“Oh, you’re right.” She was halfway to the bathroom before she looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

He grinned at her, the dread at her eventual departure stepping aside as his cock took notice. “Am I?”

“If you’re very good and very quick because afterward, I want you to make me pancakes.”

He pulled himself to his feet. “I can do that.”

“And then call Damien. He said you owe him pancakes for having to listen to us last night.”

“I’d say that’s a small price to pay.”

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 19, 11:28 A.M.

“Mercy!” Rafe called. “It’s time for the call with the deputy warden. Come out already.”

Mercy checked her reflection one last time. Hair, check. Makeup, check. No bags under her eyes, courtesy of a decent night’s sleep. She tugged at the collar of her turtleneck. Hickey hidden, check.

She joined Rafe on the sofa, where he had his laptop set up. “It’s not my fault. I told you to be quick.”

He smirked at her. “Like you didn’t enjoy it, too. Oh, here’s the warden. Right on time.” So she was blushing when Rafe answered the Skype call. “Warden Shipley. Thank you for calling me,” he said, his smile businesslike and definitely not blushing. “I’m Detective Sokolov, Sacramento PD. This is my friend Mercy Callahan. She’s a forensic investigator with New Orleans PD but is here as a civilian.”

Okay, so he did blush a little at “friend.” Mercy gave the woman a nod, mildly mollified. “Warden Shipley.”

“Hello,” Shipley said. She appeared to be somewhere around sixty years of age, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun. “I don’t have a lot of time, but your query caught my attention. Why are you asking about Aubrey Franklin and his associates, Detective?”

She already knew, Mercy thought. The warden was being cagey. And then Mercy had to bite her lip to keep from giggling at her own pun. Cagey. Prison warden. You’re just nervous. Calm down or you won’t get any information. Plus, she’s ignoring you. She knows who you are and that Aubrey Franklin’s brother connects to what’s been happening this week.

“Because his brother has been trying to either abduct me or kill me for the last four days,” Mercy answered before Rafe could. “He’s left a trail of bodies from New Orleans to Santa Rosa, with victims in Reno and Sacramento as well. Surely you’ve read about them?”

The woman’s smile was faint, but respectful. “Yes, I have. I wondered if you were planning to lie to me, so points to you. What does Aubrey Franklin’s incarceration in the eighties have to do with his brother’s murder spree now?”

“We think Harry Franklin’s had help,” Rafe said, squeezing Mercy’s hand out of camera view. “We were wondering if you could tell us about anyone Aubrey associated with while he was a guest at Terminal Island.”

Shipley frowned. “Help? From whom? You mean from other inmates currently incarcerated?”