’t care.
The name next to her photo said ‘Eileen’, but the woman was Miriam. Miriam Comstock. ‘We buried her, too. I . . . helped her escape. They said she died.’
‘She did,’ Edie said gently. ‘She was murdered by the serial killer.’
Amos shook his head. ‘No, they said she was caught outside the community’s walls. That she’d died. We buried her,’ he repeated.
‘O . . . kay,’ Edie said with a note of trepidation.
And next to her photo was the souvenir her killer had taken. Her locket. On the front was the extremely familiar symbol of Eden – two children kneeling in prayer beneath an o
live tree, all under the wings of an archangel wielding a sword. A second photo showed the back of the locket. Miriam.
‘Excuse me. Can I have the mouse?’ She gave it to him and he scrolled back up through the article, looking for any mention of Eden, but there was none.
‘What are you looking for?’ Edie asked.
‘A mention of our town,’ he said. ‘I thought maybe . . .’ He let the thought trail off. They’d escaped, Mercy and Gideon. They’d started new lives. ‘I need to find them. Either or both.’
‘Hold on.’ She’d somehow gotten them back to the first screen – the one that listed the other articles. ‘Mercy comes up in other articles. More recent ones. Most of them are from Saturday.’ She clicked one and blew out a breath. ‘She’s had a rough time, Amos.’
Amos found his mouth hanging open for the second time in as many minutes. Ephraim. You sonofabitch.
The curse, only loosed in his mind, still startled him, but he couldn’t be sorry. There on the screen was a photo of Brother Ephraim, his hand on Mercy’s arm, escorting her. Grimly Amos read the accompanying text. It had been an abduction attempt. Foiled, thank God. Mercy had been hurt, though. A small wound. She’d been rescued by an off-duty Sacramento detective by the name of Raphael Sokolov.
Raphael. He’d been Mercy’s guardian angel. Protecting her. Because Ephraim had hurt her. Again. Rage bubbled up through Amos’s veins.
Beside him, Edie cleared her throat. ‘You might want to take it down a notch. People are looking at you. You look like you want to do some major violence.’
Amos blinked hard, then realized his fists were clenched and he was panting like a bull ready to charge. Purposefully, he flattened his hands on the table. ‘My apologies.’
‘It’s all right,’ Edie said. ‘If someone tried to take my daughter, I’d feel the same way.’
‘How can I find her? I need to find her.’
Because Ephraim had tried to kidnap her from a crowded airport and, according to the phone call that Amos had overheard in Eden, DJ would be looking for her, too.
