“Serial killer,” Mercy said quietly, already wondering what was so bad that Karl was dancing around it. “You can say it, Karl. I’m not made of glass. I don’t think Rafe is, either.”

Rafe’s hand came to rest on her back, a warm, comforting presence. “Just tell us.”

Karl sighed. “Someone’s looked you up. There’s an exposé. It’s not exactly complimentary.”

Mercy felt the blood drain from her face, the smell of the food suddenly making her feel ill. “Tell me.”

“The reporter talked to your neighbors,” Sasha said gently. “They were very supportive. Said you were ‘the best’ and made treats for the kids in the building and did chores for the old folks.”

“But?” Mercy’s gaze locked on Farrah’s, cold dread spreading from her gut to her extremities, and she put the fork down before her hands became too numb to hold it. “Who did they find?” She’d wanted the question to come out in a strong voice, but she only managed a whisper.

“Peter Firmin,” Farrah murmured. “And Stan Prescott. The reporter had . . . the video.”

No. Please, no. Mercy didn’t want to believe it, but she knew Farrah would never lie. Not about this. She closed her eyes, more tears burning her eyelids. “Goddammit.”

“What?” Rafe asked, his voice considerably louder and filled with anger. “Who are those guys and what did they say? What vid—”

Mercy swallowed hard and shoved the plate toward Rafe. “I need to—” Pushing off Rafe’s lap, she ran for the office door, barely conscious of Rafe calling her name.

“Dammit,” she heard Farrah say as she yanked the door open. “I knew I should have told her alone.”

Why didn’t you? Mercy wanted to cry, but she didn’t, intent on finding the bathroom before it was too late.

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

SATURDAY, APRIL 15, 10:55 P.M.

Farrah got up to go after Mercy, but Sasha gently restrained her. “Mom’s waiting in the hallway,” Sasha said. “We agreed to let Mom help her if she needed it. Mom’s trained to deal with situations like this and she can tell Mercy what we’re doing to make it right.”

Farrah sank back in the chair, looking miserable. “Dammit,” she swore again.

Rafe turned to stare at his father. “What the hell is this about, Dad?”

Karl ran a hand over his face, shattered. “Fuck,” he muttered, then looked at the door Mercy had slammed as she’d fled. “I’m sorry. I need her to know that I’m so fucking sorry.”

Rafe blinked. His father didn’t swear often. He gentled his voice. “What’s happened?”

“Mercy had . . . encounters with two men while she was in college,” Farrah answered for him. “Neither were good guys and . . .” She swallowed, wiping tears from her eyes. “Mercy was not okay back then. She was on her own for the first time and trying to deal with her past, with what Ephraim Burton did to her. I didn’t know about Eden then. I only knew that my friend was not okay. I tried to get her to come out of her shell, so I took her to a few parties with me, keeping her close. She started to open up, so I stopped hovering. Which was my mistake. Usually I knew all the attendees, but one night we went to a party off-campus and . . .” She sighed. “Stan Prescott was there and he . . .” Her voice broke. “He put something in her drink and took video. It wasn’t good video, thankfully, and Mercy’s face wasn’t recognizable, but . . . I realized she was gone and found her before anything really bad happened, but it was bad enough.”