The man chuckled. “A little out of practice, but I ain’t dead yet.”

“Always a good day when you can say that,” Mercy said.

The door to the room opened and they could hear Agent Simpson say, “Oh, there you are. Your friends are waiting for you. I’ll show you the way out.”

“Take care,” the man called.

“You too,” Mercy called back.

Then the two women were running after Simpson. Rafe was out of the office like a shot, Gideon on his heels, while Tom radioed Agent Schumacher that they were on their way out and to prepare to leave quickly. They caught up to Mercy and Liza at the van. Liza was already in the back and André was helping a visibly shaken Mercy into the middle seat.

“What happened?” Farrah demanded from the other side of Mercy.

“We’ll tell you when we’re on the road,” Hunter replied, throwing himself behind the wheel and starting the van. “Just go to the other car, Gideon. Agent Schumacher and I will coordinate a meet when we’re away from here.”

Gideon ran to the other FBI vehicle, and twenty seconds later, they were headed out of the parking lot.

The van was silent for a long moment, and then Mercy laughed, the sound slightly manic. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest, then patted the cat carrier on her lap. “Sorry, Rory. That was intense. I hope you don’t throw up.”

“Same here,” Liza grumbled. “I feel like I did when we rode the Goliath coaster six times straight at Six Flags.”

“That one ended poorly,” Tom said. “Told you to stop after the fifth time.”

Liza fanned herself, panting. “Holy shit. What happened in there? Everything was fine, then we were ducking into the nearest foxhole.”

“Belinda Franklin’s doctor came in,” Rafe told her. “He doesn’t like her to have visitors and thinks her dementia’s a lot further along than Agent Simpson does.”

“Agent Simpson was the woman who grabbed us at the end, I assume?” Liza asked.

“Yes,” Rafe said. “But, Hunter? We need to check out that doctor. Remember we were talking about Ephraim’s glass eye? How a surgeon needed to do it? What if that guy was the doctor who did it?”

“You’re right,” Hunter said grimly.

“I saw him enter,” André said. “He looked angry. I wrote down license plate numbers for every vehicle that entered the lot after you guys went inside, so we have the doctor’s.”

“Thanks,” Tom said. “Can you text it to me? Once my adrenaline crashes, I might not remember.”

“Of course,” André said, then looked over his shoulder, concerned. “Are you okay, Mercy?”

Farrah cradled Mercy’s cheek in her palm. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“I’m great, actually.” She lifted her chin. “I didn’t flake out. Not a single zombie moment.”

Rafe slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “You were amazing. And when you and Belinda sang that song . . . What was that? Did Ephraim really sing it to you?”