Say Goodbye Read online

  Coleen dropped her gaze to her feet, folding her hands at her waist. The picture of female subservience. Just as Pastor demanded. “Can you help him?”

  “We’ll do our best,” Nurse Jones promised, then turned to the man with the rifle. “Mr. Saltrick, please show our guests to the family lounge. Get them a meal and a place to rest.”

  “This way,” the man commanded.

  Coleen hesitated, casting a worried glance at Pastor. The nurses pushed the stretcher up a ramp and into the garage before disappearing through a door marked Employees Only.

  “This way,” Saltrick repeated.

  DJ and Coleen followed. Once they were in a lounge with comfortable sofas and chairs that reclined into beds, Saltrick pointed to the refrigerator, a cabinet full of soup, and a microwave. “Help yourself,” he grunted. “If you’ll give me your keys, I’ll park your vehicle.”

  DJ hesitated, then handed the man the keys to the truck. They could have had the cops waiting here for them had they been so inclined. That they hadn’t suggested he and Coleen would be safe here.

  Saltrick gave each of them a folder with no external labels or markings. “Inside you’ll find an explanation of how things are done here. Once your father is finished with surgery, he’ll be taken to a rehabilitation center for his recovery and for any other medical services he might require. Sunnyside Oaks’s key mission is to provide quality care with the utmost privacy. We serve mostly celebrities—stars of film, TV, and sports. Some of our patients require privacy of a different sort, like your father.”

  In other words, DJ thought, protection from law enforcement.

  “Due to privacy concerns,” Saltrick continued, “we do not file claims with insurance companies. We require all patients to pay with cash. When your father is ready to be transferred, there will be an additional payment due for the rehab services. Dr. Arnold’s office manager will provide the details. Please familiarize yourself with the rehab center. Do you have questions?”

  Coleen timidly raised her hand. “The nurse said they’d do scans. What kind of scans?”

  “CT scan,” the man replied brusquely. “And an MRI, should he need one.”

  Coleen nodded like she understood the terms, which surprised DJ. “Do you have the equipment here?” she asked.

  “We do,” Saltrick said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  He strode to the door, leaving DJ and Coleen alone. She was staring at the microwave with confusion and fear.

  “What?” DJ barked.

  She flinched. “I haven’t used a microwave in thirty years. I’m not sure I remember how.”

  DJ was starving, so he got up to make them a meal. “I’ll show you. It isn’t difficult.”

  “Brother DJ? Will we have enough money to pay for the rehabilitation center?”

  “Yes. We’ll have enough.” He opened the cupboard. “We have chicken soup, clam chowder, and beef stew. Which do you want?”

  Coleen’s eyes were wide before she dropped her gaze to her feet. “Choose for me, please.”

  It didn’t surprise him. Women of Eden did not make their own choices. Ever.

  “Come and watch me,” he commanded. “You can make my food from then on.”

  “Yes, Brother DJ.”

  ROCKLIN, CALIFORNIA

  THURSDAY, MAY 25, 4:45 A.M.

  “Yes?” Raeburn snapped. “It’s four forty-five, Agent Hunter. I assume this is important.”

  “Critical, sir. There’s been a wire transfer from the offshore Eden account.”

  “Oh.” The word was uttered on a huff of surprise. “When?”

  “Four minutes ago. I got an activity alert. One hundred thousand dollars was wired to a Dr. Arnold in Sacramento.”

  “Give me a minute.” A woman’s murmur was followed by rustling sheets and creaking springs. A door closed and then Raeburn asked, “Sacramento? I would have thought they’d seek medical help in Redding or Eureka—cities closer to where you think they’re hiding.”

  “I agree, but I’m frankly shocked that they’re seeking medical help at all. Amos Terrill said that, in general, if members of Eden got sick, they either recovered on their own or they died. Outside help was never sought.”

  “Didn’t Ephraim Burton get a glass eye?”

