Anything?” Hayley whispered when Graham sidled up behind where she sat on the makeshift bench.
Pastor had designated the largest of the caves to be the church. Because of course he would. Most of the parishioners would sit on the stone floor during services, but she, as a pregnant woman, was allowed to sit on a half-rotten plank balanced on two large rocks.
If the last site was primitive, this place was prehistoric. Please, don’t make me have my baby here. Please.
Graham palmed her shoulders, giving her a massage that nearly had her crying where she sat. Everything hurt. “Nothing that’ll help us get out,” he murmured. “I still can’t find the computer or the dish.”
Hayley had used her pregnancy as an excuse to visit the clinic as often as she could, and each time she attempted a peek into the office. There was no longer a door keeping everyone out of the office. Only a curtain. The outer entrance to the clinic was secured by a sliding wooden door, bolted into the rock itself.
They could only hope that the computer had been brought with them to the caves, because it wasn’t on the healer’s desk. Hayley had finally managed a glimpse of the clean desk when Sister Coleen had emerged from her office a few days ago. The older woman had looked pale and was coughing, like she needed a healer herself.
The caves were damp and cold. Only the areas near the entrance had ventilation, so fires were only allowed there. Most Edenites had no heat and had quietly grumbled—when no one in authority was there to hear them—and wrapped themselves up in handwoven blankets to stay warm.
Hayley had grown up in San Francisco, so the damp cold wasn’t anything new. Still, this was a miserable way to live. Pastor had promised it wouldn’t be much longer, that they were waiting for the roads to clear of snow so that they could move to an actual settlement site.
Snow. In freaking May. It was crazy, but it was their reality. She’d had a vague notion of areas in California where the snow lingered this late in the year, but that was up in Lassen National Park. Her class had been forced to cancel an end-of-year field trip to Lassen’s volcanic fields because the roads hadn’t been cleared in June.
She assumed they were somewhere near that now because of the snow and the caves, but she had no way to be certain. Especially since Graham had been unable to find the computer. He’d even risked being sentenced to the box by leaving the caves to search the surrounding area.
Fortunately, he hadn’t been caught. Graham was good at not getting caught. Except for the shoplifting arrest, of course, but he’d informed her that he hadn’t been caught at least a hundred other times. He’d also met some colorful characters in juvie and learned “ever so much.”
Hayley would have to do something about that when they got out. Graham would not become a criminal. Or at least a worse criminal, she thought with a wince. But first, they had to actually get out of Eden.
Unfortunately, even if Graham found the computer, it was useless without an Internet connection. Graham figured there had to be a satellite dish of some kind, but he hadn’t been able to find that, either. They couldn’t send out another message for help or use Google Maps to figure out where the hell they were.
Cameron had not come to help her. She didn’t even know if he’d received the e-mail she’d sent. Part of her mind taunted that he’d found someone new, that he didn’t love her anymore. But Cameron did love her. Of this she was certain, just as she knew that he wanted their baby.
We’re running out of time. Little Jellybean kicked, both a welcome sensation and one that filled Hayley with dread. This baby was coming soon.
She’d feared giving birth at the last Eden settlement, but at least the clinic there had been warm and somewhat clean. The thought of going into labor here was terrifying.
The fact that Brother Joshua had promised her baby to that awful Rebecca . . . The knowledge nearly brought her to her knees, every single time.
Graham stalled her anxiety attack by tightening his grip on her shoulders, leaning close to mutter in her ear. “Stick with me here, Hayley. I did find something else.”
The room was beginning to fill with worshippers, so their little bubble of privacy was coming to an end.
“So tell me,” Hayley said, speaking through her teeth while keeping her lips still.
“Drugs,” Graham whispered. “A lot. Some pot and what looked like coke. And shrooms.”
Hayley opened her mouth in surprise, forgetting the danger for a moment. She snapped her mouth closed when Sister Tamar slid onto the pew beside her.
