“I told your boss about Mr. Danton and Sammie,” Daisy said. “Gave her their contact information. Sammie said she’d cooperate with whoever I endorsed. I’m glad I can endorse you, Rafe.”
Rafe’s smile flashed across his face. “Me too.” Then he sobered. “Listen, Gid, before you hear it from someone else, there’ve been a few other casualties. The child in the car? She was with her grandparents, who’d stopped at a rest area a few miles west of where you were shot.”
Gideon frowned. “Why the hell did they leave a baby in the car?”
Rafe sighed. “Grandma got out to pee and Grandpa waited with the kid. But Grandma was taking a while and Gramps figured she’d be back in seconds and he really had to go, too. He didn’t think the baby would be alone that long.”
Daisy made a choked sound. “He’s got to be blaming himself for this, too.”
Too? Gideon’s gaze flicked to her face. She looked too pained for simple compassion. “You’re not blaming yourself, are you, Daisy?”
Daisy shook her head, but without much conviction. “No. Not really. It’s like this nightmare of cause and effect. I shot up his car, so he was forced to steal another.” She lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. “I should have tried harder to kill him.”
“No,” Rafe growled. “This is not your fault. You did everything right. It was his choice to shoot Gideon and to shoot at you. It was his choice to steal that woman’s car. And to hit the woman on the head with a rock.”
Daisy flinched. “Did he kill her?” she asked, still in a whisper.
Rafe shook his head. “No. But she lost consciousness for a little while. Her husband came out of the bathroom to see her on the ground and immediately called 911.”
“The sheriff left our scene to rush to the rest area,” Daisy said.
“They must have put out a BOLO right away,” Gideon added. “Did they find her car?”
“Yes.” Rafe hesitated. “He’d used it to run over the owner of a truck. He died of his injuries.”
Daisy covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh God.”
Rafe nodded. “I know. It took them a while to ID him. His name is Ryder Young. He was on his way north and took a detour for some Shasta photos. Luckily, he’d told someone where he’d be, and when he didn’t show up at his next stop, they called the state police, looking for him. He had no ID.”
“The shooter took it to give himself some time,” Gideon murmured. “And the child wasn’t in the stolen car?”
“No. We can only assume that the shooter took the child with him. Ryder Young’s truck hasn’t been found yet. It’s too old to have GPS, so no way to physically track it. State police are out looking. Everyone’s looking. Photos of the little girl are being posted everywhere, all over the Internet. Amber Alerts. You name it. Right now our best lead is tracing the shooter’s steps through Eileen.”
“I gave your phone to your boss,” Daisy said to Gideon. “She said that your e-mail was on there, so it was classified. I didn’t think to check first to see if you’d heard from your colleague in San Diego.”
Gideon frowned for a moment, trying to place the detail. It was in his brain somewhere.
“The college swimmer with the almost-Eden tattoo,” she said softly, reminding him.
“Oh, right.” He shot her a grateful glance. “Maybe he knows where the community is.”
She kept stroking his hair and it felt so nice. “Or knows someone who does.”
Rafe must have looked confused because Daisy was telling him about the tattoos she’d found online.
Rafe made a frustrated sound. “Given what they did to Eileen, Mercy, and Gideon, it’s fair to assume they were too scared to report the cult,” he said. “Hope they talk to us.”
Rafe’s words flooded Gideon’s mind with images of Eileen’s battered face and the other injuries Sammie Danton had repaired.
And, of course, Mercy. I should have been searching harder. I should have found them by now. Mercy would get justice and Eileen might still be alive.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” Rafe warned, “don’t. You just went somewhere bad.”
Gideon exhaled. It was true. “I’ll try.”
Rafe pushed to his feet. “I’m going now. I have work to do to prep for tomorrow. Gid, please do what the docs say to do. Don’t be yourself.”
Gideon found he could still laugh. “Okay. Is your mom here?”
Rafe rolled his eyes. “Of course. But let her do her thing. She needs to.”
