Liza huddled on the floorboard in the back seat of Agent Rodriguez’s SUV, a pale Abigail on her lap. Mercy was on the opposite floorboard, still trying to calm Rafe down over her phone.
“My papa must be worried, too,” Abigail whispered.
Liza rubbed her back. “You want to talk to him?”
“Yes, please.”
Even terrified, this child was polite. Liza wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but she motioned to Mercy, then pointed at Abigail.
Mercy nodded, her expression weary. “We’re okay,” she said to Rafe for the tenth time. She’d described the situation at least three times. “I promise. Look, Abigail wants to talk to Amos. He must be as freaked out as you are.” A moment later, she handed the phone to Abigail.
“Papa?” Abigail said softly. “I’m here.”
Liza could hear Amos’s voice because Abigail’s hold on the phone was tentative. After growing up without technology in Eden, phones still made her nervous. “Are you all right?” Amos asked, his voice calm but with an underlying urgency. “Agent Tom said you were fine.”
“I am, Papa. Liza was there. She saw a gun and got us out of the eye doctor’s.” Abigail snuggled more firmly into Liza’s hold. “She was brave, Papa.”
“So were you,” Liza told her. “Very brave.”
Abigail rested her head on Liza’s shoulder. “I was brave, too.”
“I heard her say so,” Amos said thickly. “I’m proud of you, Abi-girl. I’m always proud of you, though. You’re a good girl and very brave. Remember that.”
Abigail sniffled. “I will, Papa.”
“That’s all I can ask. Can I talk to Liza for a minute?”
“Yes.” But Abigail hesitated. “Agent Rodriguez is taking us to Miss Irina’s house. Will you be there soon?”
“I will. We’re on our way now, but we’re stuck in traffic. Mr. Rafe is saying it might take us an hour to get there. Give the phone to Miss Liza now.”
Liza took the phone and kissed Abigail on the top of her head. “Very brave,” she murmured, then spoke to Amos. “She’s okay, Amos. Really okay.”
“I know. I wanted to thank you. You likely saved my baby’s life.”
Liza’s cheeks heated. “No need. I did what anyone would do.”
Amos made an impatient noise. “Stop it. I heard Mercy tell Rafe what happened. How many people would have seen a flash of light and acted so quickly? Not many. So let me thank you, then tell me ‘You’re welcome.’ ”
Liza laughed softly. She’d come to care for and respect the older man during his convalescence. He exuded a paternal steadiness that calmed her. “You’re welcome.”
“That’s better. Now put Abigail back on. I want to tell her I love her before I hang up.”
Abigail told her papa that she loved him, too, then squinted at the screen. “I push the red circle to hang up, right?”
“Right,” Liza said, then handed the phone to Mercy. “Your papa is a nice man.”
“I know,” Abigail said. “He loves us. Me and Mercy. And Gideon, too,” she added, then pulled away enough to stare up at Liza. “Do you have a papa?”
“Abigail,” Mercy chided gently. “Liza may not be comfortable talking about her family.”
Abigail frowned. “Why not? What’s wrong with your family? Are they . . .” Her frown deepened. “Are they mean to you?”
Liza tapped the end of the little girl’s nose, charmed by the protective look in Abigail’s eyes. “No, they weren’t mean to me. Mercy is concerned because my family is all gone. It was always just me and my mother and my sister. My father wasn’t in our lives. He . . . well, he left when I was a baby. We heard later that he died.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “He just left? On purpose?”
“On purpose,” Liza confirmed. “He wasn’t a nice man like your papa. He sometimes hit, so I think my mother was happier once he left. But my mother died. She got sick with cancer.”
“And your sister?” Abigail asked.
“She died, too.” Liza glanced at Mercy, who looked sad but gave her a nod of approval. “She was killed. A very bad man killed her.”
Abigail sucked in a startled breath. “Oh no. I’m sorry.”
Liza smiled down at her. “Thank you. I miss her, every day.”
Abigail’s eyes filled with tears and they spilled down her cheeks. “Then you were all alone?”