“People are watching you,” Tamar said, also speaking through her teeth. Her lips curved up in a placid smile and she folded her hands on her lap. She was the picture of serenity, resembling a painting of the Madonna that Hayley had seen in one of her textbooks.
Hayley had been trying to corner Sister Tamar for weeks. She needed to know why this woman had helped her when Rebecca had nearly caught her breaking into the clinic the night they’d moved. But Sister Tamar always managed to be somewhere that Hayley was not. Hayley hadn’t taken it personally at first, but it had become apparent that Tamar was avoiding her.
And now, here she was. Smiling like absolutely nothing was wrong.
Graham leaned forward, digging his thumbs into the stiff muscles inside Hayley’s shoulder blades. Again she bit back a moan as Graham whispered, “Meaning?”
“Meaning you need to stop wandering around the caves,” Tamar replied sweetly, her smile never faltering. “They’ve been watching you both.”
“Why do you care?” Graham asked in a near-silent growl.
“Because you’re trying to get out,” Tamar said, still speaking through her teeth. Her gaze was fixed on the pulpit, where Pastor was arranging a stack of hymnals. “I want to go with you.”
Hayley stiffened. Should she deny it? Refuse to allow Tamar entry into their club of two?
“It’s all right,” Tamar said, speaking normally, then turned to smile at Hayley. “I’d be happy to attend you at the birth. I’ve already cleared it with Sister Coleen. I’m also happy to answer any questions you might have about the birthing process.”
Fighting a blink at the rapid topic change, Hayley glanced over her shoulder at Graham, who’d pursed his lips like he’d just eaten a lemon, still trying to process having been spotted as he’d searched for the computer. Her brother prided himself on being nearly invisible when he wished to be.
“Are you a midwife or something?” she asked the other woman.
Tamar’s shuttered expression cleared for a moment, exposing a sadness and rage that made Hayley suck in a breath. And then it was gone, hidden behind her serene smile. “Or something,” Tamar replied sweetly. “I have . . . experience.”
Hayley frowned. Then straightened as Tamar’s words made sense and something else clicked into place. Tamar had vivid blue eyes, just like Rebecca’s youngest child.
Oh my God. The child that Rebecca had stolen from another woman because she’d been barren, unable to conceive her own children. Rebecca’s other two children had come from mothers who’d died in childbirth, but the youngest had been taken. Rebecca stole Tamar’s baby.
“Okay,” Hayley breathed, her hands cradling her belly of their own volition. “I understand. Thank you. I welcome your help. All your help.”
Tamar patted Hayley’s hand lightly. “It’s my Christian duty to provide it. I need to go now. My husband and his family await me.” She rose and glided across the stone floor with such grace she might have been an angel, joining the family belonging to Brother Caleb. He was an older man and not cruel like Joshua was, at least not that Hayley had been able to see.
Pastor rapped on the pulpit with his fist, silencing the quiet murmurs of the assembled group. “Please stand for prayer.”
Hayley struggled to stand, shooting Graham an appreciative glance when he helped her up. Bowing her head, she stared up through her lashes at Graham, who now stood beside her, one hand on her elbow to steady her. Be careful, she mouthed, and her little brother nodded grimly.
Someone was watching them. Someone was watching Graham.
This place kept getting worse. It wasn’t simply a prison, although that would have been bad enough. Now someone here was dealing drugs?
Cameron, please find us. Please.
GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA
WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 12:35 P.M.
“These are so good,” Abigail moaned around a mouthful of the Caramel-Pecan Dream Bars that Liza had made that morning. She’d had three already, without dropping a single crumb—much to the dismay of her puppy, who lay beneath her chair, ever hopeful.
Liza nodded, her mouth too full to speak her thanks aloud.
“They are,” Irina agreed. “I want this recipe, Liza.”
“Anytime. It was my mother’s.”
Mercy gently tapped Abigail’s hand when she went for a fourth helping. “First, you’re going to get sick. Second, save some for your papa, Rafe, and Mr. Karl.”