“Rafe,” Gideon called as his friend turned to leave. “Tell me what you find? Even if it’s bad.”
Rafe nodded once. “Okay.”
When he was gone, Gideon looked up at Daisy. “You’re going to the Sokolovs’ house, right? Please don’t argue. I need to know you’re safe and getting some rest yourself.”
“I’ll leave when the nurses throw me out,” she promised. “And I probably will end up at Karl and Irina’s. My dad, too.”
“Oh, right. He’s here.” Gideon wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing until she smiled.
“Yes. He and Karl are patching things up. If I stay with them, it’ll give Dad and Karl more time together, because Dad won’t leave my side for a while.”
“I can’t blame him.”
She stroked his cheek. “Me either. Today was intense.”
He lifted one side of his mouth, the pain meds dragging him under. “You saved my life. Went all Rambo on the guy’s ass.”
She caressed his lip with her thumb. “Not Rambo. Try Lara Croft. I always wanted to be her.”
He grinned, but sleepily. “Rather try you.”
She snorted. “Go to sleep, Gideon.”
“Will you stay?” he murmured.
She pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up in the morning.”
TWENTY-ONE
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 7:25 P.M.
“Over there.” He pointed to their office, adjacent to the hangar that held all the old man’s planes. The airfield was deserted, as he’d known it would be. The only flight they had today was the charter to New York City, and Hank and whoever they’d gotten to fill in would be spending the night there and flying back in the morning. “Park in the first space. Don’t touch those wires.” He’d hot-wired the van when he’d stolen it up in Chico. The procedure had been an enormous pain in the ass given his thumb and first two fingers on his left hand were basically useless. He did not want to have to do that again.
The nurse, Amber Shelton, obeyed. He’d been pleased with her obedience. If she stitched him up quickly, he’d give her the same consideration.
He slid the side door open and climbed out, opening the driver’s door. “Get out.”
“What are you going to do to me?” the nurse asked, her voice shaking.
“Like I said, if you do as I ask, I won’t hurt you.” He closed the driver’s door and the slider, hiding the kid from view. It was twenty-five degrees warmer here than up in the mountains. Plus he’d leave the engine running. There was still a quarter of a tank of gas, enough for where he needed to go to dispose of the nurse and drop off the kid.
Pressing the barrel of his gun to her back, he walked her into the office and shut the door. He swung his backpack to the counter. “Get the suture kit out.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Get the suture kit out,” he repeated slowly. “You’ll need to clean, disinfect, and stitch up my hand. If you hurt me on purpose, I’ll kill you. If you try to escape, I’ll kill you. If you do as I ask, I’ll take you back to the hospital.”
She looked up at him, her skepticism clear. But she didn’t have much choice, did she? No, she did not. She must have figured the same thing because she reached into the backpack and began to assemble what she needed to fix his hand.
She unwrapped the bandage. “This already looks infected. You need an antibiotic.”
“I know,” he murmured, grateful that she was being gentle.
He almost wished she’d be a jerk. But she wasn’t. She cleaned out the wound and stitched it quickly and competently. Then rebandaged it.
She took a step back, not meeting his eyes. He scooped up the remaining suture supplies into the backpack, making sure he packed the bloody gauze pads in the front pouch. He wouldn’t leave them behind.
“Thank you,” he said again. “Let’s go.”
He gestured for her to get back behind the wheel and resumed his place behind her seat. After closing the doors, he directed her to go north, past Sacramento International Airport. “Continue on this road.”
She complied, turning when he told her to, her body shaking with terror as they got closer to the river. She brought the minivan to an abrupt stop on the two-lane access road.
“No,” she declared. “I’m not going to make this any easier for you. You’re going to kill me and dump me in the river. You can drag me the whole way. I’m not driving up to the water’s edge.”
He had to respect her guts. But it didn’t change what he had to do. “Okay,” he said. “Suit yourself.” Leaning forward, he released her seat belt and, sliding the forearm of his injured hand behind her head, quickly knocked her off balance and over the console.