Mercy leaned up to kiss Gideon’s cheek. “That was sweet.”

Gideon tightened his hold on Mercy until she let out a little yelp, then abruptly let her go, looking a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry. You two should get some sleep. Like in a real bed, not in hospital chairs. I’m headed out now. You should, too. Rafe’s place is less than ten minutes from here. If Amos wakes up, they’ll call you.”

Mercy stroked Amos’s hand lightly. “I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

“But if you get sick because you’re not sleeping, the ICU won’t let you in at all,” Rafe commented.

Gideon gave him a less than discreet thumbs-up. “Good point. Mercy?”

Mercy rose reluctantly. Rafe really did need to sleep in a real bed. “All right. But if the nurses call, you have to agree to bring me back, even if you were sleeping. Unless you’re okay with me taking an Uber.” Because the only car they actually had left at this point was Sasha’s Mini. All of their other vehicles had been taken into evidence or destroyed by Ephraim. They’d get Rafe’s Subaru and Gideon’s Suburban back in a few days, but for now they were dependent on others. Considering the DJ threat, it would probably be the FBI they depended on for a little while longer at least. The Uber was really a joke.

By the way both Gideon and Rafe glared at her, they didn’t think the joke was very funny.

“No Uber,” Rafe said, grabbing the aluminum cane he was using once again, his second wooden cane having been taken as evidence. “But I will wake up to come with you, however we get here.”

Mercy leaned over the bed rail and pressed a kiss to Amos’s forehead. “Wake up soon, Papa,” she said softly. “Abigail needs you. So do I.”

Gideon brushed a hand over Mercy’s hair. “Daisy’s with Molina. I’ll get her, then we can go.”

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

THURSDAY, APRIL 20, 1:40 A.M.

Mercy hung her coat in Rafe’s closet wearily. Molina’s temporary replacement had arranged protection for them, but it had taken the agent a while to arrive. Now he sat outside on the curb, keeping watch. Because of fucking DJ.

Mercy still couldn’t think of DJ Belmont or she might shatter into a million little pieces. Instead she focused on the small things that she could control. “I want to eat your mother’s food. And then I want a long hot shower with soap that doesn’t smell like a hospital, and then I want to sleep for two or three days.”

Rafe dropped onto the sofa, pale with exhaustion. “I like that plan. I’ll microwave the leftovers.”

“No, you stay put. I’ll stick a casserole in the oven and then I need to wash my hair again.”

His grimace said that he understood. Rafe’s sister Meg had been their savior, stopping by Rafe’s to get them clean clothes while they’d waited in the hospital. The hospital had allowed them to shower because they’d all been wearing some of Ephraim’s brain matter. Mercy was overjoyed that Ephraim was dead, she just wished that it had been less . . . nauseating.