‘Let me get this straight,’ Mercy said to the table in general and to Tom and Erin in particular. ‘This . . . kid, Jeff Bunker, was duped by Stan Prescott’s roommate?’
She’d read the letter the young man had written with an initial skepticism that she was rethinking now that Hunter had confirmed the story Rafe had relayed to her in private before this family meeting. The letter was sincere, to the point, and very apologetic.
She didn’t want to let the anger at the kid go, but . . . hell. She’d held on to her anger at Gideon for all these years and it had nearly ruined whatever relationship they might have had.
Gideon had forgiven her freely. Maybe she should pay it forward.
‘Yes,’ Tom said simply. ‘His story checks out. He kept all the emails from his editor and all of the drafts of the article. He didn’t set you up on purpose, Mercy.’
Farrah wasn’t quite in the forgiveness phase and Mercy couldn’t blame her. ‘Could he have killed Aunt Quill?’ Farrah asked.
‘Maybe,’ André said, ‘but his story checks out there too, from a timing standpoint, anyway. The apartment building didn’t have any cameras, but the home across the street did and we got a view of the front entrance. Ephraim Burton entered twenty minutes before Jeff Bunker walked up. Burton left and got in a rental car. Five minutes later, Bunker runs from the house looking like he’d seen a damn ghost. He hightailed it to the bus stop.’ André rolled his eyes. ‘The kid was using the city buses because he’s too young to rent a car and he doesn’t actually have a driver’s license yet.’
‘He’s some kind of whiz kid genius,’ Rafe added. ‘But he’s still sixteen. Sounds like his editor used that to manipulate him.’
‘I don’t want to feel sorry for him,’ Farrah said stubbornly.
Mercy covered her friend’s hand with hers. ‘You don’t have to. Even if he didn’t kill Quill, he knew who did. Yes, he’s young. Yes, he was scared and, having been on the receiving end of Ephraim’s rage, I know he had a right to be. But he waited too long to do the right thing.’ She bit her lip. ‘I actually can relate to that.’
‘Not the same,’ Gideon murmured.
‘Yeah, it kind of is,’ Mercy murmured back. ‘But my point is, your feelings are your feelings and you don’t have to harbor kind thoughts about this kid. If he had come forward, we . . .’ She trailed off.
‘We what?’ Farrah pressed.
‘We wouldn’t have gotten on that plane. I wouldn’t be here right now, in this kitchen.’ A thought struck her and she shivered. ‘I might not be here on the planet anymore, because Ephraim would have killed me there and no one would have known it was him.’
Silence descended over the table, heavy and thick.
Farrah let out a watery sigh that was half sob. ‘God, Mercy. Now I feel like I should thank that fool kid.’
Mercy’s lips tipped up. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ She patted Farrah’s hand, then passed her the box of tissues they’d been sharing for the last hour. ‘But I know how scared he must have been. And to have been on the plane with him? For hours? I don’t think my heart would have survived that.’
‘He did get the video taken down,’ Farrah muttered grudgingly.
Mercy shrugged. ‘He’s a kid, Ro. Not perfect. Hell, it took me all these years to decide to take Ephraim down.’ Lifting her chin, she caught Rafe’s gaze. ‘So maybe we can talk about that now.’
Farrah’s nod was firm. Defiant. ‘Yeah. Let’s take that motherfucker down.’
There was a small gasp from behind them and they turned to find Zoya, the youngest Sokolov, staring at them. But it was admiration in her eyes, not shock. ‘Can I help?’
Irina frowned from where she was kneading yet another loaf of bread. Baking was Irina’s tell, Mercy had discovered. The place looked like a restaurant, food covering every available flat surface. ‘What are you doing here, Zoya?’ Irina demanded.
Zoya pouted. ‘I’m hungry. I’ve been banished to my room all afternoon. And I’m bored,’ she added in a whine.
‘Does not matter.’ Irina pointed a dough-covered finger to the door. ‘You are re-banished. Go.’
Zoya sidled up to her mother and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I could at least help with the bread. Besides, I’ve heard just about everything that’s been said in this house today, including what the boy on the porch said.’ She unrepentantly met her mother’s glare. ‘I have windows, Mom. I opened one and listened. At least I didn’t let down my hair and beg to be rescued.’
Irina snorted a small laugh before shaking her head. ‘You are no Rapunzel.’
‘And he is no Flynn Rider,’ Zoya shot back, then grinned, her dimples appearing. ‘But he is kind of cute. You know, for a kid.’
Mercy rolled her eyes. ‘He’s only a year younger than you.’
Zoya left her mother’s side and pulled a chair to the corner of the table, plunking herself down between Mercy and Farrah. ‘A year is like five at my age, Mercy. You know that girls mature faster than boys.’
Mercy bit back a smile. ‘I have heard this, yes.’ Then she became serious. ‘But we’re about to talk about things you shouldn’t hear. Not because you’re not old enough,’ she said before Zoya could object. ‘But because . . .’ She glanced at Rafe. ‘I may have to talk about things that make all of us uncomfortable. I’d prefer you not have to carry my memories. And that’s the real reason.’
Zoya’s expression softened and she looked so much like Rafe in that moment that Mercy couldn’t look away. The real Rafe was this vulnerable. The real Rafe wasn’t a frat-boy surfer. The real Rafe felt more deeply than he wanted to admit, and Mercy wished he didn’t think he needed to hide that part of himself. Although I’m a fine one to talk about hiding parts of myself.
‘Mercy,’ Zoya said quietly. ‘You are family now. I know all about what happened to Gideon. I can connect the dots to know what happened to you.’
Gideon’s eyes had widened. ‘How? How did you know?’
The young woman shook her head. ‘Everyone thinks I just go to my room or go to a friend’s house because I’m told to. If I did that, I’d never learn anything about anyone in this house. So if I’m also a member of this family – and I am, because we did DNA testing in my biology class and I am fully your kid – then I want to be here. I want to help.’
Mercy shrugged. ‘It’s up to you, Irina.’
Irina dropped her chin, her shoulders sagging. Then she turned to face them, wiping her hands with a dishcloth. ‘When did my baby grow up?’