Jeff stood abruptly, pushing the chair back. He paced the length of his bedroom, trying hard not to spiral into panic again. He wanted to talk to his mother. Get her advice. But he knew what she’d say. He had to tell the police what he’d seen.

Shit. Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out the bottle of scotch that he’d taken from his mother’s stash. The bottle was still nearly full, because he’d found out that he hated scotch. But it was the only liquor he had, except for the Kahlúa he’d also swiped from his mother, and that had ended poorly last time.

He grimaced as he knocked back a small swallow of the scotch, then two.

By the time he’d had a half-dozen swallows, he’d finally slowed his pacing. He sank onto his bed because the room was spinning now.

I’m scum. “I’m a terrible person,” he slurred, covering his eyes with his hands.

But at least he’d cut the most damaging parts of the story. That was something, right?

No, that’s basic human decency, his mother’s voice said. That’s the very least I expect from you, Jeffy. Don’t disappoint me.

“Okay, Mom,” he said slowly. “I’ll call the police.”

When I’m not so drunk, because who’d believe me like this?

FOUR

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

SATURDAY, APRIL 15, 7:15 P.M.

It was humiliating. Mercy stared out the window of the SUV she was to borrow from the Sokolovs for the duration of her stay. Going all zombie like that. She hated when that happened. But the worst had finally happened. Ephraim had found her.

She drew a breath, forcing the memory of Ephraim’s cruel eye from her mind. Push it in the box. Push hard. Now nail it closed. It was a visual that usually worked. Some days she had to mentally hammer a lot more nails into the box to keep it closed. Today was one of those days.

She’d been braced for a rough road, but she’d been ready to try. Now, after staring into that one eye of his? I’m still ready. Which was kind of a shock, if she was being honest with herself.

He’d found her. After all these years, Ephraim had found her. And she wondered why she hadn’t been afraid before that he would. She had wondered what the Founding Elders had told the people of Eden after her disappearance. Probably that she’d been torn apart by wolves. It was what they’d said when Gideon had run away.

And I believed them. She imagined the people of Eden had believed the lie about her “sad demise” as well. But DJ had known the truth. No wolves tearing her limb from limb, just a monster wearing the pretty face of a young man with white-blond hair. Who shot girls and their mothers with his gun.

And . . . she wasn’t going to think about that right now. In the box. Hammer the lid. She visualized her hand gripping the hammer, each strike confident and sure. Each nail entering squarely, with finality. The lid staying closed. The bad things trapped inside the box.