Amos shuddered out a breath. “I’ll remember.”

She nodded once, then slid from the SUV to the ground. Staying bent at the waist, she walked to the front end of the vehicle and straightened to her full height.

“All right, Ephraim,” she called. “I’m right here. Let Farrah go and we can talk.”

DUNSMUIR, CALIFORNIA

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 19, 5:10 P.M.

Mercy was a lot calmer than she thought she’d be under the circumstances. Of course, she was digging her nails into her palm so hard, she’d be surprised if she wasn’t drawing blood.

Ephraim had advanced another few feet and now stood in the middle of the road, less than ten feet from Hunter’s SUV.

Mercy met Farrah’s frightened eyes. “Hey, Ro. You okay?”

Of course Farrah didn’t answer or nod. But she blinked once. For “yes.”

Mercy’s throat was suddenly so thick that she couldn’t swallow. “I love you,” she said quietly.

Farrah’s eyes narrowed. And she blinked twice. For “no.”

Not that she didn’t love Mercy back, but because she was forbidding her to do anything stupid.

“That’s very sweet, wife,” Ephraim snarled. “But I don’t want you here. I want you in the vehicle. Now.”

“Let her go and I’ll go with you.”

“You’re lying,” he spat.

Mercy met his eye. “Maybe, maybe not. But you won’t know until you let her go. You can’t handle both of us. We’re not twelve years old.”

He sneered. “Tell your guard dog to come out and throw his guns to me. Even his backups.”

Mercy heard the light thump-thump of Rafe’s cane as he came up behind her and her heart sank. Rafe, no. What are you doing?

When Rafe stopped next to her, he tossed his gun to the side. It landed on the road, skidding until it came to a stop about ten yards away. “I have no backups,” Rafe said. “If you don’t believe me, feel free to check for yourself.”

Ephraim snarled. “Get down, Sokolov. On your stomach. Face to the ground. I’ve had enough of you.”

Mercy tensed, every fiber of her existence screaming at Rafe for leaving the shield of the SUV.

Rafe went down on one knee slowly, his hand sliding down his cane to grip it in the middle, which she hadn’t seen him do before.

Ephraim’s features twisted with rage. “I said face to the ground.”

“I’m slow,” Rafe said. “I’m on disability leave, you know. Which should humiliate you, because I took you out in the airport from a wheelchair using only my cane.”

A muscle twitched in Ephraim’s taut jaw. “Face. To. The. Ground.” Keeping the pistol pressed into Farrah’s temple, he straightened the arm across her throat, aiming the revolver at Rafe. “I am so going to love killing you.”

Panic began to swirl and Mercy had no idea what was happening. Until Rafe offered her his cane, his expression one of broken devastation.

“Give it back to my dad, okay?” he said thickly. “It belonged to my grandfather.”