Irina called the Tesla “Karl’s toy,” but fondly. The man had earned his money, his wife always said. He had the right to spend it as he pleased. After all, Karl spent much more on his family and charities than he ever spent on himself, Tesla included. He was a very generous man who’d opened his heart and home to Daisy despite not having seen her in over a decade. Daisy’s father had asked for his help and Karl hadn’t blinked.
She wanted to ask if they’d called her father, but wasn’t sure she was ready for the answer.
Karl helped Irina into the front seat, then leaned in to kiss his wife’s cheek before gallantly closing her door. Irina turned in her seat to fix Daisy with a stare that missed nothing. “You are not fine,” Irina informed her, her accent thick, her worry thicker. “You were attacked tonight. You cannot be fine.”
Daisy shrugged. “Then I will be fine?”
Irina waved a hand in irritation. “Of course you will be fine. We will see to it. You will stay with us—”
“Tonight,” Daisy interrupted. “Only tonight.”
Karl chuckled as he started the car, the Tesla’s engine eerily silent. “And after we had the dungeon specially prepared for her,” he said to his wife. Karl had no trace of an accent. Unlike his wife, who had come to the United States as a teenager, he was the son of immigrants but had grown up in California. He met Daisy’s eyes in the rearview mirror, his twinkling. “Irina even changed out the manacles to the ones we save for company.”
Irina swatted him playfully. “You weren’t supposed to let her know I went to all that trouble for her.”
Daisy laughed. “Okay, fine. I appreciate you taking care of me. It’s just that I’m enjoying my independence. I don’t want to be . . . hovered over. Not anymore.”
“Good luck with that,” Sasha muttered and Daisy laughed again. Sasha was seventh of the eight Sokolov children, but only by a few minutes. Cash, her twin, never let her forget that he was older. The two of them had been Daisy’s playmates when their families had gotten together for the holidays or birthdays. Get-togethers that had come to an abrupt halt when Daisy’s father had whisked his family off to the ranch in the middle of nowhere.
Sasha had been one of the first friendships that Daisy had rekindled when she’d been freed a year and a half ago and the two of them had kept in touch over social media while Daisy had been in Europe. It had actually been Sasha’s idea for Daisy to move to Sacramento, but Daisy had managed to make her father believe it was his idea, prompting Frederick Dawson to ask Karl’s help in getting Daisy settled with a job and a place to live. Despite the missing years, she and Sasha had effortlessly fallen back into a close camaraderie.
“You don’t have to stay with me at your parents’ house,” Daisy told her. “You’ll just have to wake up early to get to work.” Sasha was a social worker with CPS, her office much closer to the house they shared with Rafe in Midtown than to the Sokolovs’ family home in Granite Bay.
Sasha shot Daisy a reproachful look. “I’m not going to let you be alone tonight. Not after the experience you’ve had.”
Daisy patted her hand. “Thank you. Can I use your phone, please? I want to call Trish and check on her. She was as shaken up as I was.”
Sasha handed her phone over. “What happened to your phone?”
“I had to give it to Rafe. He’s checking it for tracking devices.”
“Why?” Karl asked sharply.
Damn electric cars, Daisy thought, irritated. Too much silence allowed for easy eavesdropping. “I wanted to tell the station manager first, but he’ll just tell you, so whatever. I’ve been getting . . . suggestive voice mails and e-mails from listeners.”
“What?” The shouts came at Daisy from all directions.
Irina turned in her seat again to frown at her. “What kind of suggestive voice mails?”
“Oh, you know. Ones saying I’m pretty and they want to do . . . things. You know.”
Karl’s eyes were narrowed as he glanced at her in the rearview. “No, I don’t know, because you never told me!” he thundered.
“I’m sorry!” Daisy thundered back, then sighed. “I . . . should have. Sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sasha asked quietly.
“Because Tad said it was nothing. That everyone gets messages like that. I’m getting a new phone. Don’t worry. Rafe’s going to try to trace the messages.”
“They think your attacker was a listener?” Karl demanded.
“They’re exploring all possibilities.” Including the locket—with its photo that had Gideon Reynolds looking so haunted. “They booted me before I learned anything I didn’t already know. Which isn’t anything more than I already told you at the ER,” she finished firmly, because Karl and Irina had questioned her more thoroughly than Rafe and Erin had.