Abigail’s sigh was long-suffering. “And Zoya, too. She likes a sweet treat when she comes home from school. When will that be, Miss Irina?”
Irina’s mouth tightened. “In three hours, but I don’t think Zoya will be having any treats.”
Recognizing the look on Irina’s face as one her own mother had worn too often, Liza’s brows lifted. “What did she do?”
Irina looked away, then huffed. “She decided it would be prudent to take her car and drive to San Francisco this morning.”
Mercy’s eyes widened. “Why? Is she all right?”
“She is fine,” Irina said with a wave of her hand. “I got a call from the school saying that she hadn’t been present in homeroom this morning. I was busy”—her gaze flitted to Abigail—“so I let the call go to voice mail. I listened to it after you all left for the eye doctor’s.”
“That doesn’t sound like Zoya,” Mercy murmured. “She’s so responsible. What happened?”
Irina rolled her eyes. “By the time I called the school, she’d appeared, claiming ‘car trouble’ made her late. Then I remembered that she’d already left when I came downstairs this morning. She does that sometimes when she has a club meeting or needs to get study help from a teacher, so I didn’t worry at the time. But it was not car trouble that made her late.”
“How did you know she went to San Francisco?” Liza asked, suspecting the answer.
Irina’s chin lifted. “I can track her car,” she said without apology.
Liza held out both hands in a stop gesture. “You get no judgment from me. My mom would have done the same if we’d had a car to track.”
“Why did she go to San Francisco?” Mercy asked, then turned to Agent Rodriguez, who suddenly was very interested in the chocolate drizzled atop Liza’s bars. “Agent Rodriguez?”
Irina had also turned to stare at the agent. “What do you know?” she demanded.
He shook his head, then shoved a bar in his mouth. He shrugged, pointing to his lips as if to say he couldn’t talk with his mouth full.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Irina muttered. She took out her cell phone and tapped a number. “Geri? Hi, this is Irina. Is Jeffrey home?” She listened to whatever Jeff Bunker’s mother was saying, her brows rising again. “I thought he might be involved. May I speak with him? Thank you.” She looked at Mercy and Liza. “He wasn’t home when she woke up this morning, but was recently returned by the FBI with a guest in tow. One Cameron Cook from San Francisco.”
Agent Rodriguez rose from the table. “I’ll wait outside.”
Irina pointed at him, then the chair. “I’d appreciate it if you would stay.” She nodded at him when he complied, then cocked her head, listening to her call. “Yes, Jeffrey. This is Mrs. Sokolov. Why did Zoya take you to San Francisco this morning?”
Right to the point. That was just one of the things that Liza loved about Irina Sokolov. Liza pursed her lips to keep from smiling. It wasn’t funny, but . . . it kind of was.
Abigail tugged on Liza’s sleeve. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” Liza whispered, “but I think Zoya is about to get grounded.”
Abigail’s eyes widened, then narrowed contemplatively. “Then she won’t want her brownie.”
Liza snorted, covering her mouth with her hand, then let the chuckle escape when Irina pushed the plate in front of Abigail.
Abigail’s grin was triumphant. “Yes!”
“No,” a voice said from the kitchen doorway.
Abigail slumped as her father strode across the room. Pushing the plate away, he sank to his knees and pulled her into a bear hug. Abigail patted Amos’s hair. “I’m okay, Papa. See?” She opened her arms wide. “Not a scratch.”
Amos pretended to examine her arms, tilting her face one way, then the other. “Not a scratch,” he agreed, but his voice trembled. He looked to Mercy. “And you?”
Mercy held her arms wide, just as Abigail had. “Not a scratch.” Then she stood up when Rafe rushed into the kitchen, letting herself be swept up into his arms.
Swallowing hard, Liza looked away. She was so happy for Mercy—her friend absolutely deserved all the good things life could bring. But at the same time, it was hard to watch when she knew she’d never have that.
