Say Goodbye (Sacramento Series, The Book 3)

m glad that you came today,” Irina said, sitting on the sofa beside Liza. The Sokolov house was brimming with people, Mercy’s party in full swing. “I feared you would not.”

“I almost didn’t,” Liza admitted, watching Abigail play with Irina’s grandchildren. Liza had retreated to one of the quieter corners. “But I didn’t want to hurt Mercy’s feelings.”

“You have a good heart, lubimaya.” Irina gestured to the children sitting in a circle on the floor playing a card game. Abigail was listening to the rules with the attention of someone learning the nuclear codes. “I’m so glad that she’s having fun.”

“She was nervous,” Liza murmured. “Wanting to be ‘normal.’ She had a meltdown this morning. She’d insisted I put her hair in rollers overnight, but a few of them came out and her puppy stole them. One side of her hair was ringlets and the other was like cooked spaghetti.”

“So you fixed it?” Irina asked fondly.

“I did. It didn’t take long. Just took a curling iron and most of a can of hair spray.”

“You spoil her.”

Liza shrugged. “She’s gone through so much upheaval in the last month. I think it’s okay if she gets spoiled a little. Even her meltdown this morning was polite by normal-kid standards. It’s awful good to see her with kids her own age. She spends too much time with adults.”

“When this is over—” Irina began, then sighed. “I feel like I’ve been saying that a lot.”

“Me too.” Liza looked from the children to the living room doorway, her attention caught by a flash of gold—the light reflecting off Tom’s hair. He looked as amazing in jeans and a T-shirt as he did in a suit and tie. Her gaze lingered, remembering how hard the muscle was under that shirt. Then she resolutely looked away, only to find Irina watching her.

“I thought as much,” Irina murmured.

“Not his fault,” Liza murmured back, not trying to hide it anymore. “He loves it here. Don’t blame him. He’ll pull back into his shell, and he needs this family.”

“So do you.”

“And I’ll keep coming by. Don’t worry.”

“But I do. Did you get that job?”

“I did. I’m going to be working with a pediatric patient.” Liza patted the older woman’s knee. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“Do not tell me not to worry. It is what I do best.”

Liza smiled at that. “I thought party hostessing was what you did best. I bet there are a ton of Mercy’s family who would love to talk to you.”

“You are a menace, Liza. But you are right. Do not hide here all afternoon,” Irina chided, pushing to her feet. “Mingle with Mercy’s family. They are good people.”

“I know. I will.” But there were so many of them and Liza was still raw from yesterday’s argument with Tom, so she’d hide in the corner until she could make her excuses and escape.

“Well, hello.” The Southern drawl belonged to Farrah Romero, a beautiful Black woman who was a brilliant biophysicist and Mercy’s best friend. “Mind if I sit down?”

Liza patted the sofa cushion next to her with a smile. “Please do.” She liked Farrah a lot. The woman was one hundred percent loyal to Mercy. “How was your trip?”

Farrah and her fiancé, André, had arrived from New Orleans the night before with a number of the Romero family. A few of her half siblings had also flown in.

“Worth every harrowing moment,” Farrah said. “We were so nervous, worrying that Belmont would jump out from behind a luggage cart and shoot us, especially since André also shot him last month. But Rafe had it managed.”

“He really did. I didn’t understand why he’d hired so many security people, but now I get it.” Mercy had said he’d hired six people, but Liza had counted at least a dozen. Some were posted around the house and others accompanied the drivers of the SUVs that had shuttled them back and forth from the Sokolovs’ house.

“You knew there’d be security?” Farrah asked. “Rafe asked us to keep it a secret.”

“I’d heard rumors” was all Liza would admit to. Mercy had played shocked and amazed very well. “It’s hard to keep a secret around here. We had to get creative to keep Mercy off social media this weekend, just in case she saw a post from one of you about your flights.”

“I’m glad you did,” Farrah said fervently. “She does not need to know about those cops.”

