She no longer held the papers she’d been reading. She must have left them in the office, because now she met him at the door, ushering him to the table next to the bed where Abigail’s mother had died.
Amos’s mind was reeling. The healer had a computer.
How long had she had it? How had she hidden it? He’d been in that office. He’d built that desk.
His breath stuttered as he realized that he’d built it to very exacting specifications – including a small locked cabinet that would have been the perfect size for the tall . . .
He couldn’t even remember the word.
‘How much blood have you lost?’ Sister Coleen asked. ‘You’re so pale, you might be going into shock.’
No, he thought. I’m already in shock. I’ve been in shock since I saw Ephraim kill three of my best friends. ‘A lot,’ he said weakly. ‘I’m a little dizzy.’
Sister Coleen gently peeled the bloody rag away. ‘Oh my, this is a deep one. I keep telling you to wear gloves when you’re working with your knives.’
He nodded numbly. ‘I will.’
She tsked. ‘That’s what you always say, Brother Amos. If you slice your finger off, I can’t fix it. Then how will you take care of that pretty little girl of yours?’
He mumbled something in response that seemed to please her, but he couldn’t hear himself speak over the pounding in his head.
They had a computer. Here. In Eden.
They also had a killer here in Eden.
And Amos had no doubt that if anyone found out what he knew, he’d be killed, too. God, please help me get my baby girl out of this place before they do.
Sacramento, California
Saturday, 15 April, 5.10 P.M.
‘Mercy!’ Rafe Sokolov lifted his cane to strike the man a second time, but his legs were unsteady. The man toppled him to the floor with one hard sweep of his arm, glaring, his face one that Rafe knew all too well.
Ephraim Burton, the devil himself.
Rafe had seen the photo of Burton, found two months before in a locket – silver, engraved with two children kneeling under an olive tree, all under the spread wings of an angel with a flaming sword. The symbol of Eden. Of evil. He’d memorized every line of the man’s face, hating him with every fiber of his existence. This man had hurt Rafe’s best friend, Gideon. And even though she’d never said so, Rafe was certain that he’d also hurt Mercy.
That he was the man who had raped Mercy when she was only twelve years old.
‘Mercy!’ Rafe shouted again, but she didn’t turn around. Didn’t move.
Burton scrambled to his feet, kicking Rafe hard in the hip. ‘You’re insane. Stay away from me!’ he said and moved to grab Mercy again. ‘Come along, dear. You’re okay. Let’s just leave.’
‘No!’ Rafe thundered. Lurching forward, he hooked the curve of his cane around Burton’s leg and yanked with all his strength.
Burton stumbled and cursed, but Rafe was already on his knees, yelling at the top of his lungs as he pulled his gun from his holster. ‘Police! Stop or I’ll shoot.’
Burton spun around to look at him, dragging Mercy around with him.
Rafe sucked in a breath that burned. He’d dreamed about Mercy throughout the long weeks since she’d run from Sacramento. From me. And from her brother. But she hadn’t looked like this, so lost. Remote.
Rafe had seen her like this one other time – on the security video that had captured her abduction by a killer two months ago. She’d gone blank then, like a zombie. She looked like that now. Standing there, in the clutches of a man who aimed to hurt her. Again. She wasn’t fighting.
She wasn’t even . . . there. She’d checked out of her current reality. The realization made Rafe’s blood run cold.
‘Who the hell are you?’ Burton snarled, shattering Rafe’s panic. Restoring his focus.
‘The man who’s going to kill you if you don’t let her go right now,’ he snarled back, aiming his gun at Burton’s fucking head. Then, raising his voice again, Rafe shouted, ‘Someone call 911. I need police assistance!’
Burton looked at his gun, took a quick, frantic look at the crowd gathering around him, then pushed Mercy so that she fell into Rafe and took off, pulling people to block the path he’d taken. He was out the door before Rafe could catch his breath.
Shouts of ‘Gun, he has a gun!’ rang out, sending people screaming and falling to the floor, hands over their heads. Parents threw themselves on top of their children. It was chaos.
But Mercy didn’t move.
‘Mercy?’ Rafe moved her so that she sat beside him. She just . . . stared.
‘Put down the gun!’ a man ordered, running up to them, his own gun drawn. He was young, maybe twenty-five, and the gun in his hand trembled.
Rafe carefully laid his weapon on the floor, his hands in the air.
‘I’m an off-duty cop,’ he said. ‘ID’s in my inside pocket.’
Visibly shaken, the airport officer patted his pocket and pulled out the ID. ‘Detective Raphael Sokolov,’ he said, panting slightly. ‘What the hell is this about?’
‘That man.’ Rafe pointed at the door. ‘He left through there. He’s wanted by the FBI for bank robbery and murder. I need to get my phone, okay?’
The cop nodded warily. ‘Go ahead.’
Rafe held up his phone, then called 911 himself. While it rang, he tilted Mercy’s chin up as gently as he could. She was catatonic. Her gaze blank, she sat up on her own, but she was motionless. Like a robot whose battery had run down.
And . . . ‘Oh shit, she’s bleeding.’ Blood had seeped through her white blouse and was spreading from her side to her back.
‘This is the operator. What is your emergency?’
‘This is Detective Raphael Sokolov.’ He told the woman his badge number. ‘I need a BOLO for a fugitive escaping from the American terminal at the Sac airport. He assaulted a woman and ran when I tried to stop him. He’s about six one, two hundred fifty pounds, muscular, dark hair, black eyes. He was on foot, but he might have a vehicle. His name is Harry Franklin, but he goes by Ephraim Burton as well.’ Harry Franklin was Burton’s real name. The name on the FBI’s most wanted list. ‘I also need an ambulance. The victim is bleeding and unresponsive. Conscious, but not cognizant.’
The airport cop had flagged down two other officers, who were now exiting the airport, weapons drawn. Rafe didn’t have too much confidence that they’d catch him, but at least they were in pursuit.
‘Rafe? Rafe?’ Sasha pushed through the crowd that had once again begun to gather now that the airport police had arrived. She carried two small carriers, one in each hand, and was followed by a tall African American woman who looked terrified. She must have been the friend that Mercy had told Sasha she was bringing. The brief relief that her friend wasn’t male was quickly shoved aside as Sasha dropped to her knees, carefully setting the two carriers aside. ‘Oh my God, Rafe. Are you okay? What happened?’