by Karen Rose
Tom paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Thank you,” he said, then ended the call, reentered the meeting room, and smiled at Molina when she stopped talking to meet his gaze.
“Well?” she asked.
“We may have someone on the inside. Of Eden.”
Molina’s eyes sparkled. “Yes.”
Raeburn looked reluctantly impressed. “Explain.” Then pointed to Agent Croft when Tom had finished giving them the details. “Check it out.”
Tom held up his hand. “The kid came to see me. He was told to trust me. I don’t know that he’ll be as forthcoming with Agent Croft.” He glanced at Croft. “No offense.”
Croft’s lips twitched. “None taken.” She turned to Raeburn. “I’ll take Tom with me. It’ll be good training for him.”
Raeburn glared. “I want regular updates. Report back directly to me. Go.”
Tom looked at Molina questioningly, because Raeburn’s orders excluded her.
“Come on,” Croft muttered. “I’ll fill you in.”
With a last look over his shoulder at Molina, he followed Croft.
TWO
GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA
WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 9:30 A.M.
Liza Barkley looked up at the security camera over the Sokolovs’ front door, wondering if anyone else had been watching her standing on the porch, psyching herself up to enter. The FBI agent standing guard by the door certainly had, although he hadn’t said a single word.
Just go in, she told herself. You can paste on a smile. You do it every day.
But she wasn’t certain that she could pull it off today. She’d tossed and turned, trying to forget the six-six blond, blue-eyed Adonis whom she’d loved for seven years but who’d unknowingly stomped on her heart the evening before. Tom was completely unaware of her feelings—as he’d shown last evening by making friends with her date. I should have known better than to try to move on with anyone new. Her own reaction to Tom’s lack of reaction was proof that she had no business trying to date other men. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t over Tom.
She’d wanted to stay in bed today with the blankets pulled over her head.
She had, however, made promises to the stepsisters—one a little girl and the other a grown woman only a few years older than Liza. Both deserved a lot more than life had given them so far, so she knocked, taking a surprised step back when the front door flew open before she could rap the second time.
“Liza! You’re here!”
Liza barely had time to lift the cake plate she held out of the way before she was tackled by the seven-year-old who wrapped her in an impressive bear hug. “Hey, Shrimpkin,” Liza said, hugging back with one arm while balancing the plate on the other palm. Without making it obvious, she angled her body so that Abigail Terrill was shielded from both prying eyes and any other dangers that might be lurking.
Yes, there was an FBI agent standing guard, but Liza had sharp eyes, trained eyes, and she intended to use them. Because no one in this house was safe. Yet. “Careful. I’ve got cake.”
Abigail pulled back, her gray eyes wide. “You brought me cake?”
Liza tapped the end of Abigail’s nose while nudging her backward into the house, still protecting her. “I brought everyone cake. You can have your portion after lunch, if I don’t drop it on the floor by accident. Your puppy will eat it and then he’ll puke. Remember last time?”
Abigail’s sigh was long-suffering. “That was disgusting. Did you bring Pebbles?”
“I did not. She’d destroy everything in Miss Irina’s house.” Shuddering at the thought of the young Great Dane running loose in the Sokolov house, Liza closed the door securely behind them. Habit had her ruffling Abigail’s hair, but her finger caught in a tangle. “Where’s your brush? You have snarls.” She flexed her fingers. “Let me at ’em. Snarls flee from me in terror.”
Abigail’s childish giggles were like music to Liza’s ears, and suddenly her weariness abated. “Will you do the fancy braid thing?” Abigail asked, looking hopeful. “Like a princess’s crown? Papa can’t make a crown. He tried.”
“Of course I’ll braid your hair.” Liza had grown so fond of Abigail over the last month, gladly taking her to visit her father in the hospital as he recovered from a gunshot wound. A single father, Amos Terrill had always braided Abigail’s hair, so Liza had taken up the job until Amos was discharged. Abigail, however, liked Liza’s “fancy braids” better, so her daddy had been demoted to backup stylist. Liza had thought that Amos would be upset by this, but he loved seeing his little girl settling in with people who made her happiness a priority. Liza patted her pocket, having come prepared. “I brought a bunch of hair ribbons, so you can choose the color I braid in. But I need your brush.”