Liza’s smile faded. “What cops?”

Farrah blinked. “The cops who got killed. Oh God, you didn’t know, either?”

Liza felt like she was going to throw up. “No. We all stayed off phones and computers. Rafe was very firm about that. He wasn’t even on his phone, just in case Mercy looked over his shoulder. Then Gideon and Daisy came over last night and made us put our phones in a box because we were playing a trivia game.” She looked around to be sure no one was listening, then leaned closer to Farrah. “What happened?”

Farrah sighed. “The guy who was scheduled to pick us up was followed from this neighborhood to the airport. He’d just dropped off Mercy’s sibs and was coming back for us because Mama, André, and I caught a later flight. A big truck followed him and made the driver and the off-duty cop with him twitchy. They called for backup and a cruiser tried to pull the truck over. It got away. The cops found the truck abandoned on a side road. When they began searching . . .”

“DJ killed them,” Liza whispered. “Oh no. Does Rafe know?”

“I don’t think so?” Farrah shook her head, uncertain. “André got the details from the people who eventually picked us up. There was . . . well, he killed a woman, too. To get her car.”

“Rafe can’t have known. He couldn’t have gone on with this party had he known.”

“I agree. We all made a pact not to mention it to Mercy, but I thought since you knew about the security and you’re friends with Agent Hunter . . . I thought you knew.”

“Poor Mercy,” Liza murmured. “This has to end.”

“I know. Mercy’s gonna go off the deep end when she finds out. I’ll be here till tomorrow if she needs me.”

Liza winced. “She’s going to be so angry with us for keeping this from her.”

“But she gets her birthday with all of us here. I wasn’t going to take that from her.”

“I won’t, either. It’s just . . .” She trailed off, having no words to complete her thought.

“I know.” Farrah straightened her spine and smiled, but it looked forced. “Gotta go back into the fray and mingle. My mama and Irina are comparing notes.”

“Recipes, I hope?”

“I hope so.” Farrah mock-shuddered. “If they start comparing notes on us, we’re screwed.” She started to walk away, then turned back. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being there for Mercy. I love her like a sister and it’s been tearing me up not to be here for her. She told me that you’ve been supportive and I appreciate it.”

Liza didn’t deserve thanks. She didn’t want it. “She’s supported me, too.”

Farrah just smiled, squared her shoulders, and reentered the party chaos.

Liza took out her phone and googled the shooting from the night before. The details were worse than she’d expected. Both of the fallen officers were family men who’d left wives and small children behind. There were photos of the scene and . . .

There, in the photos, was Tom. He and his partner, Ricki Croft, were talking to a uniformed officer. Everyone in the picture looked exhausted.

She found herself texting him a message of support before she remembered. They weren’t friends right now, and that was on her. She felt small and petty. This was a big case and he probably needed someone to talk to.

She could do that. Just talk to him. Couldn’t she?

Yes. She wasn’t seventeen anymore. She was an adult. Then act like one. So she texted him.

Saw the story from last night online. You look tired. Call if you need to talk. Still want to be there for you if you want me to. That’s what friends are for, right?

She hit send before she could change her mind, then watched Abigail play.

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

SUNDAY, MAY 28, 3:15 P.M.

Tom had been waiting for Rafe to leave Mercy’s side for an hour. He needed to talk to the man, but this wasn’t a conversation he wanted documented in any way.

He also didn’t want to disclose any details that would be distressing, not yet. He especially didn’t want to mention last night’s murders. Tom had suggested that Rafe keep Mercy off social media until after her birthday party. He hadn’t wanted her to know about the two dead cops and one dead civilian woman.

She deserved one day free of stress.

What he hadn’t anticipated was that Rafe would also stay offline. The homicide detective had been in communication with his off-duty cop friends and the Bowie security guys, but Tom had instructed them not to mention the incident from the night before, either. It seemed that no one had said a word, and Rafe and Mercy were having one wonderful day.