Her sorrow was like a punch to the gut. This child saw, heard, and felt too much. “Yes and no.” Taking the tissue Mercy offered, Liza dabbed at Abigail’s wet face. “I met Agent Tom about that time and he introduced me to his family. I was only seventeen then, so I went to live with a friend of his mother. Her name is Dana and she’s like my new big sister.”
“Like Mercy is to me?”
“Very much like that. She let me live with her and her husband. They had a lot of kids, so I wasn’t alone anymore, and that was nice. Some of the kids were hers, and—Well, that’s not true. All of the kids were hers. Some were permanently hers and some were temporary. They lived with her while their own families fixed the problems they were having. That’s called foster care. But Dana loved every child that came through her house.”
“How long did you live with them?” Mercy asked. “I’ve been curious, but didn’t want to pry. Don’t answer if you don’t want to.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” And it was true. That phase of her life was one she didn’t mind remembering. “I stayed with them until I was eighteen. I’d already decided—even before my sister Lindsay died—that I’d go into the military. Lindsay and I didn’t have any money, and, at the time, I thought Lindsay was cleaning office buildings at night to put food on the table. I didn’t want to be a burden to her when I was old enough to carry my own weight. I’d already discussed my plans with an army recruiting officer in Minneapolis.”
Abigail’s eyes were wide. “You were a soldier?”
“I was,” Liza said soberly.
“Did you kill people?” Abigail whispered.
“Abigail!” Mercy hissed.
Abigail stiffened. “I’m sorry.”
But Liza could see that she didn’t understand why she’d been scolded. “It’s a fair question, Mercy,” Liza said, giving Abigail a hug. “It’s all right, Abs. Yes. I did. And . . . well, that’s hard to talk about.”
“Why?” It was asked with such innocence that Liza’s heart hurt. She remembered being that innocent, so many years ago. Before her mother died. Before Lindsay was taken.
Before she’d made decisions that still haunted her.
“Because my job was taking care of people, not shooting. But one day we were attacked and I had to jump in and help.” Changing the subject, she gave the child what she hoped was a warm smile. “I was a medic. Do you know that is?”
Abigail mouthed the word, testing it. “Like a doctor?”
“A little like that. I’m not a doctor, though. Someday I’ll be a nurse, but medics do . . .” She faltered, trying to figure out how to explain it to a seven-year-old. “We took care of soldiers who got hurt on the battlefield. Emergency fixes, until they could get to a surgeon.”
Abigail looked doubtful. “Emergency fixes?”
Liza hesitated. “Soldiers get hurt sometimes.”
“Like Papa did.” Abigail lifted her chin. “He got hurt saving Mercy, because Brother DJ wanted to shoot her. Because he’s bad.”
“You’re right,” Liza agreed. “DJ is—”
“Evil,” Abigail interrupted angrily, her jaw clenched. “He is going to hell.”
Mercy blinked, taken aback at the little girl’s vehemence. “That sounds about right.”
Abigail seemed to relax at Mercy’s confirmation. “Gideon’s girlfriend took care of Papa until the para—” She pursed her lips. “What are they called again?”
“The paramedics?” Liza asked.
“Yes. Daisy made his bleeding stop until the paramedics came. That’s what Miss Irina told me. Then they put bandages on Papa and took him to the hospital. In a helicopter. Is that what you did when you were a medic?”
“Pretty much. Lots of bandaging.”
“Did you go in helicopters?”
“Sometimes. It depended on where we were and how close the enemy was.”
“Who was your enemy?”
Liza blew out a breath. “I’ll get a map and show you, okay? I’m not ignoring your question,” she said when Abigail frowned. “It will be easier to explain with a book and a map.”
“And a miracle, maybe,” Mercy muttered.
Liza had to agree. After years in the army, she knew who they’d been fighting, but that knowledge was clouded with memories of the civilians who’d been caught in the cross fire.
Women, children. Little girls who’d been Abigail’s age. Until they died. In her arms.
She swallowed hard, pushing that memory back as well. She was not going there now.
Or ever, if she had her way. Unfortunately, her subconscious didn’t play by the rules. She’d probably dream of the children tonight.
Mercy was watching her, concern in her eyes. “Are you all right, Liza?”
