by Karen Rose
He called in an order for pizza delivery, then went back to his home office and powered up the 3D printer. Using an “unauthorized” searchable database of vehicle registrations, he found the list of license plate numbers that belonged to trucks most closely matching his. None of the vehicles with these plates had been reported stolen, so no cops would be looking for them. He typed the next number on the list into the template he’d developed and set it to print.
The resulting plate would be indistinguishable from an actual California DMV-issued plate.
Technology was so cool.
ROCKLIN, CALIFORNIA
WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 1:05 P.M.
“Well, hell,” Croft muttered as Tom drove them from the Sokolovs’ house to his duplex in Rocklin. It was a tidy two-story, split down the middle into two separate units. They shared the garage and the backyard. He’d bought it after his first visit with the real estate agent partly because it would allow him to live close to the field office. But mostly because Liza had loved the backyard and a duplex allowed him to keep her close without stomping on her privacy.
She could come and go as she pleased. An image of Mike the Groper flitted across his mind and he wanted to snarl. But he didn’t, because she could also date as she pleased.
I don’t own her, he told himself firmly.
But you could. The sly whisper was barely a blip of a thought but was enough to steal his breath. No. God, no. He’d never own her. He’d never own anyone. His own father had tried to own his mother, using violence to get his own way.
No, not his father. The man named Rob Winters was his sperm donor only, and when he’d died in prison, Tom had been so damn glad. Max Hunter was his father in every way that counted. A good man never owned anyone.
Max Hunter was the kind of man Tom had always aspired to be.
Thinking of Max sent a pang of homesickness straight to Tom’s heart. I need to call home.
“Hey, Hunter.” Croft reached across the console to snap her fingers next to his face.
Tom startled, his hands clenching on the steering wheel until he realized she’d been trying to get his attention for at least a minute.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “My mind was wandering.”
“I’ll bet it was,” Croft said dryly. “I’ve been saying your name for a whole hour.”
He laughed. “We’ve only been driving for five minutes.”
“Fine. So maybe I exaggerated a little.”
Tom shook his head good-naturedly. “So what did you find out?”
“The food truck with Belmont’s license plates still has them. They are standard DMV issue. You were right about Belmont making a copy.”
“Not a shock,” Tom murmured. “The sign was a fake, too. ‘Adam and Eve’s Plumbing’ is just an Eden pun.”
Croft made a face. “And a bad one at that. The bastard is cocky, isn’t he?”
“He’s operated under the radar for his whole life. Never had to worry about consequences. But he will,” Tom vowed.
“Your mouth to God’s ears.” Croft was quiet for a moment, studying her phone. “You’re going to trace Cameron Cook’s e-mail this afternoon?”
“I’m going to try. I’m assuming they’re using a VPN and proxy servers, which makes it more complicated. Amos saw a satellite dish at the last Eden settlement, right before he escaped with Abigail, so that adds additional network parameters I have to take into account. But if I can dig through the layers of proxy servers, I’ll be able to find their IP address, which—as long as their computer is connected—will give me their actual location even if Hayley Gibbs isn’t able to e-mail Cameron again.”
Croft’s brows lifted. “I’m surprised that Amos knew what a satellite dish was. He’d been in Eden from the beginning, right?”
“Yes, he joined a few months after the community was founded by Pastor. But there were personal satellite dishes back then, mostly in rural areas for TV reception.”
“Amos was so young back then,” she said sadly. “He lost a huge portion of his adult life.”
“Also his family legacy. He sold the land he’d inherited and donated the proceeds to Pastor’s church. It was a sizable chunk of change. Just one of many donations that Eden’s grown into a buttload of cash.”
“Fifty million bucks,” Croft said softly. “But why does DJ need to kill Mercy Callahan? I mean, if he doesn’t want to share the cash, why not simply kill Pastor to get the money?”
“Good question. We do know that DJ tried to kill Mercy once before, but failed.”