Gideon knew, though. He’d seen the police report the night before. Tom was grateful the other agent had called him before calling Rafe or Mercy.

Together, Tom and Gideon had determined how to best protect the Sokolovs. Having called this house his second home since he was a teenager, Gideon had directed Raeburn’s agents, placing them strategically around the perimeter. They’d personally knocked on neighborhood doors, advising the locals that security was heightened so that no one would inadvertently cross the perimeter and set off alarms.

Many of the neighbors were gone because of the holiday weekend. Tom was grateful for that. He didn’t think any of them were in danger unless they got caught in the cross fire. He’d been personally patrolling the streets, making sure everyone was safe.

He needed to get back outside and was about to give up on talking to Rafe when the man left Mercy to cut her cake, retreating to the corner of the kitchen to watch her with a sappy smile.

Rafe gave Tom a nod as he approached. “What’s up? Is Liza okay?”

Tom’s jaw tightened. No, she wasn’t. Anyone with eyes could see that she wasn’t okay. But he just shrugged. “You’d have to ask her.”

Rafe winced. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Relieved that Rafe had changed the subject, Tom leaned a little closer to murmur, “I was wondering if you’d ever considered going into the private sector.”

Rafe frowned, his confusion clear. “Like . . . what?”

“Like private investigating.”

“Sure. Of course I have. But I’ve been advised not to make any huge career shifts for a little while longer. Why?”

“Because I have need of a PI.”

Rafe turned from Mercy to give Tom his full attention. “Is it Eden?”

Tom laughed bitterly. “What else might it be?”

“Did you find them?”

“Not yet, but we’re close. If you’re interested in hearing more, we can meet tomorrow. Somewhere quiet.”

“And Mercy?”

“Don’t mention it to her for now. I don’t expect you’ll keep it quiet forever, but for now keep it to yourself. Let her enjoy her birthday.”

Something in his tone must have given his anxiety away, because Rafe frowned. “Is she in danger?”

Tom took that to mean Rafe was asking if she was in any new danger. Which, given the sheer number of security they had around this house, she wasn’t. “Not to my knowledge. Tomorrow?”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “Send me a time and place. I’ll be there.”

“Thanks.” And because Rafe appeared ready to push for more information, Tom took a step back. “I’m going to get some cake.” He walked back to the kitchen table and kissed Mercy’s cheek. “Happy birthday.”

Mercy studied him with eyes that saw way too much. “Thank you. She hasn’t left yet.”

Not pretending to misunderstand, Tom nodded once, then headed for the front door, pausing at the living room. Liza sat with Irina, the two watching Abigail play. He almost went to her, but he had no idea what to say. Plus he had a job to do.

Leaving the house, he did a perimeter walk, working off the energy that had kept him edgy all day. A glance upward confirmed that the sniper Raeburn had sent was still in place. One of the neighbors had nearly died the month before when Ephraim was watching the Sokolovs’ house. The old man had given them permission to use his home as a vantage point, telling them to “get the motherfuckers once and for all.”

Tom was good with that.

“Seen anything?” he asked the agent leading the effort.

“Nope. Been quiet. Only a few of the families are even here. A few took off this morning.” The man lifted a brow. “For their cabins in Tahoe. Must be nice.”

“Must be,” Tom agreed. “I expect the party to go on for another few hours. Bowie Security will shuttle some of the guests to the airport tonight for red-eyes back east. Everyone else will stay here overnight and leave throughout the day tomorrow.”

“We’ll be here. Shift change happens at six tonight, then again at six in the morning.”

“Thanks. I’ll stay until the party breaks up.” Tom took another trip around the Sokolovs’ property, paying attention to each bordering house, wondering where DJ Belmont was hiding. It had to be close. He wouldn’t have been able to follow the Bowie SUV otherwise.

He wished they could search each house, but unfortunately they didn’t have cause. It was frustrating as hell knowing that Belmont was close by. Maybe even watching him now. But so many of the houses were empty because of the holiday weekend. If he was hiding in one of the houses nearby, all he’d have to do would be to ignore their knock. Without a search warrant, they’d never know he was there.

