“I know,” she said calmly, and he could feel his anger draining away. “But I’ll bet you that she doesn’t.”

Rafe needed a minute to process this. “What are you suggesting?”

“I have a wedding photo of her son and me. I’m very worried about his well-being. I haven’t seen him in too long and I’m worried because I don’t know where he’d go.” She batted her eyelashes. “I’m very worried, Rafe.”

He shook his head, not sure where to even start. “I tried to talk to her and she told me to go to hell. It’ll never work. She won’t talk to you.”

“Then I’ve only wasted a day in my life. I can assure you that I’ve wasted far more worrying for real about Ephraim Burton.” She dropped the facade and let him see that worry. “He shot Gideon. Luckily he was wearing that Kevlar vest. Ephraim shot Erin. He shot Sasha. He stabbed André and held Farrah at gunpoint. He would have killed all of you. I can’t live with that. If you don’t want to go with me, I can accept that. But I will go. And I’ll tell Agent Hunter that. Agent Molina, too. Short of arresting me or putting me in protective custody, they can’t stop me from entering a nursing home to visit my own mother-in-law.”

She was terrifyingly serious. “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?” he asked wearily.

“No.”

“Then I’ll go with you. Let me make a few phone calls.”

She nodded once. “Thank you. And then maybe we can go to sleep. I’m really tired.”

He could see it now, the bone-deep fatigue she’d masked as serenity. “Sleep sounds wonderful.”

EDEN, CALIFORNIA

MONDAY, APRIL 17, 11:55 P.M.

“Papa, I’m cold.”

Amos tightened his arms around Abigail, wishing he’d brought another blanket. The days on the mountain were cold enough, even though it was spring, but the nights . . .

Temperatures had dropped below freezing and his little girl was shivering violently despite the three blankets he’d already wrapped around her. He wished he could start a fire, but that was an impossibility. All he could do was hope his body heat would be enough.

“I know, baby. It shouldn’t be too much longer now. But you need to be very, very quiet, okay?”

She nodded wordlessly, her eyes huge in her small face. But she said no more, obedient and still. Maybe for the first time in her life. He’d told her that they were going away on an adventure and that she’d have to be very, very quiet. Like a mouse. He’d told her that it would be dangerous, but that he’d make sure she was safe. But that she was to obey him without question.

She’d nodded, her eyes suddenly way too old for a girl of seven. “Are we coming back, Papa?” she’d asked.

He’d told her that he didn’t know. Which was true enough. He prayed the answer was no, but . . .