The shot missed Ephraim, hitting one of the gateposts instead. His uninjured arm around Farrah’s throat, he dragged her toward the Tahoe, both its front doors open, the motor still running. He’d deftly pulled a golden gun from his pocket, shoving the barrel against Farrah’s temple.

“Back off, Gideon,” Ephraim shouted, “or I’ll kill her. I swear it.”

Unable to remain silent, Mercy stepped around Rafe. “No!” she screamed as loudly as she could.

Ephraim swiveled his head toward Mercy, and André used the momentary distraction to leap to his feet, pulling his own weapon to aim at Ephraim. André’s voice boomed as he commanded, “Let her go.”

Shoot him now! Mercy wanted to scream. But she could see Ephraim’s finger on the trigger and logically knew that even if the bastard got shot in the head, he could release the trigger on reflex in death and Farrah would die. But the logic didn’t calm the frantic need to scream, so she clenched her teeth, keeping the words inside.

“Drop your guns and step back, boys,” Ephraim barked. “Or I will pull the trigger. I’ll shoot her head off. I have absolutely nothing to lose.”

Farrah’s eyes had closed and her mouth moved, no sounds coming out. But Mercy could see the words on her lips. Please, God, please. Farrah was praying.

Mercy followed suit, afraid to draw a breath.

Gideon and André dropped their guns and stepped back, both breathing hard, fists clenched. Gideon continued to back away, inching toward his Suburban. He was going to follow them.

“You too, blondie,” Ephraim said, jutting his chin toward Rafe. His eyes were wild. “Then I need to see your hands. Gideon, stop moving, right now. I swear to God, I will shoot her. My finger is fucking itchy.”

André shifted, his hands visible, but curved, as if he wanted to get his hands on Ephraim’s neck again. “I will kill you if you harm one hair on her head.”

“But she’ll still be dead,” Ephraim snapped. “Blondie, drop the fucking gun.”

Rafe dropped his weapon to the snow, and Mercy wanted to pick it up. But it wouldn’t make any difference. She’d only fired a weapon a few times in her life and she didn’t want to get Farrah killed.

“Very smart.” Using Farrah as a shield, he backed up until he could hoist himself into the Tahoe. In one movement he put the SUV in gear and shoved Farrah away. She landed on her knees in the snow, collapsing onto her hands as Ephraim floored it, nearly hitting the gatepost when the Tahoe fishtailed as it raced away.

Both André and Rafe dove for their guns, both firing at the Tahoe as it sped out of view. André gave chase, shooting as he ran.

Rafe muttered something about his “fucking cane” as he moved toward his Subaru, dragging his bad leg behind him.

Gideon had already jumped into his Suburban and . . . nothing. Mercy could hear him cursing as she ran to Farrah’s side, dropping to her knees to draw her friend close.