“Thank you, Jeffrey,” Irina said into the phone. “You will put your mother back on the phone now.” She waited, rolling her eyes when Liza met her gaze. “Geri, I think we’re going to have to sit our children down for a little talk. Can you come for dinner and bring Jeffrey?” She smiled. “Of course Cameron is welcome, too. Tell his father he can pick him up here.” She ended the call and grimaced. “Zoya has some explaining to do.”
Rafe derailed Liza’s thoughts by sitting next to her, engulfing her in a huge hug before she could say a word.
“Thank you,” he whispered fiercely. “Thank you so much.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Liza said, patting his back.
“Yeah, she did,” Agent Rodriguez butted in. “And we’ll hear all the details in three, two, one—”
“Hello?” Tom called from the front door. “Anybody here?”
Liza stiffened. He was here already. She hadn’t expected him so soon. They must have used the flashing lights to beat traffic.
“In the kitchen, Tom,” Irina called back. She stood up and put the kettle on. “Who wants tea?”
Liza raised her hand immediately. “Special tea?”
Irina laughed. “You got someone to drive you home?” Because Irina’s “special tea” was infused with cannabis.
“I’ll take her,” Tom said. “She’s on my way,” he added jokingly.
His entry was as different from Rafe’s as day from night. There were no hugs. No comfort. He hadn’t even asked Liza if she was all right. He’d just breezed into the kitchen with his partner, Agent Croft, a woman who was somewhere in her late thirties or early forties. She was supposedly good at her job, which meant she’d watch Tom’s back.
She was also single. Liza had asked.
Liza hoped that Tom’s back was all the woman was watching, but it didn’t really matter, did it? He’s not yours. And I’m not going to let him take me home. She didn’t want to be trapped in a car with him right now, not after watching Rafe and Mercy together. It hurt enough knowing she’d never have that. Not with Tom, anyway. “Just Earl Grey, then,” she amended.
Irina glanced from her to Tom, then shrugged. “As you wish. Liza, if you want to stay here tonight, you’re welcome.”
“Thanks, but no,” Liza told her. “It’s my turn to walk Pebbles.”
The young Great Dane was the only decision Liza had known Tom to make on impulse. The pup had needed a home, having grown too big for the family who’d originally adopted her.
Tom had taken one look at the Dane’s big brown eyes and was a goner, but he’d worried that he might not be home enough to care for a dog. Liza had pledged her help and now their schedules were synchronized around Pebbles’s meals and walks. The dog was a big slobbery pain in the butt with whom Liza had fallen into insta-love.
Also, Pebbles was the perfect excuse to flee.
Tom frowned at her, then turned to Irina. “Have you met Agent Croft?”
Irina held out her hand to the other woman. “Welcome, Agent Croft.”
“Call me Ricki,” Croft said with an easy smile. She looked at Liza, her smile not faltering. “Miss Barkley, it’s always a pleasure to see you. I understand you had a busy morning.”
Liza could feel all eyes on her now and, to her dismay, felt her own eyes begin to burn. I need to get out of here. “Just a bit.” She stood up, leaning over to kiss Abigail’s forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, Shrimpkin?”
Abigail seemed disappointed. “You’re leaving?”
“Gotta go. Pebbles needs to be walked.” And I’m about to cry. Not here.
“But why can’t you bring her here?” Abigail asked, a whine edging into her tone.
“Because she’ll tear up Irina’s pretty house, not to mention stomping on poor Sally.” Sally was Abigail’s Maltese puppy, named for astronaut Sally Ride, over whom the little girl obsessed. Denied in Eden, the idea of space travel had quickly caught—and held—Abigail’s attention.
“Oh yeah,” Abigail grumbled. “I remember now.”
Amos chuckled. “I think someone has earned a nap.”
“Don’t wanna nap.” Abigail’s whine was at full power.
“Sugar crash,” Liza said. “These bars pack a powerful punch. I’m feeling tired myself.” Which was no lie. Her sleepless nights had abruptly caught up to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Abs. And then we can finish the book we started reading last week.”
