He backed away from her until he reached the whiteboard. “I’ve been keeping myself occupied since you left.” Abruptly he flipped the board, revealing a bulletin board on the other side.

Mercy froze, her legs wobbling beneath her. The bulletin board was filled with photos, maps, and documents. Front and center was Ephraim Burton, glaring out of Eileen’s wedding photo with his one good eye, his other patched because Gideon had stabbed him.

Haltingly she took a step forward, then another, until she was a foot away, silently studying each photo in turn. There was a mug shot of Ephraim’s brother Edward from thirty years before. Ephraim’s senior class yearbook photo, in which he’d worn a bow tie. He was barely recognizable, he was so young. But there had been cold calculation in his eyes even then.

There were satellite maps of the wilderness around Mt. Shasta. Somewhere in those woods was the location of the compound when she and Gideon were children. There was a map of Santa Rosa, with an X marking a spot, a photo of a run-down house thumbtacked beside it. Next to that was a photo of an old woman, labeled Belinda Franklin, mother, then another photo of a nursing home sign. Sacred Heart Palliative Care.

She turned to the man standing silently beside her. “Rafe. My God. What is all this?”

“Everything I’ve been able to find in the last few weeks.”

“Does Gideon know?”

“No. I haven’t found a solid lead yet, but I’ve been looking.” He met her gaze, his piercing. “I can’t turn back time for you, Mercy. I can’t undo what Burton did to you, even though I’d do anything in my power to try. But I can help you find him. Help you get justice.”

Mercy could barely breathe. Emotion flooded her. Appreciation, gratitude. Respect. Affection, pure and unadulterated. He’d done this. For me. She opened her mouth, but no words would come out.

The expression on her face must have been enough, because he smiled grimly. “Do you want to work with me? Will you help me find him?”

Finally a few words came in a rough whisper. “Yes. Thank you.”

He gestured to the sofa. “Then let’s get started. It won’t be pleasant, but I need you to tell me everything that you remember about Eden.”

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 5:15 A.M.

To Rafe’s relief, Mercy sat on the sofa, her focus back on his bulletin board. The look she’d shot him before saying she still wanted to help had gripped him hard, making his heart pound and his eyes sting. It was raw gratitude, relief, and something more. Something that made him shove his hands in the pockets of his sweats because in that moment he’d needed to touch her. Needed to hold her.

But she was fragile and he wasn’t going to push.

“What do you want me to remember?” she asked, her voice soft. But not weak. There wasn’t a weak bone in that woman’s body.