In his ear, the operator was speaking. “Are you there, Detective?”

Rafe held his hand up to Sasha, silently asking for her patience. “I am.”

“I have an ambulance en route and I’ve notified the airport security to send any medical personnel they have on duty. I’ve also put out a BOLO on Harry Franklin, a.k.a. Ephraim Burton. Is he armed?”

“He must have been. His victim is bleeding from a wound in her side.” He looked around and saw a blade on the floor, having skittered up against the wall when he’d taken Burton down. He pointed it out to the officer, who’d returned and was doing a good job with crowd control. “Make sure no one touches it. Please.” To the operator he said, “He had a switchblade. He dropped it. It’s here and needs to be taken into evidence.”

“I’ll inform the first responders. Can you stay on the line?”

Rafe had to focus, a difficult task with Mercy sitting beside him like a doll, staring at nothing. “I need to contact the FBI. They’ve been searching for him. But I can use my sister’s phone for that.” He held out his hand and Sasha dropped her phone into his palm. He almost called Gideon but decided against it. Gideon would be too frantic to think clearly if Rafe blurted out that Mercy was here and had been hurt. Rafe had known that Mercy was coming because Sasha had told him, but they’d agreed not to tell Gideon, as Mercy had specifically asked that she be allowed to contact him herself when she arrived.

She hadn’t told Sasha anything about informing Rafe, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. All of his anxiety had been wrapped around seeing her again—would she be glad to see him or would his presence cause her to run back to New Orleans again?

Six weeks ago he’d pushed her for more than she’d been comfortable giving him, kissing her when he’d known he needed to give her more time. More space. She was a survivor of rape, for God’s sake. But he hadn’t been able to resist her lips when she’d smiled at him on that last day. But then she’d run, leaving him to curse himself for his clumsiness.

Why she’d returned was still a mystery, but Mercy wasn’t saying anything right now, even though her friend from New Orleans was pleading with her to speak.

I can’t do this to Gideon. Not right now. He found the contact information for Special Agent in Charge Molina, Gideon’s boss.

He handed Sasha his phone. “Stay with the 911 operator, please.”

Sasha swallowed hard. “What’s going on, Rafe?”

“Just wait. I need to make another call.”

The woman who’d followed Sasha dropped to her knees on Mercy’s other side, gently lifting the hem of her blouse. “It doesn’t look deep. I don’t think it’s bleeding anymore.”

Rafe exhaled, too relieved to speak for a moment. “Good. Just . . . I don’t know. Watch her for a minute.”