Say Goodbye Page 24

Motherfucker. DJ made himself smile. “That’s fine. What about the additional payment? That security guy last night said you’d have to make another payment for the rehab center once the surgery was completed.”

  Pastor’s eyes fluttered shut. His breathing was deeper now. More regular. They must have given him a painkiller. “Already . . . took care of it.”

  “What?” DJ clamped his lips together after nearly shouting the word. He hadn’t meant for it to come out so loud. “When?”

  Pastor smiled with the same smugness that he’d exhibited last night. “Coleen dialed my banker and gave me the phone. All done,” he said in a drunken singsong.

  DJ gritted his teeth. “How much?”

  “Quarter mil.”

  DJ tried for control when he realized his fists were clenched and fantasies of beating Pastor to a pulp were going through his mind. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Not your money,” Pastor murmured. “Not your concern.”

  Not my money? “It is mine. Half of it, at least.”

  “Not until I’m dead. Which is why I’m not giving you the access code.”

  DJ scowled. “You don’t trust me?”

  “I don’t trust anyone. Don’t forget that I raised you, boy. I know what you’d do if you had those codes. I wouldn’t be . . .” He began slurring the words toward the end and trailed off.

  “He’ll sleep for a while,” a voice said from behind him.

  DJ whirled around to see a nurse watching him. “You shouldn’t have eavesdropped.”

  She shrugged. “I hear a lot. I say nothing. I stay employed and alive. As I said, your father will sleep for a while now. We’ll move him to the rehabilitation center in an hour or so. He’ll sleep through the transport. That way we can keep him comfortable.”

  Like DJ cared about Pastor’s comfort. Fucking bastard. “I see. What are visiting hours at the rehab center?”

  “That depends on the patient. Some patients’ families are more comfortable visiting under the cover of darkness. Others don’t care. You can speak with the charge nurse once he’s settled in.” She stepped aside, gesturing for him to leave. “You can pick up the keys to your vehicle at the back door. Your mother is waiting for you there.”

  “She’s not my mother,” DJ bit out.

  The nurse shrugged again. “Either way, she’s waiting for you. I’d advise getting something to eat. By the time you’re finished, your father will be transported.”

  There didn’t seem to be much more to say. Pastor was sleeping. DJ wasn’t certain that the old man had intended to disclose his reasons for not sharing the access codes. It didn’t really matter now. The cat was out of the bag. So DJ went to the back door, where Coleen waited.

  The muscle man from the night before had been replaced by a different muscle man, clad in a similar suit, carrying a similar rifle. And holding his keys.

  Without a word, DJ took the keys and stalked out, Coleen following behind him. Once he’d made sure that the rifle he’d left in the back of the truck had not been stolen or tampered with, he got behind the wheel and glared at her. “What was the access code?”

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “The access code,” he said from behind clenched teeth. “The words that Pastor told his banker. Who you called for him.”

  “I don’t know. He told me to leave the room.”

  For the love of . . . “And you obeyed?”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes.”

  Right. Because they’d trained the women to do so. “Fine. I’m going to a drive-through for breakfast and then I’ll drop you off at the rehab facility. He’s ordered me back to Eden.”

  “I know.”

  “So he told you that, but not the codes?”

  “Yes.”

  DJ rolled his eyes and stared the engine.

  “Brother Joshua knows something isn’t right,” Coleen offered. “I caught him trying to get into the clinic a month ago, on the night you came back wounded.”

  So that was interesting. “What was he trying to find in the clinic? Drugs?”

  “Maybe. Maybe he knows about the computer.” She hesitated. “I think Amos knew. I think he saw it. It was a few days before he took Abigail and ran.”

  DJ whipped his head around to stare at her. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

  “I . . .” She exhaled. “I don’t know. I don’t think I really suspected it until he was gone. And then everything went crazy. You got shot, we moved to the caves . . . And by then it didn’t matter anymore. Amos was gone.”

  “Who else knows about the computer?”