No, not really. “Yeah.” She turned back to Abigail. “Is that okay? Waiting till later?”
“Yes. Thank you.” The child went silent and Liza wished she’d start talking again. It was unnerving, hunkering down on the floor of an FBI SUV as a grim-faced agent drove them back to Granite Bay, where Karl and Irina lived.
In fact, they should have arrived by now.
“Agent Rodriguez?” Liza said quietly. “ETA?”
“Ten,” Rodriguez said, tone clipped. “Thought we had a tail, so I took the next exit.”
“The tail is gone?” Mercy asked.
Abigail went still on Liza’s lap, hearing the tension in their voices.
“Yes. They exited already. Just being careful, Miss Callahan.”
“Thank you,” Mercy said sincerely.
A grunt was her answer and Liza’s lips twitched unexpectedly when Abigail piped up. “You should say ‘You’re welcome,’ Agent Rodriguez. It’s not polite to say—” She imitated Rodriguez’s grunt.
Agent Rodriguez coughed, probably hiding a laugh. “You’re right, Abigail. You’re welcome, Miss Callahan.”
Liza hugged Abigail hard. “Nice job,” she whispered loudly, tickling Abigail’s ribs.
Abigail giggled and wriggled, then froze, staring at the vee of Liza’s blouse. A button had come loose, revealing more cleavage than Liza normally did.
“You have a tattoo,” Abigail said with a mix of awe and horror.
“Yes,” Liza said slowly. “I do. Is that bad?”
“They made Papa get a tattoo. They made all of the boys get one when they turned thirteen. Even the grown-up men had to get one if they joined the congregation.”
“Oh.” Liza sighed. Abigail sounded too grown-up herself as she parroted the words she’d undoubtedly heard from Eden’s adults. She’d known that Eden marked the males in the community by tattooing their chests with the cult’s symbol—two children kneeling in prayer beneath an olive tree, all under the wings of an angel holding a flaming sword. “Well,” she said, stalling for time as she considered her response.
Mercy’s brother Gideon had gotten his tattooed over, choosing a phoenix to cover the symbol of the cult’s cruelty. Liza had seen Amos’s tattoo when a hospital physician had pulled his gown aside to listen to his heart. She hadn’t realized that Abigail would associate all tattoos with oppression.
“Well,” she said again, “not all tattoos are bad. Not like in Eden when the boys were forced to get them. I got mine because I chose to.”
“But why?” Abigail pressed.
Liza tugged her blouse a little farther down so that Abigail could see more of the tattoo. “It’s a rose and a musical note, twined together. For my mother and sister. Mom loved roses. Lindsay played the piano. So I got their favorite things inked over my heart.”
“Oh.” Abigail seemed to consider this. “Did it hurt?”
“A little. But it was worth it to me.”
“Do you have any tattoos, Mercy?” Abigail asked.
“No,” Mercy answered. “I’m kind of like you, kiddo. For me, a tattoo is a bad memory of Eden. But you remember my friend Miss Farrah? The one who lives in New Orleans?”
Abigail nodded. “Does she have one?”
“She does. Hers is a shield with her fiancé’s name. He’s a police officer, so that’s why the shield. Like the shape of a badge. Mr. Karl has a tattoo, too.”
Abigail’s eyes widened comically. “He does?”
Mercy nodded. “From when he was in the army. So not every tattoo is bad.”
Abigail bit her lip. “But what if the person is bad? Are all their tattoos bad?”
Liza lifted Abigail’s chin so that their eyes met. “Who do you mean?”
“Brother DJ. He had another tattoo that wasn’t of the Eden tree.”
The hairs on the back of Liza’s neck lifted, her intuition shouting that this was important. “What did it look like?”
“It was letters. A long word.” Abigail moved her hand in the shape of a rainbow. “Across his back. I saw it once,” she admitted in a small voice that sounded guilty.
“How did you see it?” Liza asked. “Were you guys swimming or something?” She hoped it was something that innocent. She hadn’t considered that DJ Belmont might have touched her Abigail. Fury flared at the very notion.