It didn’t have to be a direct line of sight, though. Not like Ephraim had achieved in the house across the street. It could be a block away. Two blocks, even. Probably no farther than that.

Grabbing a tactical helmet from the back of the Bureau van, Tom strapped it on and shrugged into a bulletproof vest.

“Going somewhere?” the agent asked him.

“For a walk. Belmont is here. I know it.”

“Give me a second to gear up. I’ll go with you.”

The two of them walked the Sokolovs’ neighborhood, eyes peeled for anything out of place. They still didn’t have an ID on the woman Belmont had murdered the night before and they didn’t know what kind of car had been stolen. But they were looking for anything out of place. Anything that caught their attention.

It didn’t matter, though. There were no cars visible in driveways. All had been parked in the garages or had been driven out of town by the homes’ occupants.

“I see nothing,” the agent said when they’d walked two blocks in each direction.

Tom blew out a breath. “Me neither. Dammit, this is so frustrating. I know he’s here.”

“Maybe he’s hiding somewhere else after last night.”

“Maybe. But this is a prize that Belmont won’t be able to easily ignore. Mercy is here and so is Gideon. He has to know that. He was watching last night. He knows that we had SUVs going back and forth to the airport. I can’t see him walking away from this opportunity.”

“If he makes a move, we’ll be ready. If only we had search warrants for the neighborhood.”

“I wish,” Tom muttered as they started the walk back to the Sokolovs’. When they’d reached the van, he took off and stowed the tactical gear.

He needed to tell Rafe about the dead cops before he and Mercy were driven home. Rafe needed to be on full alert, even if he didn’t share the reason with Mercy.

Tom entered the house, flinching at the roar of noise that assaulted him. The house was normally boisterous, but today . . . It was as loud as a home team crowd at the Garden.

Some days Tom missed playing basketball, but he did not miss that noise. Bracing himself, he walked toward the kitchen, pausing once again in the doorway of the living room. Liza was sitting on the sofa in the corner, just as she’d been when he’d left for his perimeter check.

She watched Abigail playing, her expression a mix of subdued contentment and grim determination. He knew what she was thinking about. On Tuesday she was walking into a nest of hardened criminals. For Mercy. And for the little girl who sat on the floor playing with Irina’s grandchildren.

Liza might not walk out alive. But she was willing to take the risk. She’d done it before.

Please let her walk out whole and unhurt.

Rafe’s angry voice snapped him to attention. “Dammit, Hunter, we need to talk.”

Well, shit.

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

SUNDAY, MAY 28, 3:35 P.M.

DJ lowered his rifle and stepped away from Smythe’s spare bedroom window. He’d wanted to pull the trigger so damn badly. But he hadn’t. Because it would have been suicide.

The tall guy was a Fed. Special Agent Tom Hunter. DJ had seen him on the news coverage of the two dead cops and the still-unidentified female victim. Hunter had been at the crime scene the night before, with an Agent Croft, both looking serious.

Hunter and another man appeared to be on guard duty, dressed in tactical gear. DJ had seen them from his window and had felt a slight panic when they’d stopped, looking around them as if searching for something specific.

Me.

He’d grabbed his rifle out of habit and guessed he could thank his bum shoulder for keeping him from doing anything stupid. He’d felt the burn of pain when he’d lifted the rifle, which had broken the reflexive response that he’d built through hours of practice. Position, focus, fire. Kowalski had taught him how to use a rifle. DJ had perfected his skill, but this time he was glad he hadn’t automatically pulled the trigger.

The Fed would be able to track the bullet’s trajectory pretty damn quickly, and there was a small army protecting the Sokolovs’ house today. He’d be surrounded before he could blink.

“Tomorrow, then,” he murmured. “Or whenever your little party is over.”