  “Nobody. At least nobody I know of. I figured if you were going back to Eden, you needed to know that Joshua might not be as surprised as you expect.”

  “Thank you, Sister Coleen,” DJ said, and meant it. He didn’t sincerely thank people often, but Coleen was watching his back.

  She folded her hands in her lap. “Can we go to Carl’s Jr.? I’ve missed their food.”

  DJ chuckled. “That’s what you’ve missed?”

  “Mmm. Yes.”

  She’d scratched his back, he could return the favor. “Sure. I’ll find one and take you there.”

  And then he’d find Mercy Callahan.

  ROCKLIN, CALIFORNIA

  THURSDAY, MAY 25, 8:30 A.M.

  Tom blinked, trying to figure out where the pinging was coming from. When it registered, he sat bolt upright in bed, grabbing his phone. Something was happening with the Eden account. Racing from his bedroom to his office, he checked the account and gasped.

  Two hundred fifty thousand dollars this time. Payable to Sunnyside Oaks Convalescence and Rehabilitation Center.

  Bingo. He dialed Raeburn, wincing at the time. He was officially late to work already.

  “Hunter,” Raeburn answered, forgoing any greeting. “Why are you late?”

  Because I was up all night worrying about my best friend who appears to be in love with me, you asshole. “I was able to get into the rehab center and was running scans on their patient database most of the night.” Also true. “I’ll be in ASAP. In the meantime, you should know that there was another wire transfer from the Eden account. This time to the rehab center itself.”

  “How much?” Raeburn sounded less annoyed, at least.

  “Two fifty.”

  Raeburn whistled quietly. “A hefty chunk of change. You get ID on the Eden leader who’ll be there?”

  “No, not yet.” He opened a window into the database and saw nothing new. “They haven’t checked him in yet, whoever it is. I’ve added an alert, so I’ll know when they update.”

  “Sounds good. You’ll be here soon, yes?”

  Tom swallowed his sigh. “Of course.”

  He ended the call and leaned back in his chair, trying to organize the things he needed to do that day. Get dressed. Make sure Liza stays the fuck at home. Go to work. Warn Rafe to keep Mercy close. Not that the final item was really necessary, because Rafe wasn’t about to let Mercy out of his sight after yesterday.

  Oh, and he needed to tell Molina the latest as well. Somewhere in there he needed to get some food, because his stomach was growling loudly.

  Showered and shaved, he felt more human. And then he tripped over Pebbles, who lay across the bathroom doorway, waiting for him to emerge.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked her, scratching her ears. She leaned into him and he sighed because he’d have short dog hairs all over his clean suit. At least he had a sticky roller in his desk drawer at work. Courtesy of Liza.

  The thought made him frown. If Pebbles was here, Liza had to have brought her over. He hoped she hadn’t gone on her morning run. Surely she wouldn’t be so foolish.

  He ran down the stairs and almost went out his kitchen door. Then realized that maybe Liza wouldn’t want him just walking in anym
ore. Not after last night.

  Feeling more awkward than he had in forever, he went out his front door, crossed the small yard they shared, and knocked on hers. And knocked again. Alarm had his heart racing and he pounded on her door with one hand while he dug in his trouser pocket for his keys with the other.

  “She’s gone already.”

  Tom looked to his left where their neighbor, a retired teacher, stood on his stoop, puffing on his pipe while his Yorkie busily sniffed the grass. “Good morning, Mr. Tolliver. What do you mean she’s gone already?”

  Mr. Tolliver shrugged. “She left. I was letting Sweetie-Pie out for her morning pee and saw Liza driving out of the garage. Her car was filled with boxes.”

  Tom’s mouth opened. “Boxes?”

  “Yes, young man. Boxes. Like, you know,” he added sarcastically, “cardboard things that you put stuff in? Boxes.”

  Tom couldn’t find a suitable reply so he merely said, “Thank you, sir.” His hands were shaking when he found his keys and he had to try twice before getting the key into the lock.