Abigail shook her head hard and fast. “No. We didn’t swim. At least we girls didn’t.”
“It wasn’t proper for women and girls to show any skin,” Mercy said. “Luckily we were usually living up high enough that it didn’t get terribly hot in the summer.”
“Oh. Wow.” That shouldn’t have surprised Liza, based on what she’d heard about the fanatical restrictions in Eden. “So how did you see his tattoo, Abs?”
She kept the question casual, but Abigail wasn’t fooled. Her eyes narrowed and she clamped her lips shut.
“Nobody’s going to be angry with you,” Mercy said quietly. “You’re safe with us.”
Abigail swallowed hard. “I saw a bunny and I wanted to pet it. But it ran away.”
“So you chased it?” Liza prompted when Abigail said no more.
She nodded miserably. “It ran into the smithy.”
“DJ was the blacksmith,” Mercy offered. “He was Edward McPhearson’s apprentice before Edward took on Gideon.”
Liza knew how that story ended. McPhearson had been a sexual predator and had tried to rape Gideon. Gideon had fought back and killed the man accidentally. The community had nearly beaten Gideon to death as a result. They might have, had his mother not smuggled him out of Eden that very night. He’d been thirteen, his Eden tattoo still raw from the artist’s needle.
Liza wondered if DJ had been molested by Edward during his apprenticeship, but that was a question that was definitely inappropriate for Abigail’s ears.
“Did you chase the bunny into the smithy?” Liza asked.
Abigail’s face went pink as a peony. “I started to, but I saw Brother DJ in there. He was standing at the forge and the fire was hot. Kids weren’t allowed in there. He took off his . . .” Her face flushed even darker.
“He took his shirt off,” Mercy said softly.
Abigail nodded. “I wasn’t supposed to look. Not at a . . .”
“A man,” Mercy supplied. She glanced at Liza. “The genders were kept very separate. Women weren’t supposed to speak to or even look at men unless they’d been spoken to.”
Liza swallowed her sigh. Abigail’s information was more important than any indignation over Eden’s repression of women—including little girls. “Do you remember any of the letters in the word you saw? In his tattoo,” she specified.
Abigail’s forehead wrinkled. “There was a ‘Z’ at the beginning. It was bigger than the other letters and”—she made a face—“it looked like a snake. Fangs and everything.”
“Sounds scary,” Liza said, keeping her excitement tamped down. Tom would need this information, she was sure of it.
“Just yucky,” Abigail said. “And mean. The snake was trying to bite a bat.”
Liza heard Agent Rodriguez suck in a breath. She was about to ask what the significance of the tattoo was when the SUV slowed.
“Almost there,” Rodriguez said. “I’m going to pull into the garage. I don’t want to see anybody’s heads until the garage door comes down. Okay?”
“Okay,” Abigail agreed. She looked up at Liza. “Can we have cake when we get inside?”
Liza nodded, lifting her eyebrows. “Cake or bars?”
“Bars?” Abigail asked, then recognition sparked in her eyes. “You made Dream Bars?”
“I did. Mixed them up when you guys were talking this morning.” Because she’d needed something to do with her hands, and clanging the pots and pans had covered the sound of crying from the bedroom upstairs. “Miss Irina promised to take them out of the oven for me.”
Abigail’s eyes went sly. “I think it’s been a really hard morning, Liza.”
“Oh?” Liza couldn’t hold back her smile, because she could see where the child was headed. “I suppose it has, at that. But what does that have to do with my bars?”
“I think we need both.”
“Bars and cake?” Mercy asked, chuckling. “I don’t know. What do you think, Liza?”
Liza could see Rodriguez’s shoulders shaking in the front seat, laughing at Abigail’s soft-sell approach. “I don’t know, either,” she said. “Agent Rodriguez, what do you think?”
He brought the SUV to a gentle stop in the Sokolovs’ garage and Liza felt her own shoulders slump in relief at the sound of the door lowering. They were back. Safe. No bullets. No blood. No dead eyes staring up at her.
He turned around, leaning over the seat to look down at them. “I think cake, bars, and milk are in order. Small pieces, of course.”
