‘To me, it’s a fair trade. I think I need that moment to think. And you gave that to me today.’
He felt his cheeks heat, but not with embarrassment. It was pleasure and maybe a little pride. ‘I did?’
‘You did. I could feel myself falling into it, like a dark nothing, but you were there and you were warm and you were talking to me and telling me that it would be okay. That you wouldn’t leave me. It gave me that little window of clear thought I needed to pull myself out of the free fall. So thank you.’
He lifted her wrist to his lips and brushed a kiss over the healing scratches. ‘You’re welcome. So what do we do next?’
She grinned again, her dimple appearing. ‘With the case?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, with the case.’ But it was all he could do to keep his gaze from darting to the bed behind the painted screen.
‘Boo,’ she said, then squared her shoulders, almost as if she were bracing herself – but for what he wasn’t sure. Until she said, ‘I want to go to Santa Rosa, to the nursing home where his mother is.’
For a moment Rafe could only stare. ‘You want to do what?’
She didn’t repeat herself, merely sipped at her tea, her gaze still locked on his face.
He sighed. She fully expected him to argue with her, he could see it in her expression. ‘Why?’
‘You could call it closure. I’d like to meet the woman who spawned Ephraim Burton, even if she called him Harry Franklin. Plus, I’d like to know if she’s seen him recently and knows where he’s hiding.’
‘Don’t you think the FBI has tried to get that out of her?’
‘Maybe. But they clearly weren’t successful or they would have found him.’
‘Unless she doesn’t know.’
‘She might not. I’d still like to talk to her. I am, after all, her daughter-in-law.’
He couldn’t hold back his rage this time. ‘No, you’re not,’ he snarled. ‘You were never married to that monster. Not in the eye of the state of California or God or anyone with a shred of decency. There was no marriage license, for one. No license, no marriage. And he was already a bigamist. No marriage.’
‘I know,’ she said calmly, and he could feel his anger draining away. ‘But I’ll bet you that she doesn’t.’
Rafe needed a minute to process this. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I have a wedding photo of her son and me. I’m very worried about his well-being. I haven’t seen him in too long and I’m worried because I don’t know where he’d go.’ She batted her eyelashes. ‘I’m very worried, Rafe.’
He shook his head, not sure where to even start. ‘I tried to talk to her and she told me to go to hell. It’ll never work. She won’t talk to you.’
‘Then I’ve only wasted a day in my life. I can assure you that I’ve wasted far more worrying for real about Ephraim Burton.’ She dropped the facade and let him see that worry. ‘He shot Gideon. Luckily he was wearing that Kevlar vest. Ephraim shot Erin. He shot Sasha. He stabbed André and held Farrah at gunpoint. He would have killed all of you. I can’t live with that. If you don’t want to go with me, I can accept that. But I will go. And I’ll tell Agent Hunter that. Agent Molina, too. Short of arresting me or putting me in protective custody, they can’t stop me from entering a nursing home to visit my own mother-in-law.’
She was terrifyingly serious. ‘I can’t talk you out of this, can I?’ he asked wearily.
‘No.’
‘Then I’ll go with you. Let me make a few phone calls.’
She nodded once. ‘Thank you. And then maybe we can go to sleep. I’m really tired.’
He could see it now, the bone-deep fatigue she’d masked as serenity. ‘Sleep sounds wonderful.’
Eden, California
Monday, 17 April, 11.55 P.M.
‘Papa, I’m cold.’
Amos tightened his arms around Abigail, wishing he’d brought another blanket. The days on the mountain were cold enough, even though it was spring, but the nights . . .
Temperatures had dropped below freezing and his little girl was shivering violently despite the three blankets he’d already wrapped around her. He wished he could start a fire, but that was an impossibility. All he could do was hope his body heat would be enough.
‘I know, baby. It shouldn’t be too much longer now. But you need to be very, very quiet, okay?’
She nodded wordlessly, her eyes huge in her small face. But she said no more, obedient and still. Maybe for the first time in her life. He’d told her that they were going away on an adventure and that she’d have to be very, very quiet. Like a mouse. He’d told her that it would be dangerous, but that he’d make sure she was safe. But that she was to obey him without question.
She’d nodded, her eyes suddenly way too old for a girl of seven. ‘Are we coming back, Papa?’ she’d asked.
He’d told her that he didn’t know. Which was true enough. He prayed the answer was no, but . . .
She’d nodded again and asked if she could bring her stuffed bear. He’d made sure that she’d watched him pack it in his bag, along with a loaf of bread, some cheese, a jar of jam, and a canteen of water. He’d also packed the wallet he’d brought with him to Eden, which held his ID, long expired, and an envelope with two hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills. He’d given Pastor all of his personal savings and his inheritance, but the money in the envelope had come from his grandfather, who’d told him to keep it ‘just in case’. Mad money, the old man had called it.
Amos suddenly missed his grandfather so much it stole his breath. The man had been in his eighties back in 1989, and dying of cancer. He’d wanted to join Pastor in Eden, but he’d been way too sick to make the journey. Amos had stayed with him until the end, and then, after burying him, sold the house his grandfather had left him, signed the proceeds over to Eden, and made the journey all alone.
I was a fool. Such a fool. But he was fixing that. Changing it, he hoped.
Through all his packing, Abigail had watched, those eyes of hers missing nothing. He’d nearly finished when she’d run from their little living area to his bedroom, returning with the Polaroid photos that he’d only shown her once.
He wasn’t even aware that she’d remembered them. ‘Papa,’ she’d said. ‘You can’t forget Mercy and Gideon.’ She’d put the Polaroids in his hands and he’d nearly broken down and cried. They were treasures and he wouldn’t have left them behind. He’d put them out on his small dresser along with his grandfather’s pocket watch, intending to carry them in his shirt pocket, close to his heart.