Ephraim opened the folder and . . . there she was. Mercy Callahan. He’d expected her companion to be the black woman he’d seen with her at the airport, but this person was Caucasian and, to his knowledge, wasn’t a Sokolov. This was what he’d been afraid of. He’d bet money that the woman was a cop. Which meant that the cops had the key to Ephraim’s safe-deposit box. And if they didn’t, she’d likely handed them over to her Fed brother. Fucking hell. “You say you just missed them?”

“Yes. What was the key for? The one your mother gave this woman?”

“I don’t know,” Ephraim lied.

Burkett’s brows lifted. “I think you do. I think it opens a safe-deposit box in a bank. And I think you’re going to tell me which one.”

“You do, do you? Why would I do that, even if I did know?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll call the police and tell them that I have the man they’ve been looking for since Saturday evening.”

“You think I’ll just wait here for them to come?”

“Yes, because in about two minutes, you’re going to be out like a light. If you tell me, I’ll make sure the police don’t find you. If you don’t, I’ll be placing a call to 911.”

What an asshole. Ephraim feigned fear. “If you call the cops, you’ll just implicate yourself. You harbored a fugitive when you operated on my eye.”

Burkett shrugged. “No records of that exist, and do you really think they’d believe anything you say?”

“Do you really believe you can get into my safe-deposit box even if I tell you where it is?” Rolling his eyes, Ephraim started to rise, but sank back into the sofa cushion when the doctor drew a pistol outfitted with a silencer.

“Where is the damn box, Harry?” Burkett snapped.

Ephraim stared at the barrel of Burkett’s gun. I should have shot him when I first walked in the door. That’ll teach me to be curious. “It won’t matter if I tell you or not. You can’t get into it without me.”

“But I bet your mother still can.” Burkett smiled. “You took her keys, but did you remove her as an authorized co-renter?”

Fuck. No, he hadn’t. He’d taken her key, but he hadn’t removed her as someone authorized to open the box. Ephraim pursed his lips, abruptly furious with himself and with Burkett. And with his mother, if he was being honest. It wasn’t her fault that she had dementia, but it had become a fucking pain in his ass.

“What do you think is in the box?” he asked, stifling a yawn. He hadn’t swallowed any of what was probably drugged coffee, but he’d also had a very long day.

“The money you and your brother stole from that bank thirty years ago. I figure that with Aubrey dead, you get to keep it all.”

Oh. Now it made sense. His mother hadn’t known that they’d given all the money to Pastor to invest as payment for joining Eden. “It’s marked,” he said. Which it had been. Apparently Pastor’s connections had known how to launder it before socking it away offshore.