  Huh. He does read the briefs I send him. “Yes. Ephraim Burton’s eye surgery seems to have been an outlier, and one that was kept from the community as a whole. Amos said he continued to wear his patch whenever he was in the compound. We think Burton got a doctor in Santa Rosa to perform the surgery during one of his quarterly hiatuses from Eden, but again, that’s an outlier. For them to leave Eden and seek outside medical assistance—”

  “It has to be a grave injury,” Raeburn finished.

  “Yes, sir. I think so. It would almost have to be one of the leaders.”

  “Belmont’s hurt,” Raeburn said.

  “True. He was wearing a sling in the surveillance video we took from the office building he used to target Mercy Callahan.” And Liza.

  “Maybe he arranged for Dr. Arnold’s services because he was back in Sacramento intending to finish off Mercy Callahan.”

  “That makes sense, sir.”

  “So who is this guy? Is he associated with a hospital?”

  “I don’t think so. Dr. Arnold’s name doesn’t get any hits on the surface web, but he’s quite popular on the dark web.”

  “Not a shock,” Raeburn muttered. “What did you find out about him?”

  “He’s recommended by movie stars, TV personalities, and mob bosses all over the world. He does surgery from his home, but his former patients say they convalesced and received rehab services at Sunnyside Oaks Convalescence and Rehabilitation Center. Again, patients include both A-list celebrities and criminals.”

  “Excellent work, Hunter. Can you find an address for Arnold’s home surgery?”

  “Not in these search results. It seems like his patients agreed to keep the location secret. A few say that they don’t want to make the doctor angry in case they have family members who need help in the future.”

  “What about the rehab facility?”

  Tom opened a new search window and typed in the name. He was a little surprised when an address surfaced. “That’s available. The place is very private, but . . .” He turned to his primary computer and typed the name again. “It shows up on both the dark and surface webs. I’ll send you the surface link with the address, but their website is very basic and says little of substance.”

  “It’s something, though. This is our first real break. I assume you haven’t traced the e-mail allegedly sent from Eden, since I haven’t heard from you on that.”

  “Not yet. Still working on it.”

  “Keep me up to speed. I’ll see you back in the office first thing.”

  It wasn’t a request. Tom grimaced, wondering how he’d ensure Liza’s safety tomorrow. He needed to hire someone to watch her, ASAP. “Yes, sir.”

  “And you will not be sharing this information with anyone, even Agent Reynolds, correct?”

  Tom gritted his teeth, but forced his voice to remain level. “Of course not, sir.”

  “Good night, then.” Raeburn ended the call before Tom could say another word.

  Not that he’d wanted to say more, not after being chastised like a teenager skipping school. Telling Molina would help soothe the irritation. He started to dial from his work phone, but stopped himself. He didn’t want either of them to get into trouble.

  Using his burner phone, he dialed Molina’s number. She answered on the first ring, wary but alert. “Yes?”

  “Agent Molina, this is Tom Hunter.”

  “Agent Hunter. Why are you calling from this number?”

  “Because I have information.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Tell me!”

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nbsp; He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.” He relayed the information that he’d shared with Raeburn.

  “Good. Agent Hunter . . .” She sighed. “Tom. You know I’ve been recused.”

  “I know.”

  “Which is why you used the burner.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Would you prefer that I don’t call you?”

  She made a rude sound. “No. I want you to use another number.” She rattled it off.

  Tom grinned. “You have a burner? Agent Molina, I must admit that you’ve surprised me.”

  “Baby agents,” she muttered. “You think you invented all the tricks. But thank you. I appreciate the heads-up. Good night.”

  Tom shut down his throwaway laptop and returned it to the safe. He’d been antsy and had needed to run, but now he was exhausted. Time for bed.

  “Come on, Pebbles. You want to go out one more time?”

  But Pebbles didn’t follow him to the office door. She tensed, then growled low, head cocked toward the shared wall.

  Concerned, Tom pressed his ear to the wall and a moment later heard what Pebbles had. Liza was screaming. His pulse rocketed up. No. He would not lose her, too. “Pebbles, come.”