She could feel the combined force of three Sokolov stares as she bent her head to Sasha’s phone. “Stop looking at me like that,” she told them without looking up. “I need to remember Trish’s number and you’re making me nervous.”
“I have it in my contacts,” Sasha said, shaking her head. “We will talk about these messages later.”
“You’d better believe it,” Karl declared.
Sighing, Daisy found Trish’s cell number and dialed. Unsurprisingly, Trish answered on the first ring. “Hello? Sasha? Where is Daisy?”
“I’m here,” Daisy said. “I’m just using Sasha’s phone. I just got done with the cops and I’m going back to Karl and Irina’s. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. That lady detective made sure I got in my apartment okay. Not sure I’m going to sleep tonight, though. If there was ever a night I wanted a drink, this is it.”
“Me too,” Daisy confessed quietly. “If the urge gets too bad, call Rosemary. I’d say call me, but the police have my phone. I’m getting a new one tomorrow.”
“You finally told them about the creepy calls like I’ve been telling you to?”
“Yes.” Daisy sighed. “I’ll text you when I have my new phone number.”
“Was that locket important?”
“I think so, but I don’t know why.” She had a sudden thought. “Listen, can you send the pictures you took tonight to my e-mail address? I’d like to have them for my files.” Trish had had the presence of mind to take photos of her throat, the scene, and the locket. If Rafe was going to block her from all of the good information, she’d have to look on her own.
“Sure. Call me tomorrow so I’ll know you’re okay. Say hi to the Sokolovs.”
Ending the call, Daisy gave Sasha back her phone, met the family’s collective stare, and asked the question she’d been dreading. “Did you tell my father about tonight?”
“No,” Irina said, surprising the hell out of Daisy. “We knew the ER was a precaution. It would have frightened your father more to hear it from us. He’ll need to hear your voice when you tell him, to know for certain that you are unharmed.”
“Thank you. I was planning to call him.” She was. Mostly. “I’ll call him before I go on the air tomorrow.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing when it looked like Irina would argue with her about going to work. “Rafe said someone would take me in to the station. I assumed that meant him or Detective Rhee.”
“Karl?” Irina asked. “Is this acceptable?”
He shrugged. “Not really, but we’re going to have to trust Rafe to keep her safe.”
Daisy shared a side-eye with Sasha, who was biting back a smile. “Welcome to my life,” Sasha whispered loudly.
“As long as I keep my freedom. Everything else is negotiable.”
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 12:00 A.M.
It’s time to talk about them, Gideon thought. He’d tried to find them. Tried to bring them to justice. He’d failed. But I was just a kid then.
The FBI had also tried and failed. The community had hidden itself far too well. They also hadn’t had any leads. He hadn’t known of any escapees other than himself and Mercy, but now Eileen had escaped. She had to have—otherwise her locket would still be around her throat while she toiled in the community.
And that you killed a man? He wasn’t going to share that. Duh.
And Mercy? Are you going to tell them about her? No. He couldn’t do that. Not without her permission. It would be like violating her all over again.
“Gid?” Rafe prompted.
Gideon sighed. “Just . . . processing. Seeing this photo was a shock.”
“We could tell,” Erin said dryly, but not unkindly. “Why?”
“Do you have the photo I gave you?” Gideon asked Rafe.
Rafe pulled it from his pocket and laid it on the table, next to the locket, turning the silver heart so that the etching showed.
“Wow,” Cindy said quietly. She glanced up. “This tattoo . . . This is you?”
“Yes.” He’d had the tattoo covered as soon as he’d found Mercy. It had served its purpose, quickly connecting them as kin when there’d been no documentation for either of them. A DNA test had confirmed Gideon’s claim later, but at the time that had taken months.
“They’re the same,” Erin murmured, gesturing between the tattoo and the locket. “The designs. Why are they the same?”
“They’re not exactly the same,” Gideon corrected. “The olive tree on the tattoo has thirteen branches. The locket’s olive tree has only twelve. It’s the symbol of a new religious movement in Northern California.”
“A cult,” Erin said flatly. “You lived in a cult.”