Sasha took the covered plate from Farrah, gesturing that their guest take the extra chair. Sasha put the plate on their father’s desk, then perched on the corner. “We waited for over an hour,” she whispered.

No wonder his leg had gone to sleep. Still, holding Mercy had been totally worth it.

Farrah’s gaze was on her friend, her face a picture of worry. “Is she okay?”

“She will be,” Rafe murmured. “She’d be better if you all didn’t come in here to wake her up.”

Karl dragged his chair around his desk, so that he could sit at Rafe’s side. He propped his laptop on the arm of Rafe’s chair. “We need to talk.”

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

SATURDAY, APRIL 15, 10:35 P.M.

Mercy slowly woke to whispered voices. She recognized Farrah’s soft drawl and Rafe’s rumbling replies, but seeing Sasha and Karl was a bit of a surprise. She jerked upright, not missing the wince on Rafe’s face.

I hurt him. Dammit, but . . . God. She was sitting on his lap. In front of everyone. “I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “Let me up.”

But Rafe held her tighter. “No other chairs,” he said, which, although true, was utter bullshit and everyone knew it. Still, Mercy found herself relaxing just a bit. She sat up straighter, blinking hard. “What happened?” She glanced at the desk, at a covered dish that smelled amazing. “Is that mine?”

Sasha handed it to her. “Give Rafe some. His stomach is growling.”

“Shut up,” Rafe said, unperturbed. “Is that Mom’s stew?”

Mercy removed the foil covering. “It’s here. Along with . . .” Her gaze shot to Farrah.

Farrah was smiling wryly. “Comfort food.”

Mercy took a bite of the creamy mac and cheese. “Your mama’s recipe? You made this for me?”

“Yep. And don’t you be telling my mama that I shared the recipe with Irina.”

Mercy chuckled, touched at the thoughtful gesture. Farrah’s mother’s macaroni and cheese was Mercy’s go-to comfort meal. “Mama Ro will make you cut your own switch.”

Farrah grinned. “Except Irina traded her bird’s milk cake recipe, which is freaking delicious, so I think I’ll be safe.” She sobered. “We need to talk to you, Mercy.”

Mercy’s stomach tumbled, her hunger abruptly gone. “What happened?” she asked again, looking at the equally sober faces. Even Rafe looked subdued.

“Eat,” Farrah insisted, giving her a look that said she meant business.

Too tired and worried to argue, Mercy gave Rafe one of the forks and moved the plate so that they could share. “We’ll eat. You guys talk,” she said.

Karl opened his laptop and Mercy remembered that Sasha and Karl had been looking at something when she and Gideon had first entered the office. She tensed, because the two hadn’t wanted anyone to see what they’d been reading. Or maybe they just hadn’t wanted her to know. Which meant it was probably very bad.

“Your name hit the Internet,” Karl said carefully. “It was already out there, after that interview with the other survivor of . . . you know.” He winced. “That man who took you. Who shot my son.”