A soft meow came from the ball of fur in her arms. The first thing she’d done when the SUV doors were closed was to let Rory out of his carrier. She’d asked no one’s permission and no one had said a word in protest.

“He’s very pretty,” Rafe said from beside her, startling her even though his deep voice was purposefully quiet. Nonthreatening. She truly appreciated his effort.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “He’s a good cat. They both are.”

Rafe had climbed into the back seat with her after Sasha had loaded their luggage and his wheelchair into the back of the SUV. Farrah was up front with Sasha, who was driving a little faster than she probably should have, but she was nervous. As she should be.

I’ve brought trouble to their door. And that wasn’t okay. Mercy would have to find another place to stay, but she hadn’t even tried to suggest it tonight. She was too tired to argue with all of them.

Fortunately, Sasha wouldn’t be getting a ticket. They had a police escort, but it hadn’t lessened their fear. Everyone had been silent up until the moment Rafe had spoken. The atmosphere was so tense, it could have been sliced with a knife.

“How old is he?” Rafe asked.

“They’re six years old. Littermates.”

Rafe was quiet for a long moment. “Rory brings you comfort?”

“He does.”

Another silence, then Rafe sighed. “We need to tell Gideon. It’s not fair for him to hear about this from the news or another Fed.”

Mercy’s first reflex was to say no. Firmly. But Rafe was right. “Can . . . can you do it? I’m still . . .”

“I understand.” He reached out and she thought he’d touch her, but he gave Rory a stroke instead.

“Soft,” he commented.

She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved that he’d touched the cat and not her. But she supposed it was okay to be unsure. She had, after all, just endured what Farrah would call a “trauma.”

Mercy glanced at Rafe from the corner of her eye. He was as handsome as she’d remembered, blond and somehow tanned in April, although he had dark circles under his eyes, too. She wondered why he hadn’t slept well. Wondered if it was because his injuries still pained him or if he’d been worried about seeing her.

Retrieving his phone, he caught her staring. One side of his mouth lifted, but he made no comment. Instead, he hit a contact on his phone and Mercy closed her eyes.

Gideon.

She’d hoped to have a little more time to prepare herself, but it didn’t matter. She’d had plenty enough time. Weeks since learning why her brother had escaped Eden. Years since they’d been reunited after her escape.

She didn’t remember the day of their reunion very well. She’d been out of it, still. Thirteen years old and traumatized. In pain from the surgeries she’d endured after being discovered nearly dead at the Redding bus station by a well-meaning bystander. She’d been placed in foster care after her release from the hospital, but she’d had no idea how much time had passed, having rocked herself for hours at a time.