“Of course,” Abigail agreed, grinning. “Can I pop my head up now, Agent Rodriguez?”
He smiled at her. “You can. You were very brave, Abigail. And very well-behaved. Your papa will be pleased.”
Abigail beamed, carefully climbing from Liza’s lap to perch on the back seat. “You’ll be sure to tell him?”
“You bet. Give me a second and I’ll let you out.” He helped Abigail out, then extended a hand, first to Liza, then to Mercy. “It’s a gang sign,” he murmured, so low that only they could hear. Abigail had already skipped into the house, going for the sweets.
Mercy had started to stretch her back but went stock-still. “DJ Belmont is in a gang?”
“It makes sense,” Liza said slowly. “The cult makes money selling drugs, right?”
Mercy nodded. “Pot and opioids in the past. Shrooms more recently.”
“I guess he was more deeply involved than just as a supplier,” Liza said.
“He shot both Ephraim and Amos with a long-range rifle,” Mercy said, then turned to Agent Rodriguez. “He must have learned to shoot from the gangs.”
“It fits,” Rodriguez said. “I’ll report it to my boss. Do I need to tell Agent Hunter?”
Or will you?
Liza shrugged. “You can call him, or wait until he gets here.” Although she knew she’d be contacting Tom. She was weak when it came to Tom Hunter. “He’ll be here soon enough. He’ll be worried about Mercy and Abigail.”
“And you,” Mercy said meaningfully. “He’ll be worried about you.”
Sure, Liza thought bitterly. Because I’m his friend. She forced a smile. “And me.”
Agent Rodriguez started to say something, then shook his head. “I think Miss Abigail has the right idea. I’m gonna have some chocolate while I make my report. After you, ladies.” He gestured to the door into the house, following them into the laundry room.
Irina was waiting in the door to the kitchen. She hugged both Mercy and Liza at the same time, her body trembling. “Rafe called me,” she whispered. “I was so afraid for you.” She let them go, then discreetly swiped under her eyes. “Come. Let me fuss over you.”
That was an offer too tempting for Liza to pass up. She’d get fussed over now and text Tom in a bit. He was probably busy at the scene anyway.
FOLSOM, CALIFORNIA
WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 12:00 P.M.
Tom stepped off the stairs they’d taken to the office building’s roof, Croft right behind. They paused to study the scene on the roof. The first responders had cordoned off the entire stairwell and the crime scene unit had already constructed an evidence grid. Twine crisscrossed the roof, blocking off search areas, each a square foot.
A man in white coveralls approached and Tom flashed his badge. “Agents Hunter and Croft.”
“Sergeant Howell, SacPD CSU.” He offered them both protective booties.
“Report, please,” Croft ordered quietly, as they slipped the covers over their shoes.
“Someone was here,” Howell said. “Latent is taking prints from the stairwell and the railing around the perimeter of the roof. We’ve got a boot print in the dirt close to the railing.”
“Camera feed?” Tom asked, looking around them. He’d seen several cameras in the building’s lobby and in the stairwell. There was another one mounted to the outside wall enclosing the stairs, but it had been painted over.
“One of my techs is getting the feed from the building’s security.”
Croft picked her way to the edge of the roof. “Entry and exit points?”
“We can’t be completely certain until we get the security footage, but it appears he used the stairwell exclusively. There’s a brick off to the side of the ground-floor door.” Howell grimaced. “The security chief wasn’t happy to see the brick or the butts on the ground. Apparently, employees use the brick to prop the door open while they slip out for a smoke.”
Tom sighed. The best security systems were often ruined by a single human trying to circumvent the rules. “I’ll need copies of the footage, as soon as possible.”
Howell nodded. “Of course.”
Tom followed Croft to the edge of the rooftop. She was staring down, examining three depressions in the sandy dirt on the roof. “He had a tripod,” she said. “Set himself up here.”
Tom crouched down to simulate the shooter’s viewpoint. He could see through the glass door of the optometrist, but the signs in the windows blocked his view of the eye doctor’s interior. “He had only a narrow window of opportunity to get Mercy Callahan,” he noted. Or Liza, because he had not a single doubt that she would have protected Mercy and Abigail with her own body.
