It was Rafe’s turn to be kiss-drunk and he backed out of the bedroom, stumbling and nearly falling on his ass. Luckily Gideon was there to keep him upright.
‘You okay, Rafe?’ he asked.
Rafe nodded, licking his lips and finding that her taste had lingered. ‘Yeah. What’s up?’
‘Holmes is here,’ he said. ‘And Mercy’s phone was ringing so I brought it to her. I think it was John.’
‘I told Mercy that I’d text her when Farrah was ready to see her. Go on now. She’s expecting you.’
Rafe made his way back to the kitchen, still dazed by that kiss. Sasha, Daisy, Erin, and his father wore matching looks of devastation and his mother’s face was set firmly as she put together a tea tray. Strangely the sight of his mother’s capable hands arranging teacups soothed his aching heart. He didn’t know how many times in his life he’d watched her doing the same thing when one of them had received bad news. Teen breakups, lost sports tournaments, failing grades, skinned knees. Irina’s answer was always a cup of tea and cake.
Another wave of love bubbled up, making his chest so tight he could barely breathe. She looked up and smiled sadly. ‘I already made a tray for Farrah and her captain. This one is for Mercy.’
‘She . . . she asked for a little quiet time. Gid’s in there with her now.’
Irina lifted a brow. ‘Thus a tray, Raphael. She can drink all the tea she wants alone, because I am taking her a tray.’
Unbelievably he smiled. ‘I love you, Mom.’
She sniffed. ‘So you have said.’ Then she blinked, sending fresh tears down her cheeks. ‘I love you too, sinok rodnoy moi. You have a good heart. But terrible table-waiting skills, yes? I remember the job you lost because you spilled an entire tray of drinks on that poor woman. So I will carry this tray myself.’
Rafe’s laugh was more like a hiccuped sob. ‘You’re not wrong, Mom. Thank you.’ He wanted to say so much more, but he didn’t even know where to start. But he didn’t think he needed to when she kissed his cheek on her way out.
Rafe sat between his father and sister with a sigh.
‘This day sucks,’ Sasha said sullenly.
‘We need to cancel the interview,’ Daisy said, stroking Brutus like her life depended on it.
‘Let’s let Mercy decide that,’ Karl said. ‘I made the mistake of assuming I knew her mind yesterday. Let’s not do that again.’
Personally, Rafe wanted to cancel the interview as well. He wanted to protect Mercy from the prying eyes that would, no doubt, translate to disgusting comments on social media, no matter what she said. But his father was right. Mercy had the right to make decisions for herself.
She was strong enough to hold her head high and deal with anything life threw at her. Stronger than me.
So he nodded to his father. ‘You’re right. We have a few hours before the interview. Let her make up her own mind.’
Sacramento, California
Sunday, 16 April, 5.35 P.M.
‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Bunker. I am Special Agent in Charge Molina.’ The stern woman at the head of the interrogation table pointed to the man sitting beside her. ‘This is Special Agent Hunter. I understand you have information for us.’
Stomach quaking, Jeff nodded at Molina and Hunter. I’m sitting at an interrogation table. I’m being interrogated. By the fucking FBI. This nightmare keeps going from bad to worse. He startled when his mother nudged him. ‘Oh, um, yes. Yes, ma’am.’
Molina didn’t smile. She studied him closely, making him wish that he hadn’t eaten before he’d come. And making him grateful that his mother had come with him, even though he was sixteen years old and should have been able to do this alone. No matter what the law said.
‘Tell me your story,’ Molina said briskly, almost as though she thought he was lying before he even got started.
He wiped his damp palms on his jeans. ‘Okay.’ He looked away, trying to slow his pulse. ‘Sorry, I’m nervous.’
Molina said nothing, but his mother squeezed his knee. ‘Try to relax,’ his mother murmured. ‘The worst is over.’
Jeff wasn’t sure about that. ‘Okay, um . . . okay. I’m a communications major at Sac State, concentrating in journalism. I got a job with Gabber. It’s a . . .’ Piece of trash? Shit? ‘A gossip blog.’
‘When was this?’ Molina asked.
‘About three months ago. I mostly did stupid little stories, like parades or New Year’s resolutions of sorority girls, that kind of thing. But then that serial killer was caught back in February, you know?’
‘Yes,’ Molina said mildly. ‘I know.’
Jeff knew that she did. She’d been on the scene the night it all went down. ‘I read about the three women who escaped and I figured that was the story no one was really telling. Well, until CNN told it last week. But at first, nobody was really talking about the women who lived, just the killer himself and the women who died. And I wanted to know more, especially about Mercy Callahan.’
Molina tilted her head to one side. ‘Why Miss Callahan?’
‘Because she intrigued me. I saw the footage taken at the hospital when she was abducted. It was like she’d gone catatonic and I wanted to know why.’ He’d seen that same look when she’d nearly been abducted the night before and for some reason, it made his chest hurt. Now, he knew why. Now he knew that she was a victim of sexual assault. And I’m the scum of the earth.
Because of him, Mercy was having to relive her assault again. I am the worst.
But he was trying to make it better. That counts, right?
‘So what did you do?’ Hunter asked, even though the man had to have known the answer.
‘I started researching her. I found out where she lived, where she went to school, and that she’d grown up in the foster system here in California, but moved when she aged out.’
Agent Hunter narrowed his eyes. ‘How did you know that she was in the foster system?’
Because it hadn’t been in any of the newspapers or online rags. ‘I, um, talked to her next-door neighbor. In New Orleans.’
Molina’s expression never changed. ‘You followed Miss Callahan all the way to New Orleans.’
‘Um, yes, ma’am. Gabber said they’d reimburse me for my travel, so I took a few days and went out east. My mother didn’t know. She’s not involved in any of this. I told her I was with my study group on campus.’
Molina was scarily silent, not even an encouraging nod. So he focused on Agent Hunter, bothered by the knowledge that he’d seen this man before, but couldn’t remember where or when. ‘I started out at the university in New Orleans, asking people in her department if they remembered her. I thought it was worth a try because it had only been four years since she graduated. Most of the staff did, but nobody would talk about her. They all scowled at me and told me to leave, that they didn’t talk to gossip magazines. I was about to leave when this woman called me over. She said that she’d taken classes with Mercy and that she was a “stuck-up bitch”.’ His glance flitted to Molina. ‘Sorry, ma’am. That’s a quote.’