Unbelievably he smiled. “I love you, Mom.”

She sniffed. “So you have said.” Then she blinked, sending fresh tears down her cheeks. “I love you too, sinok rodnoy moi. You have a good heart. But terrible table-waiting skills, yes? I remember the job you lost because you spilled an entire tray of drinks on that poor woman. So I will carry this tray myself.”

Rafe’s laugh was more like a hiccuped sob. “You’re not wrong, Mom. Thank you.” He wanted to say so much more, but he didn’t even know where to start. But he didn’t think he needed to when she kissed his cheek on her way out.

Rafe sat between his father and sister with a sigh.

“This day sucks,” Sasha said sullenly.

“We need to cancel the interview,” Daisy said, stroking Brutus like her life depended on it.

“Let’s let Mercy decide that,” Karl said. “I made the mistake of assuming I knew her mind yesterday. Let’s not do that again.”

Personally, Rafe wanted to cancel the interview as well. He wanted to protect Mercy from the prying eyes that would, no doubt, translate to disgusting comments on social media, no matter what she said. But his father was right. Mercy had the right to make decisions for herself.

She was strong enough to hold her head high and deal with anything life threw at her. Stronger than me.

So he nodded to his father. “You’re right. We have a few hours before the interview. Let her make up her own mind.”

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 5:35 P.M.

“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Bunker. I am Special Agent in Charge Molina.” The stern woman at the head of the interrogation table pointed to the man sitting beside her. “This is Special Agent Hunter. I understand you have information for us.”

Stomach quaking, Jeff nodded at Molina and Hunter. I’m sitting at an interrogation table. I’m being interrogated. By the fucking FBI. This nightmare keeps going from bad to worse. He startled when his mother nudged him. “Oh, um, yes. Yes, ma’am.”

Molina didn’t smile. She studied him closely, making him wish that he hadn’t eaten before he’d come. And making him grateful that his mother had come with him, even though he was sixteen years old and should have been able to do this alone. No matter what the law said.

“Tell me your story,” Molina said briskly, almost as though she thought he was lying before he even got started.

He wiped his damp palms on his jeans. “Okay.” He looked away, trying to slow his pulse. “Sorry, I’m nervous.”

Molina said nothing, but his mother squeezed his knee. “Try to relax,” his mother murmured. “The worst is over.”

Jeff wasn’t sure about that. “Okay, um . . . okay. I’m a communications major at Sac State, concentrating in journalism. I got a job with Gabber. It’s a . . .” Piece of trash? Shit? “A gossip blog.”