He had time. Pastor was going to be in rehab for weeks, after all. He’d fantasized about simply blowing the Sokolov house to smithereens with the party inside, but he didn’t have the makings for a bomb. Not yet.

But Kowalski had explosives. DJ had seen him use them, and soon he’d have them, too.

He set the rifle aside and returned to his laptop. This, the photo on his screen, was where his focus needed to be today.

Because he’d finally found Kowalski. Or at least his kid.

A grinning six-year-old stared out from the screen. Little Tony Ward was in the first grade and played the piano. Kid was something of a virtuoso, in fact.

His mother was Angelina. His father was Anthony. It had taken a little digging, but DJ had found one photo featuring his former mentor. Roland Kowalski was Anthony Ward. A rich real estate developer who owned huge tracts of land.

So that’s where he buried all of the people he had us kill for him. Good to know.

He’d first check Ward’s home and loot whatever he could put his hands on. And if Kowalski had guards? DJ would kill them the way he’d killed those two cops. He’d go in under the cover of darkness, scope out a vantage point from which he could set up his rifle, and take out the guards one by one.

The way he wanted to kill the small army patrolling the Sokolov house. Difference was, the Sokolovs were expecting him, just like Kowalski had been when he’d set up the warehouse trap.

Kowalski wouldn’t be expecting an attack on his home—and his thugs were a lot less likely to call the cops. Assuming the man didn’t have a few of his own on payroll. DJ wouldn’t have put it past him, nor would he let it stop him. Once he got his hands on Kowalski’s weapons—and once the Sokolovs’ party was over and the heavy security dispersed—he’d be able to tackle the Russian family’s remaining guards single-handedly.

He hadn’t expected to find Anthony Ward’s address in the white pages but was still disappointed when it didn’t show up at all—under any of his names or legit businesses. Damn these people and their corporations.

“That’s a bust,” he muttered and went back to staring at the photo of Tony Ward with his class the night of the recital.

And then noticed the caption: Miss Stack’s First Grade Spring Concert.

The school’s website had featured a list of staff. With their photos.

Thirty seconds later he had a full name: Miss Stephanie Stack.

A minute after that he had Miss Stephanie Stack’s address, because she was a normal person.

Teachers had access to their students’ personal information, like their birthdays and food allergies. And the names and addresses of their parents in case of emergency.

He stood and stretched. “Miss Stephanie, here I come.”

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

SUNDAY, MAY 28, 3:40 P.M.

Tom turned his gaze from Liza to find Rafe clutching his cell and giving him a death glare. “So you read the news, huh?” Tom asked, surprised that Rafe hadn’t cornered him already.

Rafe jerked his head toward a spare bedroom at the end of the hallway, setting off with an angry gait as he leaned on his cane. Tom followed with a sigh.

Rafe spun to face him as soon as he’d closed the door. “What the hell, Tom?” he hissed. “Belmont straight-up murdered an innocent woman and two cops, and you didn’t tell me?”

“What would you have done differently had you known?” Tom asked wearily.

Rafe opened his mouth. Shut it. Then huffed out a sigh. “Probably canceled the party because Mercy would have felt too guilty.”

“Which is why we didn’t tell you. Mercy did nothing to feel guilty about and we—Gideon and I—wanted her to have a worry-free day. We wanted all of you to have a worry-free day.”

“I guess now I know why Gideon and Daisy took our phones last night. They said that they didn’t want us to cheat at trivia. They really wanted to make sure that we didn’t hear about what happened.” Rafe sagged against the door. “Mercy still doesn’t know. I don’t want to tell her.”

“I’ll tell her. And I’ll tell her that I recommended we keep it a secret. She can be mad at me. At least she will have had this day.”

Rafe swallowed. “Shit. Now I have to apologize for getting mad at you, don’t I?”

“Nah. It’s fine.”

“Thank you,” Rafe murmured. “Mercy needed this. We all did. She and I made a pact this morning that we weren’t going to think about DJ Belmont until tomorrow. But you were acting weird, so I checked. The article said that you were at the scene.”

