There were satellite maps of the wilderness around Mt. Shasta. Somewhere in those woods was the location of the compound when she and Gideon were children. There was a map of Santa Rosa, with an X marking a spot, a photo of a run-down house thumbtacked beside it. Next to that was a photo of an old woman, labeled Belinda Franklin, mother, then another photo of a nursing-home sign. Sacred Heart Palliative Care.
She turned to the man standing silently beside her. ‘Rafe. My God. What is all this?’
‘Everything I’ve been able to find in the last few weeks.’
‘Does Gideon know?’
‘No. I haven’t found a solid lead yet, but I’ve been looking.’ He met her gaze, his piercing. ‘I can’t turn back time for you, Mercy. I can’t undo what Burton did to you, even though I’d do anything in my power to try. But I can help you find him. Help you get justice.’
Mercy could barely breathe. Emotion flooded her. Appreciation, gratitude. Respect. Affection, pure and unadulterated. He’d done this. For me. She opened her mouth, but no words would come out.
The expression on her face must have been enough, because he smiled grimly. ‘Do you want to work with me? Will you help me find him?’
Finally a few words came in a rough whisper. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
He gestured to the sofa. ‘Then let’s get started. It won’t be pleasant, but I need you to tell me everything that you remember about Eden.’
Sacramento, California
Sunday, 16 April, 5.15 A.M.
To Rafe’s relief, Mercy sat on the sofa, her focus back on his bulletin board. The look she’d shot him before saying she still wanted to help had gripped him hard, making his heart pound and his eyes sting. It was raw gratitude, relief, and something more. Something that made him shove his hands in the pockets of his sweats because in that moment he’d needed to touch her. Needed to hold her.
But she was fragile and he wasn’t going to push.
‘What do you want me to remember?’ she asked, her voice soft. But not weak. There wasn’t a weak bone in that woman’s body.
He turned away, pretending to hunt for a notebook, but really just needing the time to pull himself together. Surreptitiously he swiped at his eyes with the shirt he’d tossed on Daisy’s overstuffed armchair, then pulled the shirt over his head.
When he turned back, she was no longer staring at the board. She was staring at him, the ‘something else’ in her eyes having shifted to . . . Need? Want? Old-fashioned lust? He wasn’t sure which it was, but he felt it too and was suddenly aware that the sweats he wore would conceal nothing. Do not push. Do not scare her away.
Swallowing hard, he sat on the other end of the sofa, pulling his notebook over his lap, her gaze becoming a little glazed as she followed his every little movement. Nervously he tapped his pen on the notebook, and the sound jerked her out of the trancelike stare.
But not a trancelike stare like the one at the airport. She was with him this time, he could tell. She’d been fully engaged, and rather than being pale and drawn, her cheeks were a shade of pink that tempted him to get up and put that glazed look back in her eyes.
But not now.
Her green eyes shot up to his, guilty at being caught looking. Rafe forced a wry smile. ‘You okay?’
She pushed her hair away from her face with an embarrassed chuckle. ‘Yeah.’ Clearing her throat, she turned back to the board. ‘What exactly do you know so far?’
The sexual tension ratcheted down a fraction, enough that Rafe could actually draw a comfortable breath. Enough that he had to wonder what it would be like with her, if he’d actually burst into flames if she ever truly let him in. Because merely sitting on the same sofa had given him a painful hard-on.
That was completely inappropriate at the moment.
He manhandled his thoughts back into some semblance of coherence. ‘Well, Harry and his brother, Aubrey, were born in Santa Rosa. Harry is forty-seven and Aubrey would have been fifty-nine.’
‘If he hadn’t gotten his just deserts the night he tried to rape Gideon,’ she said matter-of-factly.
‘Correct. Belinda Franklin, their mother, is now seventy-six. She lives in a nursing home in Santa Rosa.’
Mercy got up to inspect the photo of the care facility. ‘Looks like a nice place.’
‘It is. It’s an expensive place.’
She turned, one brow lifted. ‘Who pays for it?’
He smiled at her. ‘Follow the money, right? I don’t know yet.’
‘Does the FBI know where she is?’
‘I’m sure they do. I haven’t asked. They’ll know I’m working on my own and they’ll tell me to stop.’
‘Better to ask forgiveness than permission?’ she asked.
‘It’s a good motto for a reason,’ he replied, and she laughed.
‘I guess so.’ She turned back to the photo. ‘Have you been to this nursing home?’
‘Once. I posed as a family friend, but the staff was suspicious. She has dementia, and I don’t think she gets many visitors.’
She turned, wide-eyed. ‘Did you see her?’
‘Kind of. I got to the doorway of her room.’
‘What did she say to you?’
He grimaced. ‘To get the hell out. I thought she sounded damn lucid at that moment, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have bad and good days. I was escorted out – politely – by her aide.’ He remembered Belinda’s cold eyes, her sneer. Having now met Ephraim Burton in person, he could see the resemblance.
‘Were Harry and Aubrey her only children?’ Mercy asked.
‘Yes. As far as I know, anyway.’
She frowned. ‘Can anyone trace the visit back to you? I don’t want Ephraim gunning for you, too.’
‘Oh, I think that’s a given after the airport last night. He was decidedly unhappy with me.’ He fell silent then, waiting until she’d once again met his gaze. ‘I want him to come gunning for me, Mercy. I’m ready.’
She exhaled on a sigh. ‘I can’t even go there right now, Rafe. I know you’re some big bad cop, but—’
‘But a crippled one?’ Rafe interrupted bitterly.
Her eyes flashed. ‘Do not put words in my mouth, Detective Sokolov. I was going to say that you might be a big bad cop, but he’s a sociopathic monster who’d kill everyone in your family to bring you to your knees.’
Rafe blinked at that. ‘Excuse me? What does that even mean?’
Mercy began to pace. ‘It means exactly that. I remember several moves during the time I was in Eden. We’d always move after someone was either devoured by wolves because they got caught too far from the main gates after sunset or deliberately cast out into the forest to be devoured by wolves because they’d “betrayed” their faith.’