Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            He could hear her indrawn breath. “At Irina’s.”

            I’m sorry. Come back. Please come back.

            But once again, his mouth betrayed him. “You were supposed to stay home,” he snapped. “What part of being in a sniper’s sights did you not understand?”

            This time the breath she drew was even and measured. “I’m fine. I am not your worry.”

            Anymore hung between them.

            “I left a note on the fridge along with a check for next month’s rent,” she went on. “I’ll set up autopay through my bank for the future.”

            “I don’t care about the fucking rent!” he shouted.

            “I do.”

            He opened his mouth to say . . . what, he had no idea, but just then his work phone pinged with an alert.

            Dammit. Sunnyside Oaks’s patient database had just been updated. “I need to call you back.”

            “No, you really don’t. It’s okay. Just find Eden so that Mercy will be safe.”

            And then she hung up, leaving him staring at his personal phone while his work phone continued to ping.

            Fucking hell. Backing out of her bedroom, he slowly trudged down the stairs, wondering what to do. Wishing . . . but for what he didn’t know.

            He locked her door and, after checking to be sure his neighbor was gone, marched into his own house and up the stairs and sat down at his computer. Pulling up the window into Sunnyside’s database, he saw that a new patient had been registered: Timothy Alcalde, age seventy-two, Caucasian male.

            Not DJ Belmont, then. It had to be Pastor.

            On autopilot, Tom took a screenshot of the file and carefully backed out, making sure he left no trace that he’d broken in. Then he sent the file to his own secure e-mail. He could upload it to the Bureau’s servers when he got into the office.

            He considered calling Raeburn, but had no energy for the conversation. So he texted instead. New patient, 72yo man, Timothy Alcalde. Right age for Pastor. He’d been forty-two when he’d fled to Eden thirty years ago.

            And “Alcalde” meant “mayor” in Spanish. On another day, Tom might have appreciated the joke. The Eden assholes had already demonstrated that they put thought into names. He supposed “Timothy Pastora” would have been too obvious, even for them.

            Excellent, was Raeburn’s reply. We’ll apprehend ASAP.

            Um, no. That would be the wrong move. Fearing that Raeburn would go off half-cocked, Tom called his boss. “We can’t just bust in and arrest him,” Tom said when Raeburn answered.

            “Why not?” Raeburn snapped. “I can have a warrant in ten minutes.”

            “Because we still don’t know where Eden is. Do you want to bet those people’s safety on Pastor rolling over and telling us? They’ve already demonstrated how ruthless they can be and we don’t have any physical evidence on Pastor himself, only DJ. Without leverage, he’s not going to simply give in.”

            Raeburn huffed, a frustrated sound. “No. I don’t suppose he would.”

            Encouraged, Tom went on. “And we have to make sure we get Belmont at the same time, or he’ll go under so far that we’ll never find him. He’ll keep coming after Mercy and Gideon.”

            “True,” Raeburn admitted, disgruntled. “I doubt they’ll discuss the compound’s location specifically, but even a mention of Eden might be the leverage we need. I want eyes and ears inside that facility. Come in and we’ll discuss our options.”

            Tom slipped his phone into his pocket. He should be energized and thrilled that they knew exactly where Pastor was, but he wasn’t. He was too numb. At least Liza is okay. Safe, anyway.

            He didn’t think either of them was okay. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay again.





TWELVE



GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

            THURSDAY, MAY 25, 8:50 A.M.





Liza put her phone on Irina’s kitchen table and picked up her fork, avoiding the older woman’s eyes as she focused on the plate of eggs and bacon in front of her. Irina had seen the look on her face when she’d knocked on the front door that morning and insisted that she eat.