‘My break is over,’ she said, ‘so I have to get back. Look, I have a library card. I can’t give it to you, but I have some time between this job and my shift at Smith’s. If you can wait till ten, I’ll meet you at the library and help get you started.’
Amos exhaled in relief. ‘Thank you. Yes, we can wait. I’ll meet you there. Where is it?’
‘I’ll look it up.’
Then, as he watched, she held the phone in front of her face, then cradled it in her left palm. Gone was the image of the smiling children, replaced by . . .
‘Is that a map?’ he asked, wonderingly.
‘It is. Very handy for the directionally challenged like me.’ At his blank look, she laughed. ‘I get lost everywhere I go.’ She typed in library near me with one finger, tapped the screen again, then nodded. ‘They don’t open till ten, anyway, the public libraries.’ She grabbed a napkin from the table and a crayon, then quickly wrote a list of directions. ‘It’s only twenty minutes from here. Or you can stay here until ten if you want, and you can follow me.’
Amos looked at Abigail, who was back to coloring with a vengeance. ‘She’s occupied with her crayons, so waiting here sounds fine.’
Edie pushed back from the table. ‘If she gets bored, they have coloring books at the Smith’s across the street. It’s a grocery store. Gotta get back. See you later, Amos and Abigail.’
Abigail smiled up at her. ‘Thank you, Miss Edie!’
Amos slid from the booth to stand, bowing his head slightly. ‘Yes. Thank you, Miss Edie. You can’t know how much I appreciate your kindness.’
Edie gave his arm a friendly pat. ‘You’re welcome. I have three young grandchildren. I’d hope someone would help them if they and my daughter were stuck and alone. Sit down, hon. Drink your coffee. It’ll be all right.’
Amos watched her go, hoping Edie was right. It’ll be all right. Settling back into the booth, he sipped at his coffee and watched his little girl play.
Sacramento, California
Tuesday, 18 April, 9.15 A.M.
‘Wake up, sleepyhead.’ Rafe put a cup of coffee on the nightstand next to Mercy’s side of the bed. ‘Here you go.’
With a yawn, she opened her eyes. ‘Already?’
‘You’re the one who wanted to go to Santa Rosa today.’
The boxes with the lockets belonging to her and to her mother were on the coffee table, next to his wallet and keys. He knew what the lockets contained. He hoped he didn’t have to look at the photo of Mercy with Ephraim Burton, but he knew he probably would because they planned to show it to Ephraim’s mother, in the hopes that they would spark some kind of memory.
‘True.’ Stretching her arms over her head, she sat up with the headboard at her back, looking sleep-tousled and gorgeous. ‘You made me coffee. How long have you been awake?’
‘About forty-five minutes.’ He’d already done his PT exercises, showered, and checked his messages. ‘I hope the coffee’s okay. I added enough sugar to make your teeth hurt.’
‘Just the way I like it. Thank you.’
He dropped a kiss on her smiling mouth. ‘You’re welcome.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, content to watch her as she reached for her phone and began scrolling through her messages. She hadn’t slept much the night before. Neither of them had. But they’d both slept soundly after that make-out session.
Rafe wanted to repeat the experience. The make-out session, not the sleep. He couldn’t imagine any man preferring sleep to making out with Mercy Callahan. Kissing her lips, fondling her breasts. Watching her face as she came apart.
He shuddered, wondering if they had time for another go. Just to feel her hands on him again. He wouldn’t even have to come.
But then thoughts of pleasure slid from his mind when she went still, her jaw going slack. Her eyes had focused on her phone, her shoulders gone rigid.
If it’s that damn video, I’ll . . . He’d what? Finish what he started Sunday afternoon when he’d been tempted to knock Jeff Bunker’s head off his neck? Mercy had been right. It really wasn’t the kid’s fault. It was the fault of the editor of that slimy rag Bunker had worked for.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
She looked up, seeming startled to see him there, even though she’d just spoken to him not even two minutes before. ‘It’s an email from Daisy. With a message from Jeff Bunker.’
So the kid had upset her. ‘He has no right to contact you just to help his conscience.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not like that. Well, not entirely, anyway. He’s written a retraction.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of everything he wrote about me.’
‘So he’s sorry,’ Rafe snarled quietly. ‘So fucking what? That doesn’t help you.’
‘But that’s the point. He does want to help me – me and all the other women who’ve been victimized, then ignored or worse.’
Rafe forced himself to calm down, for Mercy’s sake. ‘How does he want to help?’
‘He’s giving up his blog and his YouTube channel to survivors of sexual assault. Women and men. The first article going viral pumped up his subscription numbers, so he has an audience for the moment. Survivors can tell their stories on their own terms. And he’ll read them if they don’t want to be on camera themselves. All identities kept confidential.’
Rafe’s ire receded. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
‘Neither was I,’ Mercy murmured, then met Rafe’s eyes, hers troubled. ‘Daisy says they won’t publish his article until I approve it, because he specifically mentions me. He’s already run it past Daisy and your mother.’
‘My mother?’
‘Yeah. Apparently Jeff called your house and talked to Zoya.’ She smiled. ‘She told him to use his talent to do good.’
‘She’s a good kid,’ Rafe said affectionately. ‘Being the baby, she could have ended up spoiled rotten – and she is, but not in a bad way. What do you want to do about this?’
‘I want to let Jeff run with the article. Daisy forwarded Jeff’s message at five thirty this morning, but she just sent an update. He’s at the studio, talking to the coordinator for one of the rape crisis centers here in town.’
Rafe blinked. ‘On the radio?’
‘No, not yet. The crisis center coordinator is on the radio, but Daisy said she’d contacted the coordinator about the show on Sunday morning. After Jeff’s article was posted.’