“I’ll get it.” Abigail ran, her long dark hair flying back behind her like a cape, but stopped abruptly when she nearly crashed into the woman standing in the foyer. “I’m sorry, Miss Irina.”
“It’s fine, Abigail.” Irina Sokolov tilted her head, her blond hair streaked with silver. She was somewhere close to sixty, about four inches shorter than Liza’s five-ten, and huggably round, her brown eyes sparkling with humor and love. She was also a retired nurse, and Liza was about to start nursing school, so they’d clicked right away. “But what are the house rules?”
“No running.”
“And?” Irina prompted, throwing a look at the front door.
Abigail’s shoulders slumped. “And no opening the front door, because it’s not safe.” She peered up at Irina. “I’m sorry. I forgot,” she added meekly. “And I thought it would be Liza.”
Irina nodded, her smile warm. “It’s okay, lubimaya. I don’t mean to make you sad, just safe. The front-door rule will not last forever. I promise. Now, did you finish your math?”
Abigail nodded. “I left it on my desk for you to check.”
“Perfect.” Irina ran a loving hand over Abigail’s hair, making Liza’s heart squeeze with affection for them both. “Go get your brush for Miss Liza.” She stepped back to let the little girl pass, then tugged Liza into a hard hug.
Liza never got tired of Irina’s hugs. The Sokolov family matriarch had pulled Liza into her nest, fussing over her like she was one of her chicks and making Liza miss her own mother so much that it hurt.
“How are you this morning?” Irina asked once she’d let her go.
“Not bad,” Liza lied.
Irina studied her face, her expression dubious. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap?”
“Nah.” It wasn’t like she’d be able to sleep there, either. Not with her thoughts whirling like a tornado. “I promised Abigail I’d take her to the eye doctor.”
“I can do it.”
Liza smiled at the older woman. “But you’re with her all day, homeschooling.” Catching Abigail up so that when she started public school in the fall, she’d fit in with her peer group. Abigail had lived in a repressive cult her entire life, and her education was just one of the things that had suffered. Basic medical care had also been neglected and, although Abigail seemed healthy, she’d never had an eye exam. Irina had been the first to notice how the child held her books too close to her face, squinting at the print. “Besides, Mercy is supposed to come with us. I cleared the trip through Agent Rodriguez, and he’s vetted the optometrist’s office and even an ice cream store for afterward. Is Mercy here yet?”
Liza and Mercy Callahan had also become close in the month that they’d known each other. Most of the times Liza had accompanied Abigail to the hospital to see her father, Mercy had already been in his room. The bullet Amos had taken had been intended for Mercy, and the man who’d fired the shot was still out there. Still a threat.
Thus, the rules about Abigail not opening the front door.
Thus, the FBI agent standing watch outside, assigned to protect Mercy.
Thus, at least a p
ortion of Liza’s trouble sleeping. Her new friend was careful, but this level of vigilance wasn’t sustainable—not even by the military. Liza knew that from experience.
That experience had been responsible for more than a few sleepless nights as well. She and her team had been highly trained combat soldiers, and they’d still been caught in a single unguarded moment. People had died. People Liza had cared for.
Civilians would be far quicker to make a mistake, which could cost Mercy her life. Liza wasn’t going to let that happen.
Irina looked up the stairs, growing more concerned. “Mercy’s here. She’s on the phone.”
Liza frowned. “Is everything okay?”
“Well, nothing new is wrong. Mercy is on a video call with her therapist.”
Liza sighed. “Oh. That’s good, at least. I imagine they have much to discuss.”
If anyone in this world needed therapy, it was Mercy Callahan. That the woman had made it through her life with her heart and soul intact was testament to her personal strength.