His chest constricted when he realized how close she’d come to being hurt. He drew a breath that physically hurt. Liza. Dammit. This was how he’d felt when she’d joined the army without telling him first. Like a sledgehammer to his heart. Worry and hurt and helplessness.
Howell crouched next to him. “Agent Rodriguez called it in after the woman accompanying the presumed target noticed a flash of light from this spot on the roof. The woman was standing in front of the door, but she must have a hell of an eye. I don’t know that I would have noticed it from there. Rodriguez said that once she’d pointed it out, he briefly glimpsed someone, and got them out of there.”
Tom’s jaw tightened and it was suddenly important that she be acknowledged as more than the woman who’d accompanied Mercy Callahan. “Liza Barkley. She spotted the shooter.”
She’d been standing in the direct line of fire. He wondered if she’d been scared. He knew he was scared at the thought of her in the path of a sniper’s bullet.
The Liza he’d known before the army would have been terrified, but she would have done the right thing anyway. Trouble was, he didn’t recognize parts of the Liza who’d returned from combat duty. That needed to change. He’d asked about her experiences in the military, but she’d always evaded his questions, and he’d respected her need for privacy.
He wondered if he should have. Maybe he’d left her alone with her memories for too long.
“Well, she’s got one hell of an eye,” Howell stated again. “Rodriguez said she was as cool as a cucumber. Just pointed it out and told him to bring the car. She got Callahan and the little girl to safety and made sure the optometrist’s receptionist was away from the window as well. She handled everything so calmly that no one panicked.”
“She served in Afghanistan,” Tom said quietly. “I think she’s seen much worse.”
He was going to get the specifics this time. Something had been bothering her for months and he was going to get to the bottom of it. He knew that she had PTSD, but she would never talk to him about what had happened to her over there, and that sent another sharp pain into his heart. He didn’t want Liza to suffer anything. She’d already had a hard enough time, with the losses of her mother and sister.
Slowly he rose, not taking his eyes from the glass door of the optometrist’s office. “Were any shots actually fired?”
“Not that we can find,” Howell replied. “Nobody reported any gunshots and there are no spent cartridges here.”
“We need to know where Agent Rodriguez was standing,” Croft said, taking out her cell phone. “I’m going to call him now.”
“He included that in his report when he called it in,” Howell said. “He was standing off to the side, against the plate glass window. He’d lit a cigarette and pretended to be taking a break. He also said that he didn’t see the shooter until Miss Barkley pointed him out.”
“It was a man, then?” Croft asked.
“Rodriguez thought so, but his glimpse was too brief for him to be certain.”
It was DJ Belmont. Of that Tom was completely certain. But they needed actual proof. “We’ll need access to any prints Latent lifts,” he said. “We think we know who this was, and we have his prints on file.”
“I’ll make sure you get everything we gather,” Howell promised.
They exchanged business cards and, after thanking the man politely, Tom and Croft walked back to the stairwell.
“I want to see that security footage right now,” Tom said as soon as the door closed.
“I agree. If this is Belmont, we need to know.” She angled him a look. “Miss Barkley does have a damn good eye. What did she do in the military?”
“Army medic,” Tom said.
Croft winced. “She did see a lot worse, I’m afraid. What’s she doing now?”
Tom lifted his brows. “You trying to recruit her?”
Croft shrugged. “You never know.”
“She’s starting on her master’s in nursing in July,” Tom said, “at UC Davis.”
Croft whistled softly as the doors opened. “Good school. She must be smart.”
“She is,” Tom said, and he could hear the pride in his voice. Then he remembered what Molina had said that morning, that Liza might be surprised to learn that he was proud of her.
That had to change, too.
They found the security manager’s office on the first floor near the lobby. A CSU tech wearing white coveralls sat next to a man in a black suit like Tom wore.
“Excuse us,” Croft said after knocking on the open door. “Special Agents Croft and Hunter. Can we have a moment?”
The CSU tech gestured to the monitor he was watching. “My boss just texted that you’d probably be by.” One brow lifted. “Even though he promised to share everything with you.”