“It wasn’t good.” That was all Tom could say.

“And the woman he killed?”

“Innocent bystander. Belmont stole her car. We still haven’t ID’d her or her car.”

Rafe frowned. “I thought he stole the cruiser.”

“He did, along with one of the cops’ shirts, his vest, and his gun belt. We assume he used the cruiser to pull her over. The woman’s body was found in the back seat. He killed her there.”

Rafe closed his eyes. “That woman died thinking she’d been killed by a cop.”

“Yeah.” Tom wasn’t surprised that had been one of Rafe’s first takeaways. It had been his, too, as soon as he’d seen the body. “Her phone was found on the shoulder. It appears that Belmont shot the phone and ran over it with her car. Once we get an ID on the victim, we’ll try to track her car—if he still has it. Hopefully it’ll lead us to where he’s hiding.”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Rafe asked grimly. “Somewhere around here? In the neighborhood?”

“I think so. At least he was. But we’re proceeding as if he still is, taking all the precautions we can. We’ve knocked on doors, done searches where we legally can. We have the neighbors who are here on alert, helping us watch for anything suspicious. In the meantime, Mercy’s family will be safe. And then, tomorrow, we start looking again.”

Rafe hung his head. “I’m sorry, Tom. I acted like an ass.”

“I would have done the same. We’re good.”

“Thanks. Now, because you’ve done something for me, I’m going to return the favor.” He found something on his phone, then held the screen so that Tom could see. “Look.”

Tom reluctantly shifted his gaze to the phone’s screen, then frowned. It was a photo of himself, his expression so incredibly vulnerable, so very sad, that he had to look away.

“Look,” Rafe repeated. “I mean it, Tom. As your friend, I’m telling you to look.”

I don’t want to. But he did, cringing at the sight of himself looking like a kid who’d lost his puppy.

“You were watching her,” Rafe murmured. “I was so damn mad at you, but I had to take a second out of being angry to take this picture. I need you to see.”

Tom sighed, exhausted. “See what, Rafe?”

“You want her, but you don’t want to. It’s hurting you and it’s hurting her. You both say that you’re just friends, but that’s bullshit. We can all see it. Why are you fighting this so hard?”

Wasn’t that a damn good question?

Tom closed his eyes, childishly hoping that when he opened them, Rafe would be gone.

“I’m still here,” Rafe said wryly.

“Of course you are.” Tom looked up, met Rafe’s piercing stare. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know why you’re fighting it? Or you don’t want to admit that you do know?”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can’t you just let this go?”

“I will, if that’s what you really want. Except we both know you’d be lying if you said so. Pictures don’t lie.” He held out his phone again, the photo a slap to Tom’s face.

The expression he wore was . . . longing. He swallowed hard as the admission took root in his mind. In his heart. “It’s only been fourteen months,” he whispered.

Fourteen months, twenty-three days, and seven hours.

“I get it,” Rafe murmured. “I waited five years for Mercy to come along. I’ve wondered since we talked Wednesday—or didn’t talk since you told me to leave your house—if I’d have been ready for Mercy if it had only been fourteen months since Bella.”

“And?” The word grated on his throat, which was suddenly dry. Suddenly burning. As were his eyes and his nose. Goddammit.

“I don’t know. But I also didn’t have anyone I cared about like that back then. You do.”

I do. It was no longer a question in his mind. I’m so sorry, Tory, but I do.

“Would Tory have wanted you to be alone? To feel like this?” Rafe waved his phone, Tom’s photo still filling the screen.

“No.” Of that he was certain. “She wouldn’t have, but . . .” He closed his eyes, unable to look at his own face any longer. “She was pregnant. Only two months, but . . .”

“Oh my God,” Rafe breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

Tom was startled to realize that the searing pain had started to numb somewhat. “Me too.”

Rafe was quiet for a moment. “I can’t even imagine how much that hurts.”

