“Fucking hell.” It was a still photo of Ephraim Burton, a gun pointed at the young woman, who looked absolutely terrified. She’d also had a gun but clearly was too afraid to use it. “Wait. If he has a gun—with a silencer—why didn’t he just shoot her? Why use precious seconds to break her neck?”

Erin gave him an impressed nod. “You are awake. Good boy. I wondered the same thing. And after seeing your ugly mug on the news last night, I figured you needed to know what this asshole is capable of doing. And that he’d be disguised.”

Rafe grimaced. “I’m on the news?”

She shook her head. “That’s what you took away from all this?”

He shot her an irritated glance. “Fuck off,” he said, but it was completely without heat. He and Erin had a very comfortable working relationship and he was afraid she’d get teamed up with someone else before he could get back on the job. “What I meant was that if I’m on the news, that’s probably how the reporters figured out where Mercy was last night.”

“Not a huge stretch. Why aren’t they outside your place? I was surprised that I didn’t have to run the media gauntlet.”

“Mom and Dad’s address is in the white pages, but this place isn’t because when I bought out my brothers and sisters, I planned to rent it out. The deed’s in the name of my rental corporation.”

“That was smart.” She lifted a brow. “I assume you lost them when you came back here last night, because they would have followed you.”

“I did. My mom wore Mercy’s coat and a big hat and my Dad called her Mercy as he helped her into his car. The news van that was still there took the bait and followed them around while Damien got us home. Mercy and Farrah hid in the back under a blanket.”

“How is Mercy, by the way?”

“Confused and scared. And pissed off.” He sighed. “And ashamed that the video was posted, even though she knows she didn’t do anything wrong.”

But his mother had smoothed some of Mercy’s anxiety about the video the night before by sharing some of her own story. Which Rafe still couldn’t think about without wanting to throw up. Well, both their stories made him want to throw up. But mostly they’d made him want to kill some rapists.

Which isn’t helping.

“I’m sorry,” Erin murmured. “I only met Mercy a few times when she was here before, but I liked her. She’s a strong woman.”

“That she is,” Rafe said, and even he could hear the pride in his voice.

Erin chuckled. “So it’s like that, huh? Well, good luck, big guy. I’ll get you a vest from tactical storage just in case Gideon goes all caveman protective on your ass.”

Rafe was not even going there. “Why did Burton snap the woman’s neck if he had a gun?” He squinted at the photo, using thumb and forefinger to enlarge it, studying the weapon, inwardly sneering at its flashy gold color. “That’s an FNX-45. It would have killed her and anyone standing behind her. So why not just shoot her?”