Tom’s lips curved. “Busted.” He sobered, crossing the room to stand behind the tech’s chair. “You are?”
“I’m James Gray, head of security for the building.” The man in the suit rose from his chair, offering it to Croft. “Ma’am?”
Croft’s smile was tight. “Thank you, Mr. Gray.” Sitting, she peered at the image on the monitor, then looked over her shoulder at Tom.
The footage was paused, freezing on a man wearing jeans and a gray hoodie on the staircase. They’d found an angle that showed his face clearly. Tall and rangy with shaggy blond hair, the man looked like he could be a cowboy, despite wearing a baseball cap without a logo. He matched the descriptions of DJ Belmont given by Gideon, Mercy, and Amos.
Tom nodded curtly, unwilling to say Belmont’s name aloud. “Can you zoom in on his hands?” he asked.
Gray leaned over Croft to manipulate a mouse, bringing the man’s hands into prominence. “Gloves,” he said, anticipating what he was looking for.
“He had them on when he entered the building,” the CSU tech added.
“Dammit,” Croft cursed softly. “We still want Latent to process prints from the roof on the off chance that he took them off when he was setting up his shot.”
“I’ll let the sergeant know,” the tech said dryly, clearly unimpressed with taking orders from Croft. Tom wasn’t sure if it was a Fed thing or a woman thing, but neither was acceptable.
He directed his next question to the head of security. “Do you have a camera outside to show how he got away?”
Once again Gray leaned in to tap his keyboard, then stepped back, letting the video play. “He wasn’t trying too hard to hide his face,” the man observed as Belmont ran out the back door, then kicked the brick away.
Tom had noticed that. Of course, Belmont had operated under the radar for years. He probably thought it didn’t matter even if they did see his face. He probably figured that once he got rid of Mercy Callahan he’d disappear back under the Eden rock from where he’d crawled.
Squaring his shoulders, Belmont slowed his pace. In one hand, he carried a guitar case, which he slid across the floorboards of a box truck with a sign proclaiming him to be a plumber.
Tom’s throat thickened as he recognized the truck despite the bogus plumbing sign. It had belonged to the man Belmont had murdered a month ago as he’d fled the scene at Dunsmuir. Where he’d murdered five FBI agents, executed Ephraim Burton, and shot Amos.
The surveillance camera caught the license plates as the truck peeled out of the parking lot, kicking up gravel and dust. “Pause it, please,” Tom requested. He then took a photo of the monitor with his phone, capturing the license plate number. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll still need a copy of the footage. Sergeant Howell has my contact info.”
The CSU tech gave him a little salute. “Of course.”
Croft relinquished Gray’s chair. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
“Should we be watching for this man to return?” Gray asked. “My clients in the building are understandably shaken at hearing that a gunman was on the roof.”
“Probably not,” Croft said. “He was aiming at a specific target. It’s unlikely that the person he wanted to shoot will return.”
Gray nodded grimly. “Thanks. I’ll let my clients know.”
“Tell them that we said your surveillance system is excellent,” Tom said. “So many cameras get a grainy feed that’s all but useless. Yours is crystal clear.”
Gray dipped his head, his expression appreciative. “Now if I can only get the employees to stop propping that door open to take a smoke, my life would be peachy.”
Tom frowned. “Was the door alarmed?”
“It was supposed to have been,” Gray said with a scowl. “That door is entry by key card only. The alarm should have alerted everyone when it remained unsecured. Someone deactivated it, and I’m going to find out who.”
“I don’t think it was your guy, though,” the CSU tech offered. “He just walked in and didn’t seem to touch anything but that guitar case.”
“Unless he planned it,” Gray mused. “He could have come earlier and set everything up.”
It was possible, although unlikely unless they had a mole in the field office who had alerted him that the women were visiting this optometrist. The security footage would reveal if Belmont had been there earlier. Tom gave both men his business card. “Let me know if you think of anything else.”
This time Croft opened the door for him, waiting until they were alone in the Bureau SUV before sighing. “Definitely Belmont. How did he know where they’d be this morning?”
