Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            Graham frowned. “How is it running? There’s no electricity here. How is it connected? There’s no cable, no Wi-Fi.”

            Hayley wanted to scream. Graham was all about the why of things. “I don’t know. I don’t care. If there’s a computer, I can get a message to Cam. He can get us out of here.” She swallowed hard. “I can’t have my baby here, Graham. They’ll take her from me. I heard the women talking. Even if I live through it, they’re going to give my baby to Sister Rebecca.”

            Graham’s mouth set in a firm line that Hayley recognized all too well. It was his stubborn face, which meant he was about to dig in—one way or the other.

            “I need your help,” she whispered pleadingly. “Please, Graham. Don’t tell anyone.”

            He nodded once. “Move away from the door.”

            She warily obeyed, blinking in surprise when her brother dropped to his knees in front of the door, squinting at the lock. “Piece of cake,” he muttered, then slipped off his shoe, revealing . . .

            “Is that a lock-picking kit?” she asked, already knowing the answer was yes.

            He glanced up, mid eye roll, before selecting one of the slim tools. “Duh.”

            Hayley shook her head. “I don’t want to know.” Graham had gotten involved with a rough group of kids back home and had spent a month in juvie for shoplifting. Turned out that their mother had been planning and plotting to bring them here the entire time Graham was locked up. Now they were both locked up, just in a different place.

            “You really don’t,” Graham agreed amicably.

            “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know how I was going to get into the office.”

            “How’d you get into the clinic?”

            “It wasn’t locked,” Hayley said with a shrug.

            In seconds he rose to his feet, pushing the door open. “Ta-da!” He slipped into the office, letting out a breath at the sight of the computer on the healer’s desk. “It’s old,” he murmured, “but not that old. Son-of-a-fucking-bitch. They take our phones, but have something like this here? Assholes!”

            “Shhh. Be quiet. And stop swearing. They’ll throw you in the box for that, too.”

            He lifted one shoulder. “If they catch us here, swearing will be the least of our worries.”

            He was right. “Leave now. Go back to Mom. I’ll figure out the computer.”

            “Right,” he said with a shake of his head. “Shut up and let me work. Better yet, go back to your hut before Joshua or one of his wives realizes you’re gone.”

            “They’re all at the prayer meeting. They won’t be back for another twenty minutes.”

            Graham made a face. “Don’t know why they’re all pretending to pray for DJ. There’s not one person in this compound that wouldn’t be happier if he’d bled to death.”

            “Graham,” she chided, but her brother was right. Brother DJ was the only one allowed to leave the compound for supplies. And, apparently, to track down missing Founding Elders. One of the old guys, Brother Ephraim, had gone missing. So far no one knew what had happened to him, only that DJ had barely made it back to the compound earlier that evening. He’d left the compound a few days before in Eden’s pickup truck, but had returned in a bigger delivery truck before collapsing. He’d been shot at least twice.

            At least that was the gossip. The prayer meeting was for DJ’s recovery, although Graham was right. Nobody liked DJ, Hayley included. He was handsome enough—on the outside, anyway. At least six feet tall with bright blond hair and deep dimples when he smiled. But his smile always seemed . . . off. There was something oily about the man that gave Hayley the creeps. He had pretty, dark eyes, but they watched everyone with a detachment that felt like he was sizing a person up, trying to figure out what he or she could do for him.

            Graham sighed. “Password protected. I was hoping they’d be too dumb for that.”

            So had she. “Now what?”

            “Now we try to guess. Or . . .” He lifted the large calendar that covered most of the healer’s desk, then grinned. “Or we hope that the healer’s memory is going and she has to write passwords down.” He pointed to the Post-it Note on the underside of the calendar and snorted softly. “Password is ‘Eden89.’ I could have guessed that.”