He hadn’t planned to kill Mercy’s neighbor, but the woman had seen his face. He’d had no choice. His preferred method of eliminating threats was snapping his victim’s neck – and he was damn good at it – but he wanted the old lady to look like she’d died of natural causes, so he’d suffocated her instead, which took more effort. Tracking Mercy had been a lot more trouble than he’d expected.
But it had all worked out because there she was, walking toward the ladies’ room. Mercy Callahan, or so she called herself now. When she’d been his wife, she’d been Mercy Burton. And since Eden didn’t permit divorce, she was still Mercy Burton.
Slowly, he moved toward the restrooms, not wanting to attract any attention. He had no idea if Mercy or her bastard brother had told anyone about him, but there was a chance that his photo from Miriam’s locket might have surfaced, and he wasn’t going to be careless.
Careless men got caught. I will not get caught.
Not for the first time, he cursed Miriam, wishing he could have been the one who’d snapped her neck instead of the random stranger who’d killed her. If she’d stayed where she was supposed to be – in Eden, with me – she’d still be alive. Her locket would be safe, instead of in the hands of the police. His photo would still be secure.
He’d told Pastor that putting their wedding photos in the women’s lockets was a terrible idea, but the man seriously thought he was infallible. After thirty years of being told he was God’s emissary, Eden’s own priest, Pastor believed his own press and had developed a serious God complex.
But Pastor was old. And I’m next in line. The only threat to his taking control of Eden after Pastor’s death was DJ Belmont.
And I’m about to grind him into the ground like the cockroach he is. As soon as he dragged little Mercy back to Eden, he’d be able to prove that DJ had lied. DJ had sworn to Pastor that he’d killed Mercy and buried her where her body would never be found.
But DJ’s lie was evidenced by the young woman walking into the ladies’ room, all by herself.
That she’d separated from her companions was a bit of luck. He didn’t want to have to kill the other two women, but he would if he had to. He wanted to take only Mercy back with him.
Where she belonged. And nobody was going to stop him.
Two
Sacramento, California
Saturday, 15 April, 5.03 P.M.
Luckily the ladies’ room was completely unoccupied and quiet. She could think in the quiet. Not that she really wanted to think.
She was back in California. Back to Gideon. Back to Rafe. And back to the memories of Eden that seemed so much closer to the surface here.
Eden. As much as she dreaded having to face Gideon and Rafe again, just being in California had her nearly hyperventilating. Eden was here, somewhere. Somewhere north of Sacramento, way up in the mountains where monsters could hide and continue their abuse.
Monsters like Ephraim Burton and DJ Belmont. She shuddered. DJ had killed her mother, but it was Ephraim who’d terrified her to the depths of her soul. He still did. The memory of him, big and hulking, harsh hands that hit and hit, still had the power to reduce her to the traumatized girl she’d been. His one eye, intense and so cruel. His body that had . . . hurt her.
Say the word, Mercy. He raped you for an entire year. Until she’d nearly died. She would have died, had it not been for her mother’s sacrifice.
But Mama had sacrificed, enabling Mercy’s and Gideon’s escapes. Gideon had been searching for Eden ever since. He’d become a special agent with the FBI, to help people. To find Eden. To free the others who were still enslaved. Still afraid and hurting. While I ran away to hide from him, to hide from life. To hide from everything. All the while refusing to help him find the monsters that had taken everything.
No more. Everything had changed, all because of Gideon and his passion for the truth. The FBI knew about Ephraim Burton now. They knew that he’d been Harry Franklin before robbing a bank had sent him into hiding. Had sent him to Eden. An FBI task force was looking for him.
If they found him, they’d arrest him for murder and sexual assault. So many victims. The FBI would want her to testify against him. She’d have to see him again. To look at the face that still haunted her nightmares.
The angry bees in her gut swarmed and she was abruptly glad she hadn’t had anything to eat on the plane. Ephraim Burton was out there. And so was DJ Belmont. Walking the earth as free men when her mother was dead. And I’ve been hiding all this time, afraid of my own shadow.
No more. Because she’d returned to do the right thing. ‘I may still be afraid,’ she muttered quietly, ‘but I’m sure as hell not hiding anymore.’
She looked up, stared at her own reflection. She was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. But her eyes were clear and she straightened her spine, suddenly refilled with purpose. You are not weak. You have survived. You are here. And you are not a little girl anymore, cowering in fear as he raped you. You’re a grown woman, in charge of your future.
She was here in Sacramento to make amends. To Gideon, to Rafe. But if she could make amends and destroy the men who’d tortured her and her mother and so many others at the same time?
That was an empowering thought. ‘You can do this,’ she said to the woman in the mirror.
She would make amends. She would make the men who hurt her mother pay. One step, one breath at a time. I’m back, you sons of bitches.
Mercy gave a hard nod to her reflection. She knew what she had to do now. She wasn’t sure how to do it, but she wouldn’t have to do it alone.
She had Gideon. And Rafe. They might hate her, but they’d help her take Ephraim and DJ down, because they were both good men who did the right thing.
And it wasn’t like she’d have to face Ephraim today. The FBI was searching for him, but it wasn’t like he was going to pop up and surrender himself. So she had a little while to bolster herself.
She turned to the mirror to give her face a light coating of foundation and to apply her lipstick. At least she didn’t look like death warmed over, even if that was exactly how she felt.
Gathering her things, she squared her shoulders and walked from the ladies’ room.
Only to come to an abrupt halt, her breath seizing in her lungs. No. It’s not possible. It’s a dream. A nightmare. It’s not real.
But then her nightmare smiled, a glass eye glinting as it reflected the overhead lights. ‘Hello, wife.’
The eye was new, but the voice was familiar. So damn familiar. You like it, don’t you. Tell me you like it. Tell me. Tell me or I’ll break your fucking arm, you little whore.
Mercy stared up at him, her mind beginning to fuzz, little black dots dancing in her vision. Ephraim. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be real.