“We appreciate that,” André said. “We would have been on alert, but now even more so.”

Mercy’s mind was still churning through the information they weren’t supposed to have. “If Ephraim left the campground as soon as he killed the honeymoon couple, he’d have gotten to Snowbush at about four thirty. And if he broke into Ginger’s house and took her from her bed, then staged a murder-suicide, he probably would have left Snowbush at five thirty. Or so,” she added with an awkward shrug, because everyone in the vehicle was staring at her. “Which means he could be here by now.” Which put new terror in her heart. “Of course, he could have been anyway if he left the campground and came straight here.” She swallowed hard. “I guess I hoped you’d put him out of commission for a little while, Rafe.”

Because Rafe’s shot had hit him. Mercy remembered the look of shock on Ephraim’s face, the fury and pain immediately after.

Rafe took the other hand she still clenched in a fist and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles before tugging her fingers free and twining them with his own, just as Farrah had done. He placed their joined hands on Rory and started petting his fur.

“I’ll aim higher the next time,” Rafe promised. “I won’t miss.”

Higher. Like between-Ephraim’s-eyes higher. “I hope it hurts him,” she whispered, but her mind went back to the situation in Snowbush. “Ginger didn’t remember Ephraim coming into the store. Only DJ. So if Ephraim did kill Ginger, Nick Corwin, and his wife, either Corwin called Ephraim directly or whoever Corwin called did. I’d assumed that was DJ, but now I don’t know.”

André leaned around the front passenger seat so that he could see them. “That was a fair assumption. But it’s also true that whoever brought Ginger to that house left her car there. How did he get away afterward? It’s possible that two people were involved, that one of them killed Ginger and the others and the other drove the getaway vehicle.”

“A very good point,” Tom said. “If I pass it on to my boss, I’ll have to take credit for it, though. Since . . . you know. Need-to-know and all that shit.”

André grinned. “Take the credit, rookie. I consider it a fair trade.”

Everyone went quiet for a few minutes, and then, behind them, Liza sighed. “Anyone want a bar? Because I eat when I’m nervous and I’ve already had three.”

“Pass ’em forward,” Tom said. “But save a few for Gideon and Daisy. Agent Schumacher will pick them up from the radio station and then we’ll all be on our merry way.”

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 10:30 A.M.

Jeff’s mother dropped onto the sofa with a tired groan. “I’m running on fumes, Jeffy. How are you still conscious?”

Jeff bounced on his toes before sitting beside her. “I’m buzzed, Mom. That went so well.” And it had. The coordinator from the rape crisis center had really gone for his idea, and Daisy had passed it on to the local paper. They’d named it Their Stories, and they already had a few survivors who’d submitted videos to the coordinator.