Say Goodbye (Sacramento Series, The Book 3)
Say Goodbye: Chapter 15

Can I help—” Merle Belmont’s expression fell when he realized who stood on his doorstep. “Oh. Special Agent Hunter.” He sighed. “I suppose you want to come in.”

Okay . . . “Yes, please. This is my partner, Special Agent Croft.”

Merle sighed again. “I guess I knew this was coming. Doesn’t make it easier. Follow me.”

“Thank you,” Tom murmured as he and Croft followed Merle into the foyer, where they were met by Merle’s wife Joni, who patted her husband’s arm sympathetically.

“I’m glad you called him, honey,” she said. “It was the right thing to do. And you’ll get it back, eventually.”

Merle’s eyes dropped to his feet. “I . . . well, I didn’t exactly . . .”

“Merle Belmont,” Joni scolded. “You didn’t call him? You promised me. Now this will be a mess.” She looked at Tom and Croft apologetically. “Please come in. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Lemonade?”

“We’re fine, but thank you for offering,” Croft said. “I’m Special Agent Croft, ma’am.”

“My wife, Joni,” Merle mumbled, then followed his wife, his shoulders slumping.

When the couple’s backs were turned, Croft gave Tom a what-the-hell look. Tom shrugged.

“Well,” Joni said brightly when they were all sitting in the living room. “I suppose you’ll be wanting the keys.”

“I want a receipt,” Merle said, his chin coming up. “And if there’s one scratch on that car when I get it back . . .”

“Merle,” Joni hissed, then sighed. “Please excuse my husband. He’s just disappointed.”

“I don’t understand,” Croft said. “Agent Hunter?”

“I don’t understand, either,” Tom admitted. “What is this about a car?”

Merle visibly brightened. “You’re not here for the car?”

“What car?” Tom asked slowly.

Merle and Joni exchanged a long glance. “Well,” Joni said again. “We assumed you were here to take custody of the Camaro. You know, Waylon’s Camaro. We just got it back from the nice policemen in San Francisco. Merle hasn’t even driven it yet.”

Tom frowned, then remembered the set of GM keys they’d found in Ephraim Burton’s pocket and the very hot car he’d extorted from Waylon Belmont. They must have been one and the same. “I see. Where was the car found?”

“At the airport,” Merle said. “It had been parked there for several weeks before one of the security guards ran a check on the VIN and saw that my father had reported it stolen.”

Makes sense. Tom kicked himself for not thinking to check the San Francisco airport himself. Using his tablet, he pretended to be taking notes as he typed out a message to Croft.

Ephraim Burton had a set of GM keys in his pocket when he died. He left out of SFO when he flew to New Orleans to stalk Mercy last month. This has to be the car he took from Waylon.

He angled the tablet so that Croft could see, and her small nod indicated that she’d read and understood. “When was the car reported stolen, sir?” she asked.

“Almost thirty years ago.” Merle exhaled, his expression becoming pained. “My father had loaned it to DJ’s mother because she wanted a night on the town with her friends. She had DJ with her. Said she was taking him to a babysitter.”

“It was the last time we saw them,” Joni added soberly. “We figured whoever had taken them had stolen the car, too. That maybe they were carjacked. It was a valuable car even then.”

“It’s a ’69 Camaro,” Merle explained. “Mint condition.”

“A very hot car,” Tom said quietly. “Did you wonder where it had been?”

“Of course,” Merle said. “But whoever stole it took really good care of it. I’m grateful for that, at least.” He frowned, then sucked in a breath. “Wait. You asked about DJ the last time you were here. Are you saying that he had it?”

“No,” Tom said easily. “I’m not saying that at all.”

“Have you found DJ?” Joni asked. “Is that why you’re here?”

“No, ma’am,” Croft replied. “We haven’t found him. But he is why we’re here. We were wondering if you knew anywhere he might go.”

Both Joni and Merle shook their heads. “No,” Merle said warily. “We told you—we haven’t seen him since he was four years old. Why are you asking us this again?”

The couple joined hands, appearing anxious now.

Croft met their eyes squarely. “Would he stay at your other house?”