  Grabbing his gun and the keys to Liza’s side of the duplex, he ran down the stairs and through the kitchen into the backyard, calling up the cameras on his phone. No one was at the front and the alarm was still set. His hands were shaking as he shoved the key into the lock on her kitchen door.

  He didn’t disarm the alarm, leaving it to count down. In sixty seconds, it would go off. If there was an intruder, the blaring sound might startle them. And if something happens to me, the police will still be called.

  Cell phone in one hand, his gun in the other, he took the stairs three at a time. Midway up, Pebbles raced past him and through Liza’s open bedroom door.

  “Pebbles? What the hell?” he heard her say, but her voice was hoarse and broken.

  He stopped in her doorway to disable the alarm. But also to let his heart calm down. She was okay. She was unhurt, at least. But even though the screams had stopped, she was sobbing. Pebbles had climbed onto her bed and she had her arms around the dog, rocking her.

  “Liza?” Tom asked, then entered when she didn’t answer. He figured she would have told him to leave if that was what she’d wanted. She still might, and he’d cede to her wishes.

  At least he knew she was all right. Physically. Psychologically, not so much. She visibly shook as she rocked Pebbles, her fingers clenched in the dog’s short hair.

  He couldn’t let her cry. Nudging Pebbles off the bed, Tom took her place and pulled Liza onto his lap, blankets and all. She didn’t fight him when he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. She grabbed handfuls of his shirt and held on, burying her face against his chest.

  “Shhh,” he soothed, her sobs breaking his heart. “It was a nightmare. It’s not real.”

  She shook her head but said nothing. Just clung harder.

  It was then that he realized she’d fallen asleep with the light on and earbuds in her ears. They’d fallen out at some point, the cords visible against the white of her pillow. He lifted one of the buds to his own ear and heard Garth Brooks singing. Her laptop was overturned on its side, still open, and next to it was a spiral notebook.

  Keeping one arm tightly around her, he righted her laptop. The screen woke up, displaying the photo she kept as her wallpaper. He’d have to lecture her again about computer security. She didn’t use a password even though he’d set one up for her.

  He’d seen the wallpaper photo before. It was Liza and eleven other soldiers, all holding their weapons and smiling. All he knew was that it had been taken while she’d been deployed in Kabul.

  The notebook was opened to a page bearing a sketch that he’d never seen before. He tugged the notebook closer so that he could see the sketch more clearly. It wasn’t particularly artistic, but it didn’t have to be for him to get the gist of its purpose.

  An angel held the caduceus staff in both hands, the smaller wings of the caduceus the same shape as the larger outspread wings of the angel. Instead of snakes, a stethoscope wound around the staff. Which, on closer inspection, wasn’t a staff at all. It was a semiautomatic rifle. But the detail that grabbed his attention was the names written on the feathers of the angel’s wings, three on the left, four on the right.

  Seven names, each with a different symbol sketched below. Ted had a football. Lenny, a violin. Judy, a baby bottle. Odell, a smiling sun. Neil’s name was surrounded by the ABCs. Christie had a medal on a ribbon. And Fritz had two connected rings against a broken heart.

  His gaze lingered on the broken heart, wondering what it meant. Wondering what the rings meant. Wondering who Fritz had been. Wondering who all of the people had been.

  Had been being the operative phrase. This was clearly a memorial. A helmet hung from the top of the rifle. A pair of empty boots was positioned at its base.

  These people had meant something to Liza. And they’d died.

  Eyes stinging, he hugged Liza harder, and the question just slipped out. “Who was Fritz?”

  ELEVEN

  ROCKLIN, CALIFORNIA

  THURSDAY, MAY 25, 5:05 A.M.

  Who was Fritz?”

  Liza went still, Tom’s softly spoken words glaringly loud in the quiet of the night. You wanted him to know. You wanted to talk about Fritz. To acknowledge him as being important.

  “My husband.”