“Thank you,” Amos murmured when Liza began gathering her things. “You spend so much time with her.”
“She’s a good kid,” Liza said, ruffling Abigail’s bangs. “She did all the right things today. I’m proud of her.”
Abigail grinned. “ ’Cause I’m awesome.”
Amos winced. “And humble. Come on, Abi-girl. You have a nap with your name on it.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Papa,” Abigail said as Amos started to lead her from the room.
“Um, can we talk to Abigail, Amos?” Tom asked, gesturing to his partner. “Before she goes down for a nap?”
Amos narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Right. The tattoo. How quickly Liza had forgotten. She leaned in to whisper in Amos’s ear. “Abigail may have seen DJ Belmont’s tattoo. The one he didn’t get in Eden,” she added when the older man frowned, clearly confused.
“All right. But make it quick, okay? She’s fading fast,” Amos told Tom.
Amos, Tom, and Agent Croft were gone for only a few minutes, during which Rafe got a rundown from Mercy and Irina set the table for afternoon tea.
When they returned, Croft and Amos sat down with Abigail and a sketchpad, and Tom approached Liza the way a zoo handler might approach a wounded animal.
It was fair, Liza decided. Being in the same room with Tom Hunter left her feeling wounded.
“Can we talk for a moment?” Tom asked quietly.
“I really need to go,” she said, trying not to sound as whiny as Abigail had. “Pebbles has probably eaten your sofa again.”
“Liza,” Tom said urgently. “Please.”
There was something in his tone that gave her pause. “Fine. But just for a minute.”
I need to get out of here. Now.
Tom pointed to the laundry room, then followed her in and closed the door. It wasn’t a small room, but Tom filled it like no other man could. It wasn’t just that he was big, because he was. Six-six and solid muscle. Or that he was handsome, because he was that, too. He had a presence that filled her mind, and she couldn’t look anywhere else. He was her true north and she’d been in love with him since she was seventeen years old.
Fritz had caught her staring at Tom’s NBA team photo once, before they’d first started dating. Luckily, he’d been more interested in the fact that she knew the Tom Hunter than that she’d been mooning over another man.
Guilt filled her at the thought of Fritz. He deserved more than she’d been able to give him. He deserved to at least be claimed verbally as the man she’d married. So far, she hadn’t told anyone about him. Not stateside anyway. His family knew, as did their friends in the army. And they’d grieved with her, not knowing that most of her grief was guilt for not loving him enough.
Closing her eyes, she leaned against the wall as far from Tom as she could get. “What’s up?”
There was silence. Long, long silence.
Finally, she opened her eyes to find Tom staring at her as if she were a stranger. “What is up?” she asked again, enunciating every word.
He swallowed audibly. “What the fuck, Liza? What were you thinking?”
GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA
WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 12:55 P.M.
Tom closed his eyes. Of all the things he’d wanted to say, that hadn’t been on the list. “Shit,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Liza said. “Now, if you’re finished, I need to go home and walk your dog.”
He opened his eyes to see her holding herself rigidly. She was a tall woman, five-ten without her boots. With her boots, she could meet his eyes with a chin lift that, at the moment, seemed more vulnerable than defiant.
Fuck. Now he’d hurt her feelings. “That’s not what I meant to say,” he whispered, taking a step closer. She backed up a step—or would have if she hadn’t already been up against the wall.
Something stirred within him, a desire he’d tamped down years ago, right after they’d met, in fact. It still reared its head from time to time, but he was usually able to smack it back down.
She’d been too young, only seventeen to his twenty. Then she’d been deployed. Then . . . Tory had come along and he’d thought he’d found his forever. But . . .
She’s not too young anymore. She’s not deployed anymore. She’s here. And Tory is not.
That last one had him taking a step back. His Victoria was dead. It had only been a year.
What am I thinking? Nothing smart, that was for damn sure. “Are you all right?”
Her smile was brittle. “Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He frowned, having no idea what to say next. Then he remembered Molina’s words from that morning. “You know I’m proud of you, don’t you?” And if the words sounded a little desperate coming from his mouth, that was understandable, because he was desperate.
