Granite Bay, California
Sunday, 16 April, 8.45 P.M.
Well. That’s interesting. Ephraim stared at his laptop screen, at the results that had come up from his search on the license plate he’d noted as the scrawny kid and his mother had driven away from the Sokolov house.
The old car was registered to Geri Bunker, according to the database he’d used Sean MacGuire’s credit card to access. And a background check, also funded with MacGuire’s card, showed her only relative to be Jeffrey Bunker.
Jeffrey Bunker, who was the author of the extremely unflattering exposé he’d read at Granny’s house that morning. The one with the video that had been taken down before Ephraim could view it.
At least it explained Detective Sokolov’s near assault on the kid, who was some kind of prodigy, already halfway through his college degree at age sixteen. Ephraim tucked the knowledge away for future use. If Sokolov had that kind of temper, Ephraim could use it to his own advantage.
His attention was diverted from his screen by activity at the Sokolov house. The tall blond guy in a dark suit emerged from the front door, receiving a hug from Mrs Sokolov before he jogged to a black SUV, parked on the curb. It was the same Fed whose earlier arrival had prompted Ephraim to seek safer shelter. He’d left, then come back, and Ephraim wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
The small Asian woman who’d been involved in the scuffle with Jeff Bunker got into a Range Rover, but sat waiting while the black SUV drove away.
The garage door opened, revealing the gray Chevy Suburban that had brought Gideon, Detective Sokolov, and Mercy to the Sokolovs’ house earlier that day. Ephraim got busy, packing his computer into the backpack he’d had delivered earlier that day.
Thank you, Amazon. He’d ordered the backpack and a few other trinkets, using MacGuire’s credit card to pay for one-hour delivery. It had taken an hour and a half, but that was still impressive, especially on a Sunday. He’d miss the little conveniences of the world when he headed back to Eden.
He peered into the backpack, ensuring that he had everything he needed, especially if he wasn’t able to come back here. If he got Mercy tonight, he’d be long gone.
He mentally checked off his laptop and the new high-powered binoculars and GPS trackers he’d also purchased from Amazon, along with the revolver he’d brought from Eden and the pistol he’d taken from the costume store college kid. He tucked Regina’s golden gun into his jacket pocket. The silencer made it his gun of choice. He’d need to get some ammo soon, though. The magazine held fifteen rounds, so it was technically illegal in California, but Ephraim wasn’t going to tell and Regina no longer could.
He didn’t know how he’d manage it, but he wanted to hide a GPS tracker on Sokolov’s vehicle so that he didn’t have to risk following them so closely. Plus, not having to watch every move they made would let him actually sleep tonight, a definite plus. There was no way he’d get a tracker on any of the cars while they sat in front of the house in Granite Bay, but he might be able to get close enough once they all dispersed.
He hurried down the stairs, double-checking MacGuire’s restraints before heading for the door. It would be easier to simply kill the guy, but something held him back. Maybe the calm acceptance in the man’s eyes. If MacGuire was trying to use reverse psychology to stay alive, it was working.
Plus, this guy had access to a lot of money. Money that Ephraim might need, and certainly wanted. Grabbing MacGuire’s car keys from the hook on the wall, he waved. ‘See you later.’
There were three cars in the garage – a classic Corvette, a Mercedes convertible, and a newer Cadillac, which somehow managed to look boring. He took the Caddy and backed out of MacGuire’s driveway just in time to see the convoy of cars from the Sokolovs’ house passing by.
At the front of the line was the rental car that had arrived that afternoon, carrying the black man whose identity Ephraim still didn’t know. That bugged him, because the guy was a wild card and Ephraim didn’t like not knowing what to expect.
Second in line was the gray Suburban in which Sokolov and Mercy had arrived along with Gideon. The Asian lady brought up the rear in a blue Range Rover.
Ephraim had run those plates too, and they belonged to Erin Rhee. According to the Internet, she was Sokolov’s SacPD partner and had also been injured along with Sokolov the night they and Gideon had taken down that serial killer, rescuing Mercy. He’d found a number of articles on the case, once he’d known what to look for.
Ephraim followed the caravan as it got on I-80, making sure there were always at least four cars between Rhee’s Range Rover and Sean MacGuire’s Cadillac. He almost lost them when they exited the highway, but it wasn’t too hard to find three cars in a slow-moving line.
They came to a stop in front of an old Victorian that appeared to be fully restored and well kept. Three mailboxes were mounted near the curb, so the house had probably been subdivided. A hot pink Mini Cooper was parked on the street in front of the house.
At least the Cadillac fit this neighborhood better than the rusted piece of junk he’d left parked near Folsom Lake. He’d have stood out like a sore thumb if he still drove that piece of shit.
The garage door on the Victorian lifted, revealing a red Subaru in one of the two bays and a tan Tahoe in the other. Gideon parked the gray Suburban in the driveway behind the Subaru, and the rental car stopped directly beside it. Erin Rhee’s blue Range Rover parked on the street, partially obscuring Ephraim’s view. He could no longer see into the garage, but he could still see part of the driveway, and he could see the Asian woman jumping down from the Range Rover and rushing into the garage, her gun drawn.
The driver’s door of the rental opened and the unidentified black man got out. He went around to open the passenger door, extending his hand to help pull a woman to her feet. Dammit. That was the woman who’d come with Mercy from New Orleans. Dr Farrah Romero.
Mercy’s old-lady neighbor had talked a lot about Farrah during Ephraim’s visit. Dr Romero was her great-niece, and Mercy’s very best friend, the two of them inseparable since college. Ephraim grabbed the binoculars from the seat beside him and focused on the man, committing his face to memory. He’d check him out, because he had a bad feeling about the guy’s sudden appearance, and an even worse feeling that he recognized him from somewhere.
He replayed his conversation with the old lady before he’d killed her. She’d talked about every member of her huge family, and several times he’d had to steer her back toward Farrah and Mercy or he’d have been there all night long. Farrah wasn’t a medical doctor, he remembered that. She worked in a lab at the university, which made the old woman both proud and a little sad, because it meant that Farrah and her fiancé were putting off starting their family and she couldn’t wait to see what pretty babies they’d make together.