Unfortunately, Liza knew about that from personal experience, too. She wondered if Mercy’s therapist was taking new clients. Giving herself a little shake, she held the cake plate out to Irina. “For the family.”
Irina peeked under the aluminum foil and grinned wolfishly. “Chocolate. Did you make it?”
“No, ma’am. One of the nurses at the veterans’ home did, for my last day.”
Irina motioned Liza to follow her into the kitchen. “Your last day, it was good, yes?”
“It was very good,” Liza said, dropping into a kitchen chair while Irina put the cake plate on top of the refrigerator, where Abigail wouldn’t see it. Her job as a nursing assistant in the veterans’ home had ended the evening before. “The nurses signed a card and we had goodbye cake, which is yummy, by the way. Lucky for us, most of the nurses were on diets and only ate tiny pieces, so there’s a lot left. It’s not as good as yours, of course,” she added hastily, because nobody’s cake was better than Irina’s, “but I figure you can make use of it.”
Irina busied herself making tea. “Oh, I’m sure we can find someone to eat it.” With eight children and nine grandchildren, plus Abigail and all the others Irina and her husband Karl had enveloped into their brood, there was never a shortage of mouths to feed. “That person might even be me. Chocolate cake is my stress food. Did your manager give you a good reference?”
“He did,” Liza confirmed. “He said he wished he could keep me on, but the woman who I was filling in for returned from maternity leave. At least the reference he wrote is glowing.”
“As it should be,” Irina declared, sliding a cup in front of Liza before settling into the chair beside her with her own cup. “You being a veteran and all. And a medic with a smart brain, quick hands, and a good heart. He was lucky to have you.”
Liza’s eyes burned and she widened her eyes to keep the tears from falling. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I think I needed to hear that today.”
Irina’s hand covered hers, warm and comforting. “What is it, Liza? I’ve sensed your unhappiness lately and I want to help if I can. You can tell me anything, you know.”
Liza studied the older woman’s face for a long moment before smiling ruefully. “Probably hormones,” she deflected, unwilling to tell Irina what was really bothering her, because there wasn’t anything anyone could do to help with that, not even the indefatigable Irina Sokolov.
The heart wants who the heart wants, Liza’s mother used to say. Which was true, sadly. “Sadly” because what her heart wanted wasn’t attainable.
It’s my own fault. She hadn’t agreed to the date with Mike last night to make Tom jealous, although now she had to admit that she’d hoped deep down that he would be. At the same time, she’d really hoped she’d find a spark with Mike. Even a tiny one. Anything to help her forget about her obsession with the man she’d loved for seven long years.
But the only spark she’d felt the night before was when Tom had appeared on the doorstep of the duplex they shared. Only when Tom had smiled at Mike and talked about the current baseball season and the basketball season that had just ended. He’d even signed an autograph for Mike, once her date realized who Tom was. Or who he’d been, anyway.
An NBA star. Now an FBI agent. There was little Tom Hunter couldn’t do.
Except love me.
Irina was staring at her, evidently not having bought her hormone excuse. Probably because Liza had used it a couple weeks before. “Liza.”
Liza searched her mind for something she could share. “You make me miss my mom.” Which was the unvarnished truth. Irina and Liza’s mother would have been fast friends.
“You lost her,” Irina murmured, allowing the redirected conversation. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen. She had cancer and . . .” Liza sighed. “We didn’t have insurance, so she waited to see a doctor. And then it was too late.”
“Is that why you’re going to nursing school?”
“Partly. My sister was murdered. Did you know that?”
“Yes.” Irina didn’t break eye contact, but her gaze was sad. “I looked you up.” One side of her mouth lifted. “I’m nosy, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Liza laughed, surprising herself. “I’m shocked, Irina. Shocked, I tell you.”
Irina had the good grace to look a little shamefaced. “But not angry?”
“Of course not. You welcomed me into your home on the invite of another. I would have checked me out, too. Just to be sure I wasn’t a threat. Especially now.”
