But he had to come up with a better plan first. There was no way he was going to catch any of them unaware at this point. They’d come too close to dying the day before and they’d all be on guard. Waiting for Mercy to be alone, or any of them for that matter, would take more time than he cared to spend away from Eden. Time was ticking. He needed to get Mercy back to show to Pastor before DJ managed a total coup d’état.
He needed to draw them out. He needed a weak link, the injured gazelle that would get picked off by the predator. There was Mercy’s best friend. Sokolov’s family. Mercy’s family back in New Orleans, her half brothers and sisters. He considered them all.
The New Orleans family wasn’t a viable target. He wasn’t going to be able to fly back to Louisiana, because his face was probably tacked up on every TSA bulletin board across the country.
The best friend was engaged to a cop, so she would probably be protected, too.
He flexed his finger and typed into a new search screen: Sokolov family Sacramento. Then he shook his head. They had almost as many kids as he did, and only one child bearer. Irina Sokolov. He’d seen her face from MacGuire’s window when he’d been squatting there. She seemed open and friendly. According to the article that popped up, she was a retired nurse, so probably empathetic enough to be lured by a fake injury. And she wasn’t so very tall, so even with a hole in his shoulder, he could probably overpower her.
Of her eight children, three were cops – Rafe, Damien, and Meg. Ephraim wasn’t touching them with a ten-foot pole. They’d all carry guns.
Sasha was the social worker, but she was also going to be on guard after getting shot yesterday afternoon. Cash was a physical therapist to basketball stars and traveled. Who even knew where he was? Patrick was a firefighter, and Jude was an LA prosecutor, both looking like they could bench-press a damn house. Ephraim was not going to risk getting into a showdown with either of them.
But . . . yes, the eighth Sokolov child would work. Hello there, pretty girl. Irina’s youngest daughter was a sweet young thing. Still in high school. Zoya.
And, according to his Google search, young Zoya had an Instagram account. Whatever the hell that was. He’d heard of Instagram and figured that it was like Facebook. He clicked on the link and scrolled through her many photographs. Most of them were of her with her friends from school. He kept swiping through photos until he found one of her wearing a soccer uniform, the name of her school clearly printed on the jersey.
Zoya Sokolov went to a private school in Granite Bay. Enlarging the soccer photo, he saw that she was blond like her sister and brother. Didn’t look too ferocious. She was a little old for his tastes, but he wouldn’t need her for sex.
Just as bait to lure Mercy and Rafe into his crosshairs.
Not that Rafe Sokolov would know that. He’d assume his baby sister was being defiled and it would drive him crazy. Crazy enough to knock him off his guard.
Leaving Mercy unprotected.
Smiling, Ephraim drained his coffee. He liked this plan. A lot.
He tossed the dishes in the small sink and started to get the camper ready to go.
Reno, Nevada
Tuesday, 18 April, 7.05 A.M.
Abigail sat back, patting her tummy with a satisfied sigh. ‘That was good, Papa.’ She’d cleaned the disposable plate of every bite of pancakes and sausage, and would have licked off the lingering syrup if he hadn’t shaken his head. ‘How is yours?’
He chuckled because she was eyeing his Egg McMuffin calculatingly. She’d taken to the concept of a restaurant with surprising ease, especially once he’d described it like dinners in the common room in Eden – a few women making food for them all to enjoy. Except here in the world, the cooking wasn’t just done by women. She’d been particularly interested to hear that he’d cooked in a restaurant like this, back in the olden days, as she called it. He pushed what was left of his McMuffin across the table to her. ‘You want to try it?’
‘Yes, please.’ She wolfed it down as well, sighing again. ‘When we go back home, maybe you can make these for us. Deborah would love it.’
When we go home. Right. They weren’t ever going back home again. She would never see her best friend, Deborah, again. Unless someone could free everyone in the compound.
That someone could be you.
He’d considered it, of course. Many times. But it wasn’t going to happen until he was sure that his Abigail was safe. Yes, it was selfish, but his daughter was his priority.
Once he found Mercy, he’d let her decide what should be done. She’d been living in this world for the past thirteen years. She’d know the safe thing to do. She’d know which police he could trust.
Because going to the police was . . . well, it wasn’t smart. Police brutality was a real thing. He’d seen the evidence before he’d gone to Eden. He’d heard horror stories from the new community members.
The police were not to be trusted. Ever. They’d arrest him and take his child. They’d take Abigail.
His gut turned to ice at the very thought. No. He was not letting that happen.
Of course, given all the lies he’d been told, the stories about the police might have been a lie as well, but he wasn’t taking that risk. Not yet. Eventually he’d report Pastor, DJ, and Ephraim, but he needed to find Mercy first. He needed to be sure that someone he trusted would be there for Abigail, no matter what happened to him.
‘Papa?’
Amos returned his attention to Abigail, who was watching him with open dismay. ‘Are you all right, Papa? You look sad.’
‘I’m a little overwhelmed,’ he confessed. ‘You know what that means?’
She nodded. ‘It’s when you have this much work’ – she spread her arms wide – ‘and this much time.’ She pinched her fingers together. ‘That’s what Deborah’s mama says when she does the washing.’
His chest flooded with emotion, so full that it hurt. And it occurred to him, not for the first time, that if DJ came looking for him, if he was caught, he wouldn’t survive. He’d never told Mercy, Rhoda, and Gideon how he felt about them. He hadn’t made that mistake with this child. If anything happened to him, she’d know exactly what was in his heart. ‘I love you, Abi-girl.’
Visibly pleased but blessedly unsurprised, she patted his hand. ‘I love you too, Papa. Where will we go next?’
‘That is a good question. I need to find a phone book and make a call. On a telephone,’ he added when she looked confused. ‘You learned about phones in school, right?’
Another nod, this one accompanied with a frown. ‘Not from Sister Mary, though. It was from Israel, one of the big boys. He’s ten. He said his big brother remembers phones from before they came to Eden.’