The couple glanced at each other in confusion. “You mean our house on Elvis Lane?” Joni asked. “Why would he? You’re scaring me, Agent Croft. What’s going on here?”

“He lived there once,” Croft pressed.

“When he was four years old!” Merle exclaimed. “The house stood empty for years after he and Charlene disappeared. My father went over there every day, sometimes multiple times a day, hoping that they’d magically come home, but they never did. He refused to rent the place to anyone else. For years.”

This was the opening Tom had been hoping for. “How many years, sir?”

Again Joni and Merle shared an anxious glance. “Maybe five years?” Joni said slowly.

“That’s about right,” Merle agreed. “Dad heard about this single mom and her two kids who needed a place to live. Margo had run from her husband, who was abusing her, and she needed a place to hide. Mom and Dad took her under their wing, you know? Her kids—twins—were only a few years older than DJ would have been. I think Mom and Dad kind of connected with the kids, so they let them stay.”

Bingo. The timelines matched. Pastor’s wife and kids had disappeared five years after DJ had arrived in Eden, according to Amos. Tom smiled at the couple, hoping to put them at ease, because Croft had them on high alert. “What were their names?”

Joni smiled back tentatively. “Will and Tracy Holly.”

“Nice kids,” Merle added, “but too quiet. Always scared, always looking over their shoulders. Margo wouldn’t leave the house for years. I remember Mom going to meetings with the kids’ teachers at the school. Mom and Dad were like the kids’ grandparents. Joni and I weren’t blessed, so . . .” He shrugged self-consciously.

“His folks adopted the kids,” Joni finished. “Not officially, of course.”

“And, as time passed, Mom and Dad lost hope that DJ would come home,” Merle said sadly.

“I’m sure the twins were a comfort to them,” Tom said. “How long did they live there?”

“Until Tracy graduated from college,” Joni answered. “Will left home when he was eighteen. Mom and Dad got postcards from him for a few years.”

Merle sighed. “Until he killed himself.”

Oh. Shit. “How terrible,” Tom murmured. “Your parents must have been devastated.”

Joni nodded unhappily. “They were. We all were. Margo . . . she was . . . well, I’m glad she still had Tracy. That girl held her together until Margo met her new husband.”

“She married again?” Tom asked, hoping he sounded casual.

Merle nodded. “She did. A good guy this time. An architect. Dad met him and approved.”

“Do you still see them?” Croft asked, also casually.

Joni shook her head. “No. Margo left her life here behind, and I can’t blame her. So many sad memories in that house, what with Will’s suicide and all. Last I heard, she lived in Modesto. We lost touch with Tracy, too, but Merle’s mom gets a postcard from her occasionally. Never from the same place, though, so I don’t know where she ended up.”

“And your father?” Croft asked.

“He died ten years ago,” Merle said gruffly. “He was never the same after Will’s suicide.” He cleared his throat. “But enough talk of sad times. What else can we help you with?”

“Did your parents continue to rent the house after Margo moved away?” Croft asked.

“They did,” Merle confirmed. “It was nearly always occupied, although it’s been sitting empty for the past few months. We’re probably going to sell it. Mom’s nursing home is pretty expensive.” He made a face. “I should probably sell the car, too.”

“No,” Joni said quickly. “You need to keep that car for yourself. As a memory of your dad.”

“I guess we’ll have to see,” Merle said. “Will you need the car, Agent Hunter?”

Tom turned to Croft. “I don’t know. Will we?”

“For a little while, yes,” Croft replied. “It might have been used in the commission of a crime, so we’ll want our forensics team to examine it.”

Merle’s mouth dropped open. “A crime? What kind of crime? Does this involve DJ? Is that why you’re here?”

Croft threw a quick glance at Tom before turning back to the couple. “We don’t know if DJ is connected to the car, but we do have evidence that he’s involved in our investigation.”

Joni gasped softly. “So he is alive?”

“We believe so,” Croft said. “If he should come to see you, please contact us. Don’t invite him into your home.”

“He’s turned out like his father, then,” Merle said heavily. “Has he been in prison, too?”

“We