He nodded numbly. “I will.”

She tsked. “That’s what you always say, Brother Amos. If you slice your finger off, I can’t fix it. Then how will you take care of that pretty little girl of yours?”

He mumbled something in response that seemed to please her, but he couldn’t hear himself speak over the pounding in his head.

They had a computer. Here. In Eden.

They also had a killer here in Eden.

And Amos had no doubt that if anyone found out what he knew, he’d be killed, too. God, please help me get my baby girl out of this place before they do.

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

SATURDAY, APRIL 15, 5:10 P.M.

“Mercy!” Rafe Sokolov lifted his cane to strike the man a second time, but his legs were unsteady. The man toppled him to the floor with one hard sweep of his arm, glaring, his face one that Rafe knew all too well.

Ephraim Burton, the devil himself.

Rafe had seen the photo of Burton, found two months before in a locket—silver, engraved with two children kneeling under an olive tree, all under the spread wings of an angel with a flaming sword. The symbol of Eden. Of evil. He’d memorized every line of the man’s face, hating him with every fiber of his existence. This man had hurt Rafe’s best friend, Gideon. And even though she’d never said so, Rafe was certain that he’d also hurt Mercy.

That he was the man who had raped Mercy when she was only twelve years old.

“Mercy!” Rafe shouted again, but she didn’t turn around. Didn’t move.

Burton scrambled to his feet, kicking Rafe hard in the hip. “You’re insane. Stay away from me!” he said and moved to grab Mercy again. “Come along, dear. You’re okay. Let’s just leave.”

“No!” Rafe thundered. Lurching forward, he hooked the curve of his cane around Burton’s leg and yanked with all his strength.

Burton stumbled and cursed, but Rafe was already on his knees, yelling at the top of his lungs as he pulled his gun from his holster. “Police! Stop or I’ll shoot.”

Burton spun around to look at him, dragging Mercy around with him.

Rafe sucked in a breath that burned. He’d dreamed about Mercy throughout the long weeks since she’d run from Sacramento. From me. And from her brother. But she hadn’t looked like this, so lost. Remote.

Rafe had seen her like this one other time—on the security video that had captured her abduction by a killer two months ago. She’d gone blank then, like a zombie. She looked like that now. Standing there, in the clutches of a man who aimed to hurt her. Again. She wasn’t fighting.

She wasn’t even . . . there. She’d checked out of her current reality. The realization made Rafe’s blood run cold.

“Who the hell are you?” Burton snarled, shattering Rafe’s panic. Restoring his focus.

“The man who’s going to kill you if you don’t let her go right now,” he snarled back, aiming his gun at Burton’s fucking head. Then, raising his voice again, Rafe shouted, “Someone call 911. I need police assistance!”