He smiled, even though he felt like the earth was shifting beneath his feet. This woman had been an anchor when he’d needed one most and now she was leaving. ‘I will. I promise. Thank you again.’
She gave him another arm pat. ‘Take care, Amos.’
And then she was gone, leaving Amos to stare at the computer screen, willing the ‘twerpy little jerk’ to reply.
Sacramento, California
Tuesday, 18 April, 10.10 A.M.
Mercy bit back a sigh as she got into the black FBI van dominating Rafe’s driveway. There were no windows in the back and no markings identifying them as being with law enforcement. The trip to Santa Rosa was already a production, with the van and two additional FBI vehicles that would be part of their entourage. ‘I don’t know why I thought we could just drive up the highway.’
‘Hey, don’t complain. I feel like I’m a super-secret spy on a super-secret mission,’ Farrah said as she climbed in to sit beside Mercy. ‘Let me have my James Bond moment, okay?’
Mercy chuckled. ‘Some super-secret spies we are. Everyone is armed except for us.’
‘I have some pepper spray,’ Farrah said seriously. ‘I threw it in my luggage before we left New Orleans. My mama gave it to me.’
Mercy felt the same flare of affection every time she thought of Farrah’s mother. ‘How is Mama Romero?’
‘Sad. Angry. My father is having a harder time,’ Farrah admitted. ‘Quill was his aunt. I talked to him last night. He was crying, but told me that I needed to be here. Actually forbade me to come back until you don’t need me anymore.’
Mercy felt abruptly guilty. ‘I—’
Farrah lifted a brow. ‘Don’t say what you were going to say. This is not your fault.’
Mercy knew that, but . . . ‘He killed two more people last night. Stole their camper.’ She swallowed hard, still having trouble not feeling guilty. ‘They were on their honeymoon, Ro.’
Farrah drew in a shocked breath. ‘Goddammit, Mercy. Somebody needs to stop him.’
And that somebody is going to be me, Mercy thought grimly.
‘And that somebody is not going to be you,’ Farrah declared, giving her a shrewd look. ‘I swear to God, if you risk yourself again . . .’
Mercy wanted to sigh, but held it in. ‘I promised Rafe I wouldn’t. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Farrah muttered. Her scowl brightened when the door opened again. ‘Liza, you’re riding with us?’
Liza Barkley was Tom Hunter’s plus-one. She moved with the same confidence that all the cops had, except hers had come from a tour in Afghanistan versus walking a beat on the street.
‘If it’s okay,’ Liza replied. ‘I can climb to the very back. I’ve got some reading to do on the way.’ She squeezed by them, dropping her backpack on the rear bench seat. ‘I brought snacks,’ she added brightly.
Farrah laughed. ‘So did I. What did you bring?’
‘Bars,’ Liza replied promptly, then shook her head. ‘Brownies, I mean.’
Tom stuck his head in the driver’s door. ‘She’s from Minnesota. They say “bars” up there. It’s weird. But her bar-brownies are delicious.’
Liza laughed. ‘Too little, too late. I’ll just be sharing my bars with the ladies.’
Tom shrugged. ‘I control when we stop for bathroom breaks.’
Farrah whistled. ‘That escalated fast. Please don’t forget that there are other people in the van who didn’t threaten to withhold snacks. If we need to stop, you’ll stop.’
Tom grinned. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Then he glanced at his phone and sobered. ‘I need to take this. Excuse me.’ He jogged to the garage, where Rafe and André were coming out of the house. Tom listened to the call, and then he, Rafe, and André had a conversation during which the other two men’s expressions grew equally sober.
Rafe said something to André and the two disappeared back into the house, reappearing with a cat carrier.
‘Oh no,’ Mercy whispered. The dread she’d felt watching the men talk had morphed into the beginnings of a panic attack.
‘What is it?’ Liza asked, worried.
‘They’re bringing Mercy’s cat,’ Farrah replied, then swallowed. ‘Her comfort animal.’
‘Oh,’ Liza murmured. ‘Got it.’
André got into the front passenger seat while Rafe settled into the seat beside Mercy, sandwiching her between his body and Farrah’s, his mood tense. And dark.
From where she sat in the middle, Mercy could see André drawing his weapon from his holster and holding it in his lap, his gaze darting in every direction while Rafe pulled the sliding door closed and popped the latch on the carrier. Rory climbed out, immediately curling up in Mercy’s lap, but her hands were clenched into fists and she couldn’t manage to relax them.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. ‘What’s happened?’
Rafe’s jaw was taut. ‘It’s Ginger.’
Mercy frowned at him in confusion. ‘The woman who sold me the jewelry box yesterday? What’s happened to her?’
Rafe met her gaze directly. ‘She’s dead.’
Mercy stared at him, the panic beginning to swirl in her mind. ‘No.’
Farrah reached for Mercy’s hand, prying her fingers loose from the fist and holding on tightly – too tightly, but the brief discomfort was what Mercy needed. ‘Breathe, Merce,’ she murmured. ‘What happened, Rafe?’
‘Ginger was found this morning. With the owner of the Snowbush general store, Nick Corwin. In bed together.’ Rafe shook his head. ‘They’d both been shot in the head. Corwin’s wife was on the floor, also dead. It was supposed to look like a murder-suicide.’
‘Supposed to,’ Mercy said dully, wishing she hadn’t taken seconds of the breakfast that Farrah had prepared.
‘There was evidence of a break-in at Ginger’s house,’ Rafe said. ‘A broken window. Her car was parked in Corwin’s driveway – behind the wife’s car, which was parked inside the garage. The wife couldn’t have arrived home to find them in bed with each other. Plus the wife is a lefty, but was found with the pistol in her right hand. Lots of little things didn’t add up. Ginger was in pajamas, and her own bed had been slept in. The sheriff’s department didn’t find any of Ginger’s street clothes in Corwin’s room, so she’d have had to leave her house wearing her pajamas with no coat.’
‘So both Ginger and the store owner are dead,’ Mercy murmured. ‘After Ginger told us about DJ being the front man for Eden trading. And after her boss made a phone call as soon as we left the store. That’s not suspicious at all.’