“I don’t know,” Tom said grimly, starting the engine. “Either he followed them—which means he has a view of the Sokolovs’ house—or we have a leak.”
Croft shook her head. “Rodriguez is a good agent. He’s careful to a fault, but we’ll check his vetting process. I’m more inclined to believe Belmont has eyes on the Sokolovs’ house.”
“Me too.” He pulled the SUV out of the parking lot, looking for the stolen truck even though he knew it was long gone. “That was the truck he stole a month ago.”
“The one he killed that farmer over.” Croft’s expression said that she, too, knew exactly what he’d done for the farmer’s family. “Whose family someone anonymously donated money to.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Tom lied.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid for you, Hunter. This job will chew you up and spit you out, especially if you wear your heart on your sleeve like you do.”
“Have no idea what you’re talking about. Can you call in the truck’s license plate?”
Her eye roll said that she was unimpressed with his very clumsy subject change. “Sure. Send me that photo you took with your phone.”
Tom unlocked his phone and handed it to Croft. “Check my photos.”
She lifted one eyebrow. “You’re just handing me your phone,” she said, her disbelief clear. “I thought you hacker types were a lot more paranoid.”
“I’m driving. But that’s my work phone,” he told her. “Everything on there is stuff you already know.”
She flashed him a delighted grin. “I knew you’d have multiple phones. How many?”
He debated answering, then shrugged. “I carry at least three at all times. My work phone, my personal phone, and a burner.”
“Huh. So if I need a burner . . . You got extras?”
Tom chuckled. “Of course. You can choose any color as long as it’s black.”
“Then I guess I’ll take a black one. Is it okay if I text myself this photo?”
“Sure. Text away. Like I said, nothing on that phone that you don’t already know.”
“Kind of takes the fun out of it,” Croft grumbled, but she was smiling as she called dispatch to get the plate traced. A minute later her smile fell. “What? Where?” She scribbled something on the notepad she carried. “Can you have someone do a drive-by and see if it’s where it’s supposed to be? I’d like a photo of the vehicle. Thanks.” Ending the call, she sighed. “This plate doesn’t come up as lost or stolen. It belongs to a guy in San Dimas with a food truck business.” She typed something into her cell phone. “According to the guy’s Facebook, he was open today and had long lines. Ran out of Cronuts before lunch.”
Tom frowned, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to glance over at her. “So . . . what does that mean? I mean, either the food truck guy hasn’t reported his plates stolen yet or they were switched, right? Or—”
Abruptly he pulled the SUV to the curb and took his phone back, enlarging the photo with a frown.
“Or what?” Croft asked, seeming unperturbed by his abrupt stop.
He stared hard at the license plate in the photo, wishing it were an actual picture of the plate instead of a picture of another picture. “Or it could be a duplicate.”
Croft’s brows flew up. “A duplicate? How?”
“3D printer.”
Croft frowned. “Shit. I hate those things.”
“They certainly have their place for legit projects, but they do muck things up.” Guns were a particular concern, but license plates were also becoming a problem.
“Can a 3D printer really make a plate that looks real? Because that one looks real.”
“Google it. Include ‘toy’ and ‘custom’ in your search field. You should find a tutorial or two with no—”
“Shit,” she interrupted, having immediately done the search.
“No trouble,” he finished. Tom put his phone in his breast pocket as his personal phone buzzed in the pocket of his trousers, announcing an incoming text. “Give me a second.”
Croft watched him retrieve his personal phone. “Not the burner because it’s blue. Personal, I’m guessing.”
“Yeah. I’d normally let it go, but . . .” He didn’t want to admit it, but he was still unsteady at the thought of Liza standing in front of that glass door. He knew she was all right, but still.
The text was, indeed, from Liza. But not to tell him that she’d arrived safely at the Sokolovs’, as he’d asked her to do. No, this message was curt and to the point.
Abigail saw DJ’s *second* tattoo. Rodriguez says it’s a gang design. Thought u should know.
Oh wow. First Cameron Cook, and now this. Two leads in the same day after weeks of nothing. He showed the text to Croft. “Next stop, the Sokolovs’?”
She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Absolutely.”