  Tom’s shocked gasp seemed to echo off the walls. “Your . . . what?” He reared back, their gazes colliding. “You were married?”

  Liza used her sleeve to wipe her face. Dammit, her eyes hurt. Resting her head against his broad chest had felt so good while it had lasted. That comfort was gone, and although he still held her, there was confused accusation in his eyes.

  “For a little while, yes,” she murmured.

  “How long?”

  “A month.”

  “And then?”

  She inhaled deeply, then let it out. Stalling, because saying the words aloud hurt. Knowing that she should move off his lap, but unable to make her body obey the command. “He died.”

  “Oh.” The word was uttered on a huff of breath, then she felt him straightening his back and bracing his shoulders. But he still held her. Not tightly, but he hadn’t let her go. “In combat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that . . .” He hesitated. “Is that what you were dreaming about? You screamed.”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes. “I see it when I’m asleep. See them all.”

  “I’m sorry.” He stroked her hair, pushing it off her face. “So sorry.”

  She nodded, new tears welling against her closed eyelids. “I miss him. Fritz.” It was true. She hadn’t loved him like he’d loved her, but she had loved him. For a long time, Fritz had been a dear friend. Kind of like Tom sees me now. Maybe this was karma, coming to exact its due.

  I deserve it. I’m sorry, Fritz. More tears welled in her throat and she harshly cleared it, carefully disengaging herself from the only place she’d ever wanted to be. Tom Hunter’s arms.

  She slid from the bed, going to stand at the window. She’d barely peeked through the blinds at the darkened street below when Tom pulled her back, his hands gentle but insistent.

  “Not in front of the window,” he murmured. “It’s too dangerous.”

  She stared at him, not understanding. Until her mind clicked. The rooftop gunman who’d been aiming for Mercy the morning before. “Right. Sorry.”

  He led her back to the bed and urged her to sit, then retrieved the small stool from under her makeup vanity. Completely dwarfing it, he sat next to the bed.

  But then he took both of her hands in his and all she could focus on were his eyes, blue as a summer sky. “Tell me about the dream,” he murmured.

  “I .
. .” She had to look away, because he was being her friend. Just her friend. I’m the one wishing this were more than it really is. “I don’t talk about it.”

  “Don’t?” His tone was careful and he didn’t release her hands. “Or don’t want to?”

  She laughed and it sounded bitter. “Both.”

  “You haven’t talked to anyone about these nightmares? This isn’t the first one you’ve had.”

  She knew this. She didn’t scream every time. Usually she woke in a cold sweat, sobbing. But tonight’s nightmare had been especially vivid. Probably because she’d been remembering each of the souls they’d lost that day. “It isn’t something I discuss with just anyone.”

  He lightly gripped her chin. “I’m not just anyone. I’m your friend.”

  The word was like an ax to the chest. “I know,” she managed. “And I appreciate it.”

  His sigh was barely audible. “Please talk to me, Liza. Tell me about them. There are seven names on those angel wings. Tell me about them. Please. It might help.” His smile was a little lopsided and a lot sad. “Can it hurt?”

  God, yes. It could hurt. It did hurt.

  But she owed it to Fritz. The others deserved to be remembered as well. Behind her, the bed dipped and a moment later, a big doggy head rested on her shoulder as Pebbles pressed her muzzle to Liza’s cheek.

  Tugging one of her hands free from Tom’s grip, she wrapped her arm around the big dog’s neck. This kind of unadulterated love was addictive.

  “They were a unit, and Ted and I were their field medics. Ted had played college football and had a girl back home in Texas. Lenny was a violinist from upstate New York. He’d play for us between missions. Judy had a two-year-old back home in Indiana. She loved that boy more than the world. Odell was a career soldier with a smile that lit up any room. Neil was going to be an elementary school teacher. He cheated at Scrabble, but I still played with him because he was so damn funny. Christie ran track in high school. She wanted to go to the Olympics.”

  “She never made it,” Tom murmured.