Closing her eyes, Mercy pursed her lips. “Dammit, Rafe,” she whispered.

“I know,” he whispered back. “We’ll find him, Mercy.”

“I hate this,” she said, fists clenched and voice breaking. “I hate that innocent people are dying because of him. Because he’s after me.”

“I hate that he’s after you, period,” Rafe said. “But last night you promised not to make yourself a target again. I’m going to hold you to that.”

She opened her eyes, devastated tears spilling over and running down her cheeks. “I keep my promises.”

He exhaled, not having realized he’d been holding his breath. “Thank you.”

TWENTY-THREE

RENO, NEVADA

TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 10:05 A.M.

Again, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Edie,” Amos said, shouldering his backpack, Abigail’s small hand clutched in his. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble for us.”

“It’s no trouble,” Edie assured him with a smile. She’d changed out of her McDonald’s uniform and now wore a tunic that said SMITH’S. “I’m happy to help.”

She pushed open the door to the public library and walked in, pausing a moment to breathe deeply. She looked at them over her shoulder. “I love the smell of books.” Then she smiled. “Do you like books, Abigail?”

Amos glanced down to see his daughter’s eyes wide once again. Her mouth had fallen open and the expression on her face was one of awe.

“Papa,” she breathed. “So many books.”

He squeezed her hand lightly. “Miss Edie asked you a question, Abigail. Do you like books?”

“Oh yes. Yes, ma’am. But I’ve never seen so many.”

Edie looked around fondly. “When I was your age, the library was my favorite place.” She leaned down to whisper, “You want to know a secret? It still is.”

Abigail grinned, saying nothing at all, content to simply take it all in.

Edie straightened. “Let’s find Miss Abigail some books. Then I can show you how to use the computer.”

She strode toward the children’s section, leaving Amos and Abigail to follow. Amos chuckled when Abigail took off after her, dragging him along. For all her energy, Abigail loved stories. They’d had only a few books in Eden, all well worn, well read. Amos still had a few books that had belonged to Mercy. One of his best memories was reading Mercy a story before tucking her into bed each night.

It had been an impulse to tuck one of Mercy’s old books into his backpack, a slim volume of fairy tales that Amos had found in the pile of her and Rhoda’s belongings that Pastor had planned to burn after their bodies had been buried. Rhoda’s body, anyway. Like Gideon, only Mercy’s remains had been found. Unlike Gideon, Mercy’s remains had not been brought back to Eden. DJ had buried her in the woods, so as not to attract wild animals while he’d searched for Rhoda.

Or so he’d said.

Amos didn’t believe anything that any of Eden’s leaders had told him. Not anymore.