Rafe’s jaw hurt, he was clenching it so hard. “And then?”

“Then he saw the bracelet and I think he thought it was funny to snap it. It . . . snapped me out of the zombie zone and I kneed him in the nuts.”

Rafe barked out a surprised laugh. “Good for you.”

She smiled at him. “I don’t know how to shoot like you guys, but I’m not entirely helpless. I wield a mean can of pepper spray. And I have a Taser, but I left it back in New Orleans.”

That she should have to arm herself made him angry as well, but that was more a fact of life than due to Burton. “I’m glad you found a way to derail the panic attacks, but I hate that it hurts you.”

“To me, it’s a fair trade. I think I need that moment to think. And you gave that to me today.”

He felt his cheeks heat, but not with embarrassment. It was pleasure and maybe a little pride. “I did?”

“You did. I could feel myself falling into it, like a dark nothing, but you were there and you were warm and you were talking to me and telling me that it would be okay. That you wouldn’t leave me. It gave me that little window of clear thought I needed to pull myself out of the free fall. So thank you.”

He lifted her wrist to his lips and brushed a kiss over the healing scratches. “You’re welcome. So what do we do next?”

She grinned again, her dimple appearing. “With the case?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, with the case.” But it was all he could do to keep his gaze from darting to the bed behind the painted screen.

“Boo,” she said, then squared her shoulders, almost as if she were bracing herself—but for what he wasn’t sure. Until she said, “I want to go to Santa Rosa, to the nursing home where his mother is.”

For a moment Rafe could only stare. “You want to do what?”

She didn’t repeat herself, merely sipped at her tea, her gaze still locked on his face.

He sighed. She fully expected him to argue with her, he could see it in her expression. “Why?”

“You could call it closure. I’d like to meet the woman who spawned Ephraim Burton, even if she called him Harry Franklin. Plus, I’d like to know if she’s seen him recently and knows where he’s hiding.”

“Don’t you think the FBI has tried to get that out of her?”

“Maybe. But they clearly weren’t successful or they would have found him.”

“Unless she doesn’t know.”

“She might not. I’d still like to talk to her. I am, after all, her daughter-in-law.”

He couldn’t hold back his rage this time. “No, you’re not,” he snarled. “You were never married to that monster. Not in the eye of the state of California or God or anyone with a shred of decency. There was no marriage license, for one. No license, no marriage. And he was already a bigamist. No marriage.”