Gideon shook his head. ‘She’s dead, too. I found her body when I was running after Ephraim. I think DJ must have shot her, too. Ephraim’s rifle didn’t have a silencer and the golden gun he’s been using got kicked under the camper by Farrah when he was dragging her away.’
Daisy looked over her shoulder at the SUV where Farrah sat, staring straight ahead. Probably in shock, Rafe thought. At least André was okay.
‘Way to go, Farrah!’ Daisy cheered, then frowned. ‘But why did DJ kill Agent Schumacher? And Burton? And why would he try to kill Mercy?’
‘Schumacher was likely in his way, like Molina and her crew,’ Gideon said grimly. ‘And he went after Mercy because he didn’t finish the job the first time. Mercy didn’t think that Ephraim knew she was still alive, and I agree. I think DJ lied and said she was dead and now he’s afraid that the community will find out. If you hadn’t stopped him, he probably would have kept firing. I would have been the next target, but he would have tried to silence all of us because we know the truth, that Mercy is not dead. The only person who could get that information back to Eden was Burton, because the rest of us don’t know where Eden is. And now that Burton’s dead, he can’t tell us.’
Rafe felt Mercy shudder in his arms. She looked up, blinking like an owl. ‘I did it again?’
Rafe kissed her forehead. ‘Burton is dead.’
‘It was DJ,’ Gideon added.
Mercy closed her eyes. ‘Tying up loose ends?’ She sounded weary, but unsurprised.
‘Seems like it,’ Rafe murmured.
‘Oh!’ The cry came from Farrah, who was now out of the SUV and running. ‘André!’
Rafe slid to the front bumper of the SUV on his ass, too tired to even crawl. But he was glad he’d made the effort, because Damien and André were crossing the road, moving like they were sleepwalkers, plodding and slow. André had one arm around Damien’s waist, keeping him upright, but his other hand held a golden gun and strapped to his back was a rifle.
Damien fell to the ground beside Rafe with a groan. Dropping the golden gun, André wrapped Farrah in his arms, her happy cry like music after everything they’d experienced.
Rafe slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders, immediately letting go when Damien groaned. ‘Sorry, D.’ He grimaced at the sight of the open wound on his brother’s head. ‘That happen in the wreck?’
But Damien didn’t answer, because he was staring at Amos. ‘What happened?’
‘He was shot protecting me,’ Mercy said softly. ‘André, where did you get the rifle?’
‘And is that the Santa Rosa madam’s golden gun?’ Rafe added.
Daisy glanced up briefly before returning her attention to Amos’s wound. ‘That looks like the rifle DJ was using.’
‘Because it is,’ André said, ‘if DJ’s the guy with the really blond hair and the rifle was the one he was using to shoot at you.’
‘He is and it is,’ Daisy told him.
‘Well,’ André said, not letting Farrah go, ‘Farrah kicked the gun under the camper when Burton was about to shoot me with it. Once Gideon came along and untied Damien and me, I went under the camper for the gun. Came in handy, too. I saw the guy with the rifle on the edge of the woods. He fired twice before somebody shot him in the shoulder.’
‘That was Daisy,’ Rafe said.
‘He rode off on his dirt bike with the rifle,’ Daisy told him.
‘He dropped the rifle after I shot him in the arm with the madam’s gun,’ André said. ‘He started to come back for the rifle, but his arm was hanging at his side, like he couldn’t move it. The first shot – Daisy’s – got him in the left shoulder, then I got his left arm. I think that’s his dominant side, because he was all over the place after that, like he couldn’t steer with his right arm.’
‘Did you see which way he went?’ Rafe asked.
André nodded. ‘Should be a trail of blood. I tried to chase, but was too damn dizzy.’
Gideon redialed 911 to have a BOLO sent out on DJ Belmont and his dirt bike, then asked the ETA for the medics.
Mercy’s gaze had returned to Amos, whose breathing was slow and frighteningly shallow. ‘When will help be here, Gideon?’ she asked when he’d ended the call.
‘They’re sending a helicopter,’ Gideon told her. ‘Should be soon. They’ll airlift Amos and probably the guys from SWAT who were also shot by DJ. They’ll have to send a second rescue unit for Damien and Molina.’
‘I should go with Amos,’ Mercy said weakly. ‘He got hurt saving me. He can’t die. I just got him back.’
‘He’s still breathing,’ Daisy murmured, ‘so don’t lose hope.’
Sacramento, California
Wednesday, 19 April, 11.30 P.M.
Wincing at the sudden pain in her hand, Mercy looked down at the little girl gripping her hand as if her life depended on it. Maybe it does. Abigail was staring at the sign posted on the doors into UC Davis’s ICU, her little body so tense, like she’d shatter at any moment. Right there with you, sweetheart.
‘What does that mean?’ Abigail asked, so quietly that Mercy could barely hear her question even in the deathly quiet of the ICU family waiting room.
Mercy slowly lowered to one knee, stiff and sore from where Amos had knocked her down, saving her life. He saved my life.
And now he fought for his own. He’d lost so much blood at the scene, lapsing into unconsciousness almost immediately after DJ’s bullet had ripped through his throat. Daisy had stayed with him as he’d been airlifted to Sacramento, not leaving him until he’d been taken into surgery. In all that time he hadn’t regained consciousness, and that wasn’t good.
Mercy brought her and Abigail’s joined hands to her lips to kiss the little girl’s white knuckles. ‘ICU means Intensive Care Unit. It’s the part of the hospital where they put patients who need someone watching them constantly.’
And was probably not the place for a seven-year-old, but Abigail had been insistent, according to Irina, who’d driven the child to the hospital herself. Well, along with Karl, who wasn’t letting his wife out of his sight after the events of the day. The man who’d been so kind and welcoming was still pale, still trembling, even though his son was mostly fine now that the effects of Ephraim’s sedative had worn off. Damien had a concussion, but was home with his wife, who, according to Irina, hadn’t left his side.
Mercy figured that once it all sank in, she’d be as shaky as Karl. For now she was blessedly numb, which kept her from breaking into tears in the face of Abigail’s fear. The little girl’s expression was anxiously trusting, as if she’d believe any word that came from Mercy’s mouth but desperately hoped the words were what she needed to hear.