Irina’s blond brows lifted and Liza’s heart sank. The expression the older woman wore was too knowing and Liza mentally backtracked, trying to figure out what she’d said.
Of another.
Shit. She should have said Tom’s name. But it hurt to even think it. Saying it aloud . . .
Still. Shit. Irina started to open her mouth, but Liza raced on, unable to change the subject fast enough.
“Anyway, Lindsay, my sister, she sacrificed a lot for me to stay in school. She wasn’t much older than I was and she’d quit school to take care of our mom. Mom hated it, but . . .” It hurt to think of her mother and sister, too, but it had been eight years since her mother’s death and seven years since Lindsay’s murder. Her grief had softened over time. “Mom was too sick to fight Lindsay, and Lindsay was stubborn. More than me, even,” she added lightly, then swallowed hard when tears clogged her throat. I guess it hasn’t been long enough after all.
“She was murdered by a killer who preyed on prostitutes,” Irina said. “I read about it online.”
“She was. She worked the streets to pay our rent and buy food. I wanted to get a part-time job, but she wouldn’t let me. Said she wanted me to stay in school, to become a doctor or a nurse to help other people’s mothers. After Mom died, Lin got a job cleaning office buildings at night. She never told me that she’d lost her job, so when she didn’t come home one night . . .”
“You were still in high school.”
“A senior. I thought my worst problem was keeping my A in AP English. Then she didn’t come home and I didn’t know what to do. When I called the cleaning company, they told me that she’d been laid off months before.”
“How did you find out about the prostitution?” Irina asked, her voice so incredibly gentle.
Liza closed her eyes, not wanting to think about those days. “I went to file a missing-person report at the police department. They pulled up her arrest record.” She drained the rest of her tea and let out a harsh breath. “So I went looking for her.”
Irina’s eyes widened. “You went looking for prostitutes? How did you know where to go?”
A chuckle tickled her throat as a memory resurfaced, unexpected yet welcome. “That’s what Tom said. I met him during that time. He got his friends involved in searching for Lindsay.”
Irina’s brows drew down in a frown. “You met Tom Hunter while looking for prostitutes?”
The chuckle became a belly laugh, long and loud and far more cathartic than it should have been. “Oh no,” she said when she caught her breath. The very idea of straitlaced, Dudley Do-Right FBI Special Agent Tom Hunter looking for a hooker . . .
She wiped the tears from her eyes. “God, that’s too funny. No, he wasn’t out looking for a hookup. It was the next day. He’d come to my school to tell the jocks to stay in school. He was already a college basketball star by then, so I guess the administration hoped the kids would listen to him.” She sobered and sighed. “I was skipping the stay-in-school assembly to go back to the police station, because no one on the street had seen Lindsay. Tom left the assembly, literally ran into me, and my school papers went everywhere.”
“He helped you pick them up.” There wasn’t even a question in Irina’s voice. Tom Hunter was a gentleman. A truly good man.
“Of course he did,” Liza said, unable to keep the trace of bitterness from her voice and hating herself for it. It wasn’t Tom’s fault that she’d developed an impossible crush. Nor was it Tom’s fault that he didn’t feel the same way. “He saw the police report on Lindsay. He took me to a detective friend of his, and she was instrumental in finding Lindsay’s killer.”
Irina was studying her too closely. “That’s how you became friends? You and Tom?”
“Yep.” And Liza was finished talking about Tom Hunter. “But back to your original question. Lindsay is the main reason I’m going to nursing school. She sacrificed too much for me not to.” She checked the time on her phone, abruptly realizing that Abigail should have been back with her brush several minutes ago. “Where is Abigail? I hope she’s all right.” She started to get up, but Irina motioned at her to stay put.
“I’ll go find her. Have some more tea.” Irina pulled a muffin from a basket on the table and plated it for Liza. “Eat. It’s got no raisins. I made the batch especially for you.”