She blinked, her lips parting in surprise. Then her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
He stared at her, at a loss for words. “What do you mean, why?” he finally asked.
“Because when you start with ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ and progress to you being proud of me, you have to admit it sounds a little suspicious.”
“Fair enough,” he acknowledged. The slight relaxation of her rigid shoulders made him relax a little as well. He’d been genuinely afraid there for a moment. “I was worried.”
The rigidity returned, and with it the brittle smile. “Mercy and Abigail are fine.”
He blew out a frustrated breath. It was like she was turning his words upside down and inside out. He hadn’t meant just Mercy and Abigail, and she knew it. “What’s wrong with you?”
Which was the exact wrong thing to say.
Because she swallowed hard and tears welled in her usually warm brown eyes. “Clearly too many things to count,” she whispered. “Tell Irina I’ll be back tomorrow.”
And with that, she fled from the laundry room into the Sokolovs’ garage. Follow her, you idiot. But his feet wouldn’t move, his body frozen in place at the sight of her tears. What had he done? Why was she crying?
A moment later, the rumble of the garage door going up finally got his feet moving. He made it into the garage in time to see her back as she retreated to her car, parked at the curb. She paused a split second to wave at Irina’s husband Karl, who was pulling into the driveway.
Tom stood there, completely at sea. Liza wasn’t a crier. Well, sure, she cried at sad movies, but so did he. They often spent the evenings on his sofa watching movies, sometimes sharing a box of tissues between them before she retreated to her own side of the duplex for the night.
But he had never made her cry. He was frowning when Karl parked his Tesla and hit the button to bring the garage door down. Karl was also frowning as he got out of his car.
“What the hell did you do to her?” Karl demanded.
Tom’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“She’s crying,” Karl said, as if Tom’s guilt was obvious. “What did you say?”
“Nothing!” Tom protested. Which wasn’t exactly true. “Well, I did tell her I was proud of her. She probably saved Mercy and Abigail’s lives today.”
Karl Sokolov looked unconvinced. “What else did you say?”
“Why do you think it was me who said something to her?”
Karl tilted his head, studying him. “For real?”
Tom threw up his hands. “Yes. For real. I just got here. I didn’t do anything.”
Which wasn’t true, either. What’s wrong with you? You fucked up big-time.
“Kid, I’ve been married for nearly forty years, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you’ve always done something.”
Tom huffed. “Maybe she’s . . . y’know . . . hormonal.”
Karl winced. “Oh my God. Are you stupid? Do not ever say that to her.”
“I’m not! I’m saying it to you.”
Karl shook his head, chuckling. “How old are you, again?”
“Twenty-seven,” Tom answered stiffly.
Karl patted Tom’s arm as he headed for the laundry room. “You’ve still got time, then.”
Tom turned to stare at the man. “Time for what?”
“Time to get it right.”
Tom gritted his teeth. “Time to get what right? No offense, sir, but the sooner you stop talking in riddles, the sooner I might understand what you’re saying.”
Karl shot him a pitying look. “Never mind, Tom.” He opened the door to the kitchen and called, “Where is my lovely bride?”
Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. Slowly he followed Karl into the kitchen, feeling addled and irritated about it.
Irina looked behind him. “Where is Liza?”
“She left,” Tom said brusquely.
“I passed her in the driveway,” Karl said, then leaned in to whisper something in Irina’s ear.
Irina’s back straightened as she turned to Tom, glaring daggers. “You let her leave? Alone?”
“Shit,” Tom whispered, his blood running cold. She’d witnessed the sniper on that rooftop. If he saw her . . . “She needs protection.”
“Which I was providing,” Rodriguez said very slowly. “Until you let her leave. Alone.”
Tom’s temper boiled. “I didn’t let her do anything. She’s a grown woman, for God’s sake.”
Who he’d made cry. And he still didn’t know why.
