She dragged it from the ground, then clawed until she found a second chain. The lockets were covered with dirt, hiding the two children kneeling in prayer under an olive tree, all under the spread wings of the archangel Uriel. But Mercy didn’t need to see the engraved image. It was permanently etched in her mind. Just as were the names engraved into the backs of each locket.

Miriam. Rhoda. The names they’d been given in Eden. Miriam was so common a name, her mother had always called her Mercy for short. The past year Mercy had thought it a cruel joke, because there had been no mercy for her or her mother. But the nickname made sense now. Because my name is Mercedes.

She wasn’t Miriam. She was Mercedes. And her mother was Selena.

Except that her mother was dead.

Tears filled her eyes. Mama.

She didn’t know how long she lay on the ground, tears running down her face. But when the screech of sirens filled the air, she was too tired to move.

The police were coming and she was too tired to move.

“Miss?”

Curled on her side, Mercy struggled to open her eyes. But she was too tired. So tired. Need to sleep.

Hands were on her, turning her to her back, and her mind screamed at her to run. But she couldn’t move. So tired. Leave me alone. Need to sleep.

“Shit,” a man said. “She’s been shot. Gunshot wound to the lower abdomen. Another midcalf.”

“Pulse is thready,” a woman said. “BP falling. Let’s get her loaded.” A hand stroked her face. “It’ll be okay, honey. We’re going to help you.”

Mercy wanted to believe her. Wanted it so badly. But people didn’t help you out here. They lied and got you to lower your guard. Then they hurt you.

But Ephraim hurt you. Brother DJ hurt you, too. And they were inside. They were community. They were supposed to have taken care of her.

Whatever these people did to her, it couldn’t be worse than what her own husband had done.

And if they killed her?

She almost hoped they would. It would be a relief.

ONE

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

SATURDAY, APRIL 15, 4:45 P.M.

I’m back. Oh God, I’m back. Mercy Callahan inhaled deeply, hoping yoga breathing would calm her racing heart. Why did I think this was a good idea? This is a terrible idea. I’m just going to make things even worse.

“Mercy, did you sleep at all on the flight?”

Mercy startled at the voice in her ear, glancing at her best friend as they emerged from the Jetway into the terminal, which teemed with people. Too many people. Mercy had to steel her spine against the urge to run away. To run back to New Orleans. Again.

“No. I’m too . . .” Anxious. Terrified. Wound tighter than a coiled spring. “Too everything.”

Farrah made a sympathetic noise. “I know, honey. But it will be okay. And if it’s not, I’m here. I won’t leave you, and if you need me to, I’ll take you home.”