“When her mother smuggled her out of Eden. DJ killed her mother.”
Tom nodded. “Right. But we assumed that DJ thought Mercy was dead, or he would have come looking for her years ago to keep her from spilling the beans about Eden. If Pastor finds out that Mercy isn’t dead . . .” He shrugged.
“Then DJ has a lot of explaining to do and Pastor might punish him somehow.”
“From what we know of Eden, punishments are severe, especially for betrayal. It’s likely DJ would be killed and the congregation told that he’d met with an accident. Either way, it’s unlikely he’d get any of the fifty million.”
“No wonder Belmont wants Mercy dead. That’s a lot to lose.”
“Yeah,” Tom said grimly, once again thinking of Liza in the monster’s sights. “This morning Molina asked if Belmont might be dead. I’ve wished it a thousand times in the month since he disappeared, but I didn’t think we’d be that lucky.”
Croft hesitated. “It was Gideon’s girlfriend who shot Belmont, wasn’t it?”
Tom nodded. “One of the shots, yes. Daisy Dawson is a sharpshooter. She climbed a tree to get the shot.” He glanced at his trainer. “Why?”
“Because he probably has a grudge against her, too,” Croft said. “Did you tell Gideon?”
“Nope.” He feigned innocence. “I told Molina that I wouldn’t feed them information.”
Croft snorted. “You didn’t have to tell Gideon. Rafe Sokolov has already filled him in.”
Tom grinned. “But I didn’t tell Gideon.”
She was quiet for a few beats. “I think I like you, Hunter.”
“I’m glad,” he said sincerely. “I’d hate to be stuck with someone who doesn’t. Tell me about the tattoo on Belmont’s back. Which gang is it?”
“It’s a gang out of San Fran called Zhonghua Yanjingshe, which translates to ‘Chinese Cobra.’ It was originally managed by one of the crime syndicates in mainland China, but a few years ago the gang was hit hard by the Bureau. The syndicate had purchased about a hundred houses in Northern California and turned them into grow houses. If you want more info, ask Rodriguez. He was part of the task force that took them out. They seized over four hundred pounds of pot, plus cash and weapons. Grow houses are still a problem around here, but it’s not as organized as it was.”
“I read about that when I knew I was coming to Sacramento,” Tom said, slowing to stop at a red light. “Folks think that illegal pot isn’t a thing in California anymore because it’s legal to buy, but the product seized by the task force was going to states where it’s still illegal.”
“Exactly. Homeowners who rent their houses continue to worry about grow houses. Renters look legit, some even show up with a prop family, then they trash the house, fill it with dirt, and grow weed until they’re caught. By then, they’re usually in the wind, and the homeowner is left with a ruined house.”
“I’m glad I know my renter,” Tom said lightly, turning left when the light changed.
Croft chuckled. “I guess so. Liza doesn’t seem the type to grow illegal weed.”
“I’d be shocked if she’s ever even tried it.”
Croft shot him an incredulous look. “Hunter. She was asking Irina for cannabis tea when we walked into the Sokolovs’ kitchen today.”
Oh. “That’s true, but
I’m sure that was a onetime thing. Not that there would be anything wrong with her drinking Irina’s tea, especially now that she’s in between her job and school.”
“Or maybe you don’t know her as well as you think,” Croft suggested softly.
Tom’s head swiveled to stare at her. “What?”
“How long have you known her?”
He refocused on the road. “Seven years.”
“But most of that time she was in the military, wasn’t she?”
Tom shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “We e-mailed and Skyped at least once a week, whenever she could get screen time.” Until I met Tory. Then he’d forgotten about their calls, too wrapped up in Tory to pay attention to anyone else. And after Tory had died, he’d been too wrapped up in his grief. He’d left Liza with no one to talk to. God, I’m an asshole.
Maybe that’s why she’s upset with me. She certainly has a right to be.
