He told himself that again as he pulled his second phone from his pocket. He hadn’t made a single call on it and wouldn’t use it for anything but talking to Pastor.

He dialed the man’s cell phone number from memory, relieved when he got Pastor’s voice mail. He wasn’t sure he could pull this off without losing his cool if he heard Pastor’s voice.

“Hi, it’s Ephraim.” He made his tone both raspy and self-deprecating. “I dropped my phone and it broke. Had to buy a new one. You can reach me at this number.” He faked a cough and cleared his throat before reciting his new digits. “I’m in Sacramento now, by the way.” Best to ’fess up, since Pastor knew he was there. “I . . . well, I met an old friend from my high school days when I was in San Francisco. An old girlfriend, actually. She’s a pediatrician now and said it looked like I might have strep throat. She invited me home and she has a kid. A daughter. I’m going to stay here for a few days and she’s getting me some antibiotics for the strep. No good bringing it back to the compound, right? Gotta go. Call if you need to.”

He hung up and rolled his eyes. He’d sounded like he was lying. Pastor would know it. But then, so would DJ, if Pastor mentioned it. Which Ephraim was pretty sure he would. DJ would know something was up, and maybe it would make him nervous.

Of course it might make DJ strike out and further defame him, but Ephraim was beyond caring. When he brought Mercy back to Eden, he’d make sure the whole compound knew that both Pastor and DJ had been lying to them.

The thought made him smile as he got comfortable, his gaze still fixed on the Sokolov house. He’d bought himself some time, at least.

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 7:30 P.M.

Mercy rubbed at her sore eyes. Her head hurt and the ibuprofen Irina had given her wasn’t working nearly fast enough. Her face felt like hamburger from crying so much, and Farrah didn’t look any better. They were surrounded by friends and family, of course. André was at Farrah’s side, Daisy at Gideon’s. Rafe was a solid presence next to her. Sasha sat with Karl at the head of the table, Karl looking . . . a little older than he had when she’d first arrived the day before. He still felt bad about how he’d told her about the damn article last night, but Mercy was completely past that. Now she grappled with what seemed to be the actual truth about the kid who’d posted the video evidence of another violation of her body, of her soul. Of whatever innocence she’d thought she’d had left at the time.

Tom Hunter was also at the table, having arrived a few minutes before. He’d come to ask her questions about Eden, but also to tell her about Jeff Bunker, the sixteen-year-old journalism student who’d dragged her past through the mud. He’d been surprised to learn that Bunker had already been there, to apologize and deliver a letter to Mercy. As far as Mercy knew, no one had told him the small detail about Rafe’s near-throttling of the idiotic boy. Hearing that part of the story from Rafe had made her a little happy, she had to admit.