He clenched his eyes shut, giving in to the need to rub his temples. “Dammit,” he whispered.
“I can’t go after her,” Rodriguez said. “I’m on Callahan detail until she’s safe at home.”
“Rafe can take me home,” Mercy offered. “He can take Amos and Abigail, too.”
Because they all lived in apartments within the same house until Amos and Rafe finished renovating the new house.
Rodriguez shook his head. “I’d need to get that cleared, Miss Callahan.”
Irina made a noise. “All this talk, all while Liza is unprotected.” She took out her cell phone and pressed a button. “Damien, this is your mother.” Her lips pursed. “Do not sass me, young man. I am not in the mood.”
Damien Sokolov was one of Irina’s sons, a uniformed cop with the Russian division in West Sacramento. Tom had thought at first the division dealt with Russian organized crime, but instead it served the large Russian-speaking population of West Sac.
“I need you to go to Liza’s house,” Irina was saying to her son. “To make sure she gets home safely.” Irina smiled. “You’re a good boy, Damien. I will send the address.”
Tom’s head fell back to hit the laundry room door. “Tell him not to worry about it. I’ll go.”
Irina’s smile was smug as she slipped her phone into her pocket without saying goodbye. “Good.”
Tom scowled. “Did you even call him?”
Irina just chuckled. “Go and make sure she is okay, Tom. You know you want to.”
Hell of it was . . . he did.
Which was not a big deal. At all. It’s what friends do for each other. Like she’d taken care of him when he had the flu in January when they’d first arrived in California and knew no one but each other. Or like he held her every time he heard her cry out in the night through the duplex wall they shared, her nightmares making her shudder and tremble in his arms.
Or like she took care of “his dog.” Except that before today, Pebbles had been “our dog.”
Today she’d said “his dog.” He’d just realized that, and his heart hurt. Something had happened. Something new. Something that I did. He needed to figure out what that was.
He looked to Croft, noting that Abigail no longer sat at the table. Amos was gone as well. “Did you get what you needed from Abigail?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m about ninety-five percent sure it’s a Chicos tat. I don’t think there’re many tattoo artists in the area who’d ink that design. They don’t want negative gang attention. Mr. Terrill said he hadn’t seen the tattoo, because he hadn’t seen DJ without his shirt in a very long time. Abigail must have caught DJ at the right moment. Terrill said he knew that DJ has an Eden tattoo because he was there the night they tattooed him.”
“On DJ’s thirteenth birthday,” Tom said, recalling Mercy’s brother Gideon talking about the night he got his Eden tattoo.
“If not many artists would do the tattoo,” Mercy said, “do you know who would?”
“I have a few ideas,” was all Croft would say as she put her sketchbook into her briefcase and locked it. “Agent Hunter, let’s make sure Miss Barkley made it home all right, and then you can drop me off at the field office so I can get my car.”
Mercy frowned and Tom wanted to sigh. This was an example of information civilians didn’t need to have, so Croft was right not to share. He also knew Mercy would be looking before he and Croft had left the Sokolovs’ driveway.
It wasn’t Mercy that was bothering him, though. It was Rafe. He looked like he wanted to say something but was holding his tongue. Maybe because Croft was there. Or Rodriguez.
Or even me. Tom would ask him later. Once he knew that Liza was all right, he’d call Rafe. And then he’d get to work doing what he did best—hacking. He still had Cameron Cook’s e-mail to trace.
Karl followed them to the door, tugging on Tom’s sleeve to hold him back when Croft jogged to the Bureau’s SUV.
“Talk to her, Tom,” Karl said quietly.
“I talk to Agent Croft all the time,” Tom said lightly, but he knew what Karl meant.
Karl looked disappointed with him. “Liza’s become important to us. Her happiness is important. It should be to you, too.”
Tom sighed. “Of course it is. Something’s been bothering her for a while now, but I’ve let her be. I figured she’d tell me when she was ready, but I’ll push harder.”
Karl shook his head. “See that you do.”