  “She was crying.”

  Tom froze at the old man’s words. Fuck. He forced himself to look left again, finding Tolliver’s face creased in concern. “Excuse me?”

  “I said that she was crying. And I think she had been for a while. Her face was swollen and red. She just carried boxes to her car and cried, not even stopping to wipe her eyes.”

  Oh my God. Fear gripped his heart. “Thank you, sir. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

  “See that you do,” he said gruffly. “She’s a nice girl, that one. Brings me fresh-baked brownies once a week without fail. And she likes Sweetie-Pie.”

  Which alone made Liza a saint. The man’s dog was an evil ankle biter. “Thank you,” he said once more and entered Liza’s house.

  At first glance, it looked normal. Alarm system armed, all the furniture in the same place. But then he noticed all the things missing. The afghan that her mother had made was gone. The photos of her mother and sister that had lined the mantel. All gone.

  Numbly he walked into the kitchen and opened a cupboard. Her dishes were still there, but all the cookware that had been her mother’s was gone.

  Slowly he climbed the stairs, knowing what he’d find. It still hurt to see.

  Her bed was made with military precision, and not a single speck of dust was on the furniture she’d bought when they’d moved in. But the closet and drawers were empty, all the clothing gone. Her suitcases were gone. As was her gun safe.

  Her bathroom was so clean that it sparkled, but every shelf was empty of toiletries. No shampoo that smelled like crisp apples. No makeup.

  She had left a roll of toilet paper in the cabinet and a hand towel on the rack.

  He swallowed hard.

  She’s gone. She left me.

  No, she left, period. Not you. There was no you to leave.

  “Bullshit,” he hissed aloud. They were still friends. He still deserved a damn goodbye. But then he heard her voice, tentative and small.

  You didn’t feel the same way.

  No. I didn’t.

  “Goddammit.” He pulled out his personal phone and dialed her number. It rang several times before going to voice mail. Swearing viciously, he called again. This time she answered.

  “Hello, Tom.” The words were heavy and sad and he swallowed again.

  I’m sorry. Come back. I’ll try.

  But none of those words would come out. Instead he snarled. “Where the fuck are you?”

  He could hear her indrawn breath. “At Irina’s.”

  I’m sorry. Come back. Please come back.

  But once again, his mouth betrayed him. “You were supposed to stay home,” he snapped. “What part of being in a sniper’s sights did you not understand?”

  This time the breath she drew was even and measured. “I’m fine. I am not your worry.”

  Anymore hung between them.

  “I left a note on the fridge along with a check for next month’s rent,” she went on. “I’ll set up autopay through my bank for the future.”

  “I don’t care about the fucking rent!” he shouted.

  “I do.”

  He opened his mouth to say . . . what, he had no idea, but just then his work phone pinged with an alert.

  Dammit. Sunnyside Oaks’s patient database had just been updated. “I need to call you back.”

  “No, you really don’t. It’s okay. Just find Eden so that Mercy will be safe.”

  And then she hung up, leaving him staring at his personal phone while his work phone continued to ping.

  Fucking hell. Backing out of her bedroom, he slowly trudged down the stairs, wondering what to do. Wishing . . . but for what he didn’t know.

  He locked her door and, after checking to be sure his neighbor was gone, marched into his own house and up the stairs and sat down at his computer. Pulling up the window into Sunnyside’s database, he saw that a new patient had been registered: Timothy Alcalde, age seventy-two, Caucasian male.

  Not DJ Belmont, then. It had to be Pastor.

  On autopilot, Tom took a screenshot of the file and carefully backed out, making sure he left no trace that he’d broken in. Then he sent the file to his own secure e-mail. He could upload it to the Bureau’s servers when he got into the office.

  He considered calling Raeburn, but had no energy for the conversation. So he texted instead. New patient, 72yo man, Timothy Alcalde. Right age for Pastor. He’d been forty-two when he’d fled to Eden thirty years ago.

