“I can go undercover.”

“Probably not the best plan. You’re not supposed to be working this case and, besides, your face is all over the TV and Internet right now.”

And I actually tried to get inside and failed. Which, now that his face was all over the TV and the Internet, might make someone at the nursing home remember him anyway. Dammit.

Feeling helpless, Rafe met Tom’s gaze. “Mercy is my friend. So is Gideon. I’d do anything to keep them safe, and finding Burton will keep Mercy safe.”

“Then help me.” Tom lifted his tablet. “What else did you notice about Burton last night?”

Rafe scowled, then reconsidered. Tom hadn’t told him specifically not to get involved. Only that he wasn’t supposed to. I can work with that. “He didn’t really seem shocked when I called him by name. More . . . angry and a little resigned. Like he’d been afraid of it happening.”

“The locket,” Tom murmured. “We allowed CNN to show Eileen’s locket in the hopes that other Eden escapees would see it and come forward. But if Burton saw the locket . . .”

“He’d be worried that we know what’s inside it.”

Tom shrugged. “It’s the most likely scenario. Anything else?”

“Just that I’m still wondering how he knew she was flying to Sacramento yesterday. I know he was in New Orleans for almost a week, but that doesn’t account for how he knew she was leaving—and he took the flight before hers, so he couldn’t have followed her to the airport.”

Tom sighed softly. “I didn’t think anyone had called Dr. Romero yet.”

Rafe stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I figured her family would call her, but when I saw her sitting at your mother’s table I could tell that no one had. Her aunt, actually her great-aunt, I think, was found dead in her apartment sometime during the night. Whoever did it tried to make it look like a robbery, but the timing is very suspicious.”

“Oh no,” Rafe breathed. “Poor Farrah. But what does this have to do with Mercy?”

“Mercy and Quill Romero were next-door neighbors.”

“Oh God.” Rafe’s stomach began churning all over again. “Why has no one told Farrah?”

“I don’t know. “

Rafe surged to his feet, grabbing his cane to pace the length of the office, then stopped when a thought occurred. He dialed his next-door neighbor, Ned, who answered on the first ring.

“Rafe, what’s wrong?”

“Why would you think something’s wrong?”

“Because men in black visited your place about an hour ago.”

They had tried to tell Farrah, then. “Are they still there?”

“Hold on. I don’t think so, but I’ll look.”

Rafe looked over at Tom. “I think the Feds came by my house. Hold on, Ned’s back.”

“The black suits are gone, but there’s another guy outside, sitting on the hood of his car, watching your house. Big guy, like a football player. African American. Looks kind of sad, actually. He’s not a cop, at least he’s not wearing a uniform. Or a suit. He’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Looks like . . . Oh, it’s one of those golden fleur-de-lis things. New Orleans Saints, I guess.”