“Who found his car, Mom?” Rafe said, closing his eyes, his struggle for control visible.

“One of the patrolmen near the airport. Damien’s car was crashed into a tree. They think he was run off the road.” Irina choked on a sob. “There was blood, Raphael. So much blood.” She broke into harsh sobs. “We need to find him. Oh God, what if he’s dead?”

There was a shushing behind her, followed by Karl’s voice, murmuring soft words in Russian. He must have pulled Irina into his arms, because her sobs became muffled. Heartbreaking.

Mercy closed her eyes. This has to stop. I have to make this stop.

“We’ll find him, Mom,” Rafe promised, his words desperate and filled with pain. “Farrah and André are missing, too.”

The silence on the other end was abrupt. “Oh God,” Irina whispered. “He got them all. What are we going to do?”

Mercy stood up and went to the closet for her coat. We’re not going to do anything. I’m going to give Ephraim whatever the hell he wants.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rafe demanded.

Mercy was spun around, Rafe’s hand gripping her arm. His expression was both panicked and full of rage.

“Raphael?” Irina asked sharply from the phone, clutched in Rafe’s other hand. He’d propelled himself from the sofa without his cane and now leaned against the wall for balance. “What is wrong?”

Rafe stared down at Mercy, eyes flashing. “What is wrong is that Mercy is putting on her coat. Like she thinks she’s going somewhere.”

Even in his anger, his grip was gentle. Mercy had no problem prying his fingers from her arm. “Let me go,” she whispered. “Please. I have to make this stop.”

Shocked gasps came from the speaker. “Mercy, no,” Irina cried. “You will not sacrifice yourself. Don’t even think it.”

Mercy’s lips trembled. “He’s hurting everyone. And he just wants me.”

“Mercy,” Karl said, his voice breaking. “You will solve nothing this way. Even if you knew how or where to give yourself up, that doesn’t mean he’ll let Damien and the others go.”

If they’re still alive. The words were on her tongue, but she bit them back.

And then her phone began to buzz in her hand. The caller ID read Ro.

“I think we’re about to find out how and where I give myself up,” Mercy said quietly.

“On speaker,” Rafe demanded. “Everyone hush. It’s Farrah’s phone.”

Farrah’s phone. Not Farrah. Mercy hit ACCEPT and the speaker button. “Ro?”

“No.”

Mercy stiffened, the sly voice making her knees buckle. Ephraim Burton. Gripping the closet door, she locked her legs and drew a breath. “What do you want?”

“Only what I’ve always wanted. You, my dear wife.”

Rafe swallowed hard, his jaw bulging from clenching his teeth. But he remained quiet, staring at the phone as if he could make it give up Ephraim’s location.

“Where?” was all Mercy could reply. Think. Think, goddammit. Keep him talking. The longer she kept him talking, the better chance they had of tracing this call. Right? Please let that be right.