Daisy had used her media connections to get an interview set up for Mercy with a reporter who’d been sympathetic and fair during and after the February fiasco. Now they were all speaking animatedly about what Mercy should and should not say to the reporter. All while Mercy sat with them, pale and hunched, and very alone despite the crowd.

He slid his arm across the back of the chair, wincing as she flinched. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She turned to meet his eyes, hers filled with fear, sadness, and utter exhaustion. “I know. I’m just . . .”

“You’re tired, and my family can be a lot,” he murmured quietly. “I’m aware of this.”

She smiled in earnest at that, understanding flickering amid the pain. “I guess so. They’re helping. I appreciate it. It’s . . . I’m tired.”

“Which is why we’re blowing this joint,” he said lightly, holding up his phone. “I texted my brother Damien. He’s coming to escort us back to my house. You’ll get some quiet and some sleep.”

Her brow crinkled a little, then smoothed. “Oh, right. Damien is another police officer.”

“Yep. He works in the Russian division, out in West Sac.” He patted her shoulder when her frown returned. “He’s a good guy. You can trust him.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can. I was just wondering why West Sac has a Russian division? Do they investigate Russian organized crime?”

He chuckled. “No. West Sacramento has a large Russian community. Damien’s group serves them. Damien’s fluent in Russian, so he was a natural for the division.”

“Do you speak Russian?”

“Some. Mom spoke it at home when we were little, but mainly when she got . . . emotional. That translates to upset because one of us was misbehaving. Or when she was driving and someone cut her off in traffic.” He was encouraged by the humor in her eyes. So much better than the numb despair that had dominated a moment before. “That’s why I know the word for ‘asshole.’”

Her lips twitched. “Kaz . . . What was it?”

“Kazyoel.” The word his mother had used to describe the piece of shit who’d drugged Mercy. New rage bubbled up inside him and he wanted to throttle the kazyoel with his own hands. But his rage wasn’t what Mercy needed at the moment. She needed his support. His comfort. His protection.

“I’ll have to remember that word,” she said, and then her shoulders seemed to relax a fraction. “Thank you, Rafe. You all have made a really sucky evening a little bit better.”

It was all Rafe could do not to lean in and kiss her. But it wasn’t the time. She’d already fallen asleep in his arms. That was more than he’d expected. Still not enough, but more than he’d dreamed.

A throat clearing had him looking at the rest of the table, which had gone silent. “Yes?” he asked, falling back behind the wall he’d built over the course of his life, pulling his nonchalant persona around his shoulders like a cloak in winter.