Erin’s cheeks pinked up, confirming his suspicions. “Please say you’re not matchmaking.”

He obeyed, even though it was mostly a lie. “I’m not matchmaking.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s your mom making for dessert?”

“Bird’s milk cake.”

Erin hummed in a decent rendition of orgasmic bliss. “My favorite of all her desserts. I’m in.”

They were interrupted by an anxious voice from somewhere upstairs. “Rafe?”

“Farrah is Mercy’s friend,” he explained to Erin. “Down here, Farrah. My partner’s here. Come meet her.”

Footsteps sped down the stairs and Farrah appeared on the landing. “Where’s Mercy?”

Rafe thumbed over his shoulder, pointing to his apartment door. “Asleep. She’s fine, Farrah. She couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you.”

Farrah gave him a knowing look, then smiled at Erin as she descended, stopping to sit two stairs above them. “I feel like I’m on my mama’s stoop in the old neighborhood,” she said, her drawl like a soft blanket. “I’m Farrah Romero.”

The two women shook hands. “Erin Rhee. My job was keeping this one here out of trouble.”

“I hope they gave you hazard pay,” Farrah said lightly. “Mercy told me about you. How you helped save her. Thank you.”

“My job,” Erin said simply. “But also my honor.”

Farrah only flashed her a bright smile. “I’ll make breakfast if someone has eggs and bacon.”

“I do,” Sasha called from the second floor. “Farrah, come help me whip something up. Rafe, I heard that Mercy’s asleep, but you can’t do the stairs. We’ll bring you something, okay?”

“Think Mercy slept through all that?” Erin whispered.

“Given how tired she was, I’m betting she did.” Farrah got up. “Coming, Sasha! Y’all sit tight. We’ll be back in a jiff.”

Rafe watched her go, then turned back to Erin. “Did Tiff say who the body in Santa Rosa was?”

“Oh, that was the most important part,” Erin said. “It was the home of Regina Jewel. From which she ran a brothel. One of the girls found her dead and used the dead woman’s cell phone to call 911. Police found twenty women in the house. Three were staff, the others were her ‘merchandise.’ Three of them were under fourteen. They told police that they were there for ‘Mr. Ephraim.’ Several of the older girls said they’d been forced to service him over the years, when they were thirteen and fourteen. Once they grew up, Regina placed them with other clients. They didn’t know Ephraim’s last name, but he’d show up three or four times a year.”

Rafe sat back, stunned. “Holy shit.”

“I know, right? What a fucker. He likes them young. And the golden gun?”

Rafe’s mind was reeling. “It must be Regina’s.”

She tapped her nose. “Right in one.”

“Holy shit,” Rafe breathed. “This could change everything.”

She looked at him warily. “How?”

“Ephraim is from Santa Rosa. That’s where he grew up as Harry Franklin. That he wound up frequenting prostitutes in Santa Rosa can’t be a coincidence. He could have found prostitutes in Redding or San Francisco or even here in Sacramento.”