“Shit,” Ephraim breathed. “But if he’s on foot, he can’t have gotten far, even in a day.”

“And that’s why I said we may need a surrogate. We’re hoping we find them. DJ is out searching.”

And lying. DJ wasn’t looking for Amos. DJ is looking for me.

“I’m stunned, Pastor.” And Ephraim truly was. “Amos is faithful.”

“I know. I was hoping you might know why he left, seeing as how you’ve been gone all this time as well.”

Ah. That explains it. He thinks I helped him. Which was ludicrous. Ephraim didn’t help anyone except himself. “I didn’t know he was planning to run. I would have told you.”

Unlike that prick DJ, who—either willingly or not—helped Mercy escape. Or Waylon, who let Gideon go free.

“I know.” Pastor sighed. “I’m frustrated. I’m sure you understand that.”

“Of course,” Ephraim said, forcing sympathy into his voice, but the words left a sour taste. Pastor wouldn’t have called if he didn’t think Ephraim could be responsible.

Mercy would change everything. No longer would Pastor suspect him for everything that went wrong. DJ would be the odd man out, and then DJ would be dead.

And as long as Mercy still had that damn key to the safe-deposit box, Pastor would never know how close they’d come to their location being outed to the whole world.

“I need to go, Pastor. My mother needs me.”

Ephraim ended the call, mentally promising his mother that he’d visit as soon as he could, but with his face on the news and without Burkett to bring her from the nursing home on day breaks, that visit wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.

For now, he’d focus on his immediate goal. Getting Mercy back. He opened the door to the camper. “Wake up, Dr. Romero. I need you.”

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 19, 12:00 P.M.

Six missed calls. Mercy dialed Mama Romero and put the call on speaker, her heart pounding so hard that she barely heard the line ringing.

“Mercy? Oh my dear Lord, Mercy. Is Farrah with you?”

“No,” Mercy whispered. “I saw her off to the airport at about four this morning. She was with André and Damien Sokolov, Rafe’s cop brother. Why?”

“She didn’t get off the plane.” Mama Romero’s voice was pitched high and bordered on hysteria. “They said she never boarded, Mercy. Where is my daughter?”

Mercy’s blood ran cold. “I don’t know. But we’ll find her. I promise. I need to go so I can find out what’s going on. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

She ended the call and stared at Rafe helplessly. He was dialing his mother, the remaining color in his face draining away.

“Mom?” he asked hoarsely as he put his phone on speaker.

“Rafe. Oh my God.” Irina was crying. “They found your brother’s car. The police. They found his car. He never came home. Never called Jemma. He’s missing, Rafe. My son is missing.”