He rose, taking her hand. The Sokolov women had watched them and were visibly shaken. “I think you must have a story to tell us, Mr. Terrill,” Irina said. “Come. You can tell us about your journey and we can tell you about Mercy.”

“And you can show them your pictures, Papa,” Abigail offered.

Amos’s hand went to his shirt pocket where the Polaroids were safely tucked along with his grandfather’s pocket watch. “I can.”

SANTA ROSA, CALIFORNIA

TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 1:25 P.M.

“A wire?” From her position in the van’s middle seat, Mercy stared in disbelief at the microphone Tom Hunter held in his hand, the device disguised as a butterfly lapel pin. “You want me to wear a wire? Like Ephraim’s mother is John Gotti or something?”

Standing at the van’s open door, Tom’s mouth twitched up on one side. “No, not like she’s John Gotti. More like she might be the only one to know where Ephraim would hide. But yes, I want you to wear a wire. We can’t go in there with you and we need to know what’s said. This is a camera that will transmit both video and audio to my phone. I’ll wait with Gideon and Rafe while Liza goes with you into Mrs. Franklin’s room.”

“For the record, I’m still against staying in the lobby,” Gideon grumbled. He’d left the vehicle that he and Daisy had ridden in, still visibly annoyed at being sidelined.

Rafe only scowled. He’d already made his objections known, but apparently Agent Molina was pulling the strings, even if she hadn’t physically joined them.

Mercy could understand their point of view, but she also saw the extreme possible downsides. “Sorry, Gideon, I have to agree with Molina on this one. If Ephraim—I mean Harry—told his mother that you stabbed his eye out after killing her other son? I think your presence might do more harm than good.”

Gideon nearly pouted. “Yeah, but still.”

Mercy nearly smiled. “Yeah, but still.” She turned to Rafe. “And if I’m supposed to be Harry Franklin’s worried wife, having you hovering over me looking all protective and alpha male won’t look right, either.” She softened her words with a smile. “But I wish you both could be there with me. I’m . . . nervous. What if I don’t know what to say? What if she won’t talk to me at all?”

Farrah squeezed her hand. “You’ll be fine. And if she doesn’t talk to you, we’re no worse off than we were before.”

It was what Mercy had been telling herself, but now that they were in the nursing home parking lot, she wasn’t so sure.

She gave Rory an absent pet. “I wish I could take you with me,” she murmured.

“Go ahead and take him,” André offered from the front passenger seat. “Tell the staff that he’s a comfort cat. Or at least that he comforts you. I’m sure they’d buy that this is a stressful visit for you.”