She lifted one shoulder, uncharacteristically vulnerable. ‘I want to help you. I . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Never mind.’
‘No, what? Talk to me, Rhee.’
She blew out a frustrated sigh. ‘Shit, I wish I hadn’t said anything now.’
‘But you did. So say more.’
‘It’s just that . . . You’ve always been a friend, Rafe. I value that, and that whole near-death thing made me reconsider my priorities.’
‘I know about that,’ he murmured, thinking of the woman asleep on his sofa.
Erin made an uncomfortable sound. ‘You know I mean friend, right? Like nothing . . .’ Her lips twisted before making little kisses.
He smirked. ‘Yeah, I figured that out myself, thanks.’ The last time she’d come to Sunday dinner, she and Sasha had seemed to connect. ‘If you come to dinner, Sasha will be there.’
Erin’s cheeks pinked up, confirming his suspicions. ‘Please say you’re not matchmaking.’
He obeyed, even though it was mostly a lie. ‘I’m not matchmaking.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘What’s your mom making for dessert?’
‘Bird’s milk cake.’
Erin hummed in a decent rendition of orgasmic bliss. ‘My favorite of all her desserts. I’m in.’
They were interrupted by an anxious voice from somewhere upstairs. ‘Rafe?’
‘Farrah is Mercy’s friend,’ he explained to Erin. ‘Down here, Farrah. My partner’s here. Come meet her.’
Footsteps sped down the stairs and Farrah appeared on the landing. ‘Where’s Mercy?’
Rafe thumbed over his shoulder, pointing to his apartment door. ‘Asleep. She’s fine, Farrah. She couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you.’
Farrah gave him a knowing look, then smiled at Erin as she descended, stopping to sit two stairs above them. ‘I feel like I’m on my mama’s stoop in the old neighborhood,’ she said, her drawl like a soft blanket. ‘I’m Farrah Romero.’
The two women shook hands. ‘Erin Rhee. My job was keeping this one here out of trouble.’
‘I hope they gave you hazard pay,’ Farrah said lightly. ‘Mercy told me about you. How you helped save her. Thank you.’
‘My job,’ Erin said simply. ‘But also my honor.’
Farrah only flashed her a bright smile. ‘I’ll make breakfast if someone has eggs and bacon.’
‘I do,’ Sasha called from the second floor. ‘Farrah, come help me whip something up. Rafe, I heard that Mercy’s asleep, but you can’t do the stairs. We’ll bring you something, okay?’
‘Think Mercy slept through all that?’ Erin whispered.
‘Given how tired she was, I’m betting she did.’ Farrah got up. ‘Coming, Sasha! Y’all sit tight. We’ll be back in a jiff.’
Rafe watched her go, then turned back to Erin. ‘Did Tiff say who the body in Santa Rosa was?’
‘Oh, that was the most important part,’ Erin said. ‘It was the home of Regina Jewel. From which she ran a brothel. One of the girls found her dead and used the dead woman’s cell phone to call 911. Police found twenty women in the house. Three were staff, the others were her “merchandise.” Three of them were under fourteen. They told police that they were there for “Mr Ephraim.” Several of the older girls said they’d been forced to service him over the years, when they were thirteen and fourteen. Once they grew up, Regina placed them with other clients. They didn’t know Ephraim’s last name, but he’d show up three or four times a year.’
Rafe sat back, stunned. ‘Holy shit.’
‘I know, right? What a fucker. He likes them young. And the golden gun?’
Rafe’s mind was reeling. ‘It must be Regina’s.’
She tapped her nose. ‘Right in one.’
‘Holy shit,’ Rafe breathed. ‘This could change everything.’
She looked at him warily. ‘How?’
‘Ephraim is from Santa Rosa. That’s where he grew up as Harry Franklin. That he wound up frequenting prostitutes in Santa Rosa can’t be a coincidence. He could have found prostitutes in Redding or San Francisco or even here in Sacramento.’
‘What do you think that means?’
He hesitated in saying what he really thought, because with a single call to their boss, Erin could have him ripped off this case, and Rafe needed to see this through. But she’d put herself at risk coming to see him today, giving him this information she’d overheard. He’d always trusted her to have his back, so he blurted it out before he could change his mind. ‘His mother is in a nursing home in Santa Rosa.’
‘Ohhh,’ she breathed. ‘Maybe he’s been visiting her, too. Maybe we could lure him there.’
‘Or maybe she knows where else he might hide. I need to tell Gideon.’ Definitely about this development. Probably not that he’d already tried visiting Burton’s mother.
Erin frowned. ‘Remember, I am not—’
‘Here. Got it. You are not here. He’s gonna figure it out anyway, you know.’
She shrugged. ‘I know. I’m okay with it. Just keep it off the record, okay?’
Rafe dialed and Gideon answered on the first ring. ‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded. ‘Is she okay?’
‘Mercy’s fine, but we need to talk. I’m at my place. It’s important.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Eleven
Granite Bay, California
Sunday, 16 April, 3.45 P.M.
Mercy sat at the farthest corner of the Sokolovs’ dinner table, trying to take up the least space possible. It was slightly less overwhelming now, at least. Thirty minutes earlier, the kitchen, dining room, living room, hell, the whole house, had been filled wall-to-wall with Sokolovs. Six of Irina’s eight children had shown up, along with nine grandchildren. Missing were only Jude the prosecutor, who’d moved to LA – much to everyone’s dismay – and Patrick the firefighter, who was on shift that day.
They’d come to meet Mercy, to welcome her, and it had warmed her heart – until the noise had grown so loud that escape was all she could think of. But she couldn’t take a walk outside because Ephraim was out there somewhere.
Thankfully all the Sokolov children except Rafe and Sasha had gone to their own homes. Zoya, the youngest, who still lived at home, had been ‘banished’ to her room, in the teenager’s words. She hadn’t voluntarily vacated the kitchen, having immediately hit it off with Farrah. The high school senior wanted to be a doctor and had spent the meal asking Farrah a hundred questions about her research position at the university.