  And “Alcalde” meant “mayor” in Spanish. On another day, Tom might have appreciated the joke. The Eden assholes had already demonstrated that they put thought into names. He supposed “Timothy Pastora” would have been too obvious, even for them.

  Excellent, was Raeburn’s reply. We’ll apprehend ASAP.

  Um, no. That would be the wrong move. Fearing that Raeburn would go off half-cocked, Tom called his boss. “We can’t just bust in and arrest him,” Tom said when Raeburn answered.

  “Why not?” Raeburn snapped. “I can have a warrant in ten minutes.”

  “Because we still don’t know where Eden is. Do you want to bet those people’s safety on Pastor rolling over and telling us? They’ve already demonstrated how ruthless they can be and we don’t have any physical evidence on Pastor himself, only DJ. Without leverage, he’s not going to simply give in.”

  Raeburn huffed, a frustrated sound. “No. I don’t suppose he would.”

  Encouraged, Tom went on. “And we have to make sure we get Belmont at the same time, or he’ll go under so far that we’ll never find him. He’ll keep coming after Mercy and Gideon.”

  “True,” Raeburn admitted, disgruntled. “I doubt they’ll discuss the compound’s location specifically, but even a mention of Eden might be the leverage we need. I want eyes and ears inside that facility. Come in and we’ll discuss our options.”

  Tom slipped his phone into his pocket. He should be energized and thrilled that they knew exactly where Pastor was, but he wasn’t. He was too numb. At least Liza is okay. Safe, anyway.

  He didn’t think either of them was okay. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay again.

  TWELVE

  GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

  THURSDAY, MAY 25, 8:50 A.M.

  Liza put her phone on Irina’s kitchen table and picked up her fork, avoiding the older woman’s eyes as she focused on the plate of eggs and bacon in front of her. Irina had seen the look on her face when she’d knocked on the front door that morning and insisted that she eat.

  “Well,” Irina said, “that explains the boxes in your car. You’re moving out of Tom’s place?”

  “I’m moving out of the side of the duplex that I’ve been renting from Tom,” she corrected, grateful that it was only the two of them in the homey quiet of Irina
’s kitchen. She couldn’t have handled all of the Sokolovs that morning.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really. Unless you know someone who’s looking to rent in a family-oriented neighborhood. Plenty of room for kids to run in the backyard.”

  Not that she’d dreamed about kids of her own.

  Of course she had. God, I was so stupid. Tom had lost his child with Tory, and Liza had dreamed of giving him the family he’d always wanted. But he didn’t think of her like that.

  You didn’t feel the same way.

  No. I didn’t.

  “No, but you can post it on a realty site and we can put out some feelers.”

  “I appreciate it. I’m also looking for a job. Just until school starts in July.”

  Irina’s brows lifted. “I thought you were going to take a holiday.”

  “Not now,” Liza murmured. “My job at the veterans’ home was only as a fill-in for a woman on maternity leave, so going back there isn’t an option. I checked the want ads last night but didn’t find anything.”

  She’d done a lot of things last night, because sleep had eluded her. She’d scoured the want ads, updated her résumé, gathered her letters of recommendation, and packed up her belongings.

  “I know some people I can ask,” Irina said. “There’s always a demand for nursing assistants. Can you send me your résumé?”

  “I have it with me.” Liza retrieved her résumé and letters of recommendation from her handbag and slid them across the table so that Irina could examine them.

  “Impressive. Coupled with your military service, you’ll have no trouble getting work.”

  “That’s what my nursing school advisor said. She was also army, back in the day, and helped me with financial aid for school and helped me find a job in the interim. She also helped me get my CNA license, all before my discharge was effective.”

  “Have you called her yet?”

  “I plan to, later today.” She’d be able to call on the drive to her tattoo appointment. The sketch was also in her handbag, carefully folded, just in case Sergio Iglesias was a nice guy and didn’t throw her out after she asked him about the Eden tattoo.