Croft sighed. “All I’m saying is that you seem convinced that you know her. Maybe she’s changed.” She shifted in her seat, seeming as uncomfortable with this tangent as Tom was. “Anyway, the gang was hurt in the raids, but not destroyed. The management structure has changed, though.”
Tom was simultaneously grateful to Croft for getting them back on track and tempted to ask her what she saw in Liza that had driven her comments. Something was wrong with his friend, but he was either too close or too thick to see what everyone else did.
“Changed how?” he asked, pushing worries about Liza aside for the moment. “Like an internal shake-up, or someone came in from the outside?”
“Both. The gang has become more local, with fewer international ties. The letters tattooed on DJ’s back are part of the original name. Now they call themselves the Chicos.”
“Meaning ‘boys’? They jumped languages?”
“No. It’s short for Chinese Cobras. I guess there were too many gangs called the Cobras, so they got creative. The ‘chai’ became ‘chee.’ It was probably easier for them to say.”
“Yeah. And because ‘chai-co’ sounds stupid.”
“Truth.” Croft smiled at the sight of two kids playing in a neighbor’s front yard. “This is a nice neighborhood.”
“It is. I see those kids sometimes when I jog. They’re very sweet. They did a lemonade stand last month to raise money for a sick classmate.”
Croft turned her smile his direction. “Did you buy any?”
“Of course.” He chuckled. “It was awful. They added ten times more sugar than they should have. But they looked so hopeful, so I drank it and bought more. Which I poured out as soon as I got around the corner. I was worried about a sugar coma, but Liza assured me I’d be fine.”
Croft was quiet for so long that he glanced over, only to see her shaking her head. “We don’t know a lot about the Chicos’ current management, but it’s thought that lower-tiered workers rose up through the ranks. Not a coup, really. More that they filled a power vacuum when the old bosses were arrested and deported.”
“And DJ Belmont is one of theirs?” he asked.
“That’s what I’m going to find out while you’re tracing Cameron Cook’s e-mail. It would help if I had a photo of Belmont. Can you send me a still from the video once you get it from Mr. Gray at the office building?”
“He sent it already. It’s in my inbox. I’ll forward it to you as soon as I check on—”
He slowed in front of his house, frowning at the Jeep sitting in his driveway. He’d seen it before—the night before, when Mike the Groper had brought her home. From their date.
“She’s got company?” Croft asked casually.
Tom swallowed the growl that rose from his chest a split second before Croft would have heard it. Keep it together, Hunter. Liza is a grown woman and can see who she wants to. But it felt wrong. Really wrong. “It would appear so.” He pulled behind the Jeep and put their Bureau SUV into park, leaving the engine running. “I’ll just be a moment.”
Not waiting to hear Croft’s reply, he jogged up the front walk. But when he’d gotten to Liza’s front door, he hesitated. What if she was . . . busy?
The very thought made his gut hurt, but he needed to know that she was okay, so he lifted his fist to knock.
The door opened before his knuckles hit, startling him into taking a step back. Then a very deep breath, because Mike the Groper stood there, smiling congenially.
“Tom! We didn’t expect you.”
“I . . .” I what? Didn’t expect to see you, either? “I’d like to speak with Liza for a moment.”
Mike leaned forward, his brows crunching. “She’s resting,” he whispered. “I put her to bed when she got home. She looked a little shocky to me. I think this morning’s close call shook her more than she wanted to admit. But I’m sure she’ll be fine. I’ll tell her you stopped by.” He started to close the door.
She told you what happened?
No. No way. That wasn’t possible. Liza knew the Eden investigation was under wraps. He shoved his foot over the threshold just in time to stop the door.
“It’s official business.” Which was mostly a lie, but at this point, he didn’t care. “I need to talk to her myself.” He shouldered the front door open, Mike too surprised to give him any resistance. “I know my way around.”
Mike opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it closed. “Fine. I’ll wait down here.”
