Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            “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.”