Tom shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not sure that it changes what you’ve said. Tory still would have wanted me to move on. I’m not sure that it’s possible now, though. I hurt Liza, without even meaning to. She left. I’m not even sure we’ll be friends again.”

Rafe sighed. “You want my opinion?”

Tom laughed, startling himself. “You’re asking me now?”

Rafe grinned. “I’m my mother’s son. I’m nosy, but polite about it.” His grin faded. “I haven’t known Liza long, but I’m a pretty good judge of character. Liza has a giving heart and she is loyal. Maybe even to a fault. Definitely at the risk to her own safety.”

Tom’s eyes flashed to Rafe’s. Did he know about Sunnyside?

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “I’m coming back to that look on your face, Hunter. But first, I’m going to say that my money’s on Liza forgiving your sorry ass. Now, what else do you know that I don’t? This is what you wanted to tell me tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Tom nodded. “You might want to sit down.”

Rafe pulled up a chair. “Talk.”

Tom did, telling him about Pastor and Sunnyside Oaks, and Liza getting a job there. When he finished, Rafe was equal parts stunned and furious. Which Tom had anticipated.

“You knew where he was and didn’t tell us?”

Tom sighed. “What would you have done? Stormed the place? We know where Pastor is. According to his chart, he’s supposed to be there for six weeks. We don’t know where Belmont is and he’s the biggest risk. But we’re looking for him. I promise you that. But we’re hoping to entice Pastor to tell us where Eden is, or at least to overhear him and DJ talking about it. Our goals are to find Eden, either use Pastor to lure DJ to the rehab center or wait for him to visit, then arrest them both.”

Rafe was still angry. “What was the job you wanted to hire me for, as a PI?”

“Guard her.”

“Liza?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that the FBI’s job?” Rafe asked sarcastically.

“And they’ll be there. They say she’s a priority, but . . . I need more than that.” The words were sharp, stealing his breath. He made himself breathe. “The Bureau’s priority is the mission. I want to believe that they’d cover Liza even if it meant letting Pastor or DJ go, but I can’t risk her life on that. Besides, everyone is all, ‘Oh, Liza is a soldier. She can take care of herself.’ ”

“She can.”

“But she won’t,” Tom said, panic rising to press on his chest. “You said it yourself. She is loyal at the risk to her own safety.”

“She’s doing this for Mercy, isn’t she?”

“And for Abigail. Gideon and Amos, too.”

“Does Gideon know?”

Tom shook his head. “No. And he’d be an awful choice to guard Liza even if he did. Pastor might recognize him. Belmont definitely would.”

“They might also recognize me,” Rafe pointed out.

“We can fix that. You’ve done undercover before. Gideon never has and I don’t think he’d be good at it, but you were. You never could have stayed in your UC role after Bella was killed without being able to hide your emotions.”

“True as well. So how are you going to get me in there? If I say yes, that is.”

“I’m not sure yet. It may be as simple as smuggling you into the employee parking lot in the back of that SUV that your dad loaned her so you’ll be close by in case everything goes to hell. Might be as complicated as getting you inside as an IT guy. We’re working on giving them some network problems.”

“When does she start?”

“Tuesday morning. So I have until then to figure something out.”

Rafe stood, leaning on his cane. “Let me know. Either way, I’m in. She’s charging into danger for Mercy. It’s the least I can do.”

Rafe left and Tom remained, wishing he could take a damn nap. He hadn’t been so exhausted in a long time. Not since he’d been on the hunt for Tory’s killer. It had sapped every bit of life from his soul.

He wondered if the loss of that life from his soul, that feeling of hope, had been permanent.

He wondered what he was going to do about Liza. He wondered if, when he figured it out, it would be too late.

And then he noticed a text on his personal cell phone. Saw the story from last night online. You look tired. Call if you need to talk. Still want to be there for you if you want me to. That’s what friends are for, right?

His whole body relaxed and his eyes actually burned, so great was his relief.

Tom’s hands shook as he typed his reply. I want you to. Thx. Will call later.