Yeah, buddy. You do that.
Tom took the stairs two at a time, slowing when he reached the hall upstairs. He’d helped her move in, so he knew where her bedroom was. He’d even been in it a few times, when she had woken screaming from a nightmare that she wouldn’t discuss, no matter how many times he’d asked.
That Mike the Groper had been here, too, even if only to tuck Liza safely into bed . . . Well, he didn’t like it. At all.
He started to knock on her door, then stilled. He could hear her, and she was crying. Still.
Goddammit. He felt horrible, made worse because he didn’t know what to apologize for. Carefully he knocked.
“I’m fine, Mike,” he heard her say. “I already told you that. You can go home now.”
That made Tom stand up straighter, and the tension released its grip on his chest. “It’s me, Liza. Can I come in?”
Silence met his ears. Complete and suffocating.
“Liza?” He rested his forehead on the door, suddenly weary. “Please?”
She huffed out a breath. “Suit yourself.”
He opened the door enough to make sure that she was decent before entering the room. A smile tugged at his lips at the sight of Pebbles curled up against Liza’s back, her head on the spare pillow. Pebbles lifted her head enough to see that it was him, then slumped back down with a doggy sigh.
Liza was curled up as well, facing the window. She’d pulled the shade down, casting the room into semidarkness. “You can tell Irina that I’m fine. I know she told you to check on me.”
Tom frowned, not sure what to say to that. If he acknowledged the statement, it made him look like he hadn’t cared enough to check himself. But it was true, so he couldn’t deny it, either.
Instead he took a step forward, then another, until his knees were up against the mattress. “Why did you run from me?” he asked instead, because that was really what he wanted to know.
“Why did you come here?”
Her voice was hoarse, her nose stuffy. And he didn’t know how to help her.
“I was worried today.” He wasn’t certain where the words came from, but once he’d said them, he realized this was where things had started to go wrong. “Not about Mercy and Abigail, because I knew you’d have shielded them with your own body if the bullets started flying. I knew they’d be fine.” A teensy exaggeration, but he figured no one would fault him. “I was worried about you. I was on that roof, Liza. I saw what that gunman would have
seen, looking through that glass door. He would have seen you, wouldn’t he?”
Another long silence, then, “Yeah. Probably.”
Now she sounded small and vulnerable. He took a chance and rounded the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress near her knees. He stared at his hands. In the past he would have gathered her in his arms for a reassuring hug, but right now that seemed like a colossally poor idea.
Her hair covered her face and he gently pushed it aside so that he could see her features. She was beautiful, but she always had been, from the moment he’d laid eyes on her when she’d only been seventeen. She’s not seventeen anymore. She really, really wasn’t.
He shoved the thought aside because it felt so wrong. She was his friend. “Why did you run from me? What did I do?”
Her eyes remained tightly closed. “Nothing,” she said in a tone that meant he’d done something. He hadn’t been born yesterday. He knew that women usually meant “something” when they said “nothing.” He also knew that pushing her was a bad plan.
But not pushing hadn’t worked, either. “Something’s been bothering you,” he murmured, stroking her hair.
For a moment she seemed to relax into his hand, but then she lurched back several inches, putting her out of his reach. “I’m all right,” she said through clenched teeth. “Why did you come here?”
Tom recoiled as if she’d slapped him. She’d never pulled away from his touch. Not ever. His brain stalled and no words would come. “What did I do?” he whispered.
Her face fell and she pursed her lips the same way she had in the Sokolovs’ laundry room, like she was holding her emotions in tight check. Finally, she opened her eyes and gave him such a sad smile that his heart hurt. “Nothing, Tom. You didn’t do anything wrong. Now, if there’s nothing else, you need to go.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He started to rise, then sat back down. “Mike the—” He barely stopped himself from saying the Groper. “The guy downstairs,” he improvised. “He said you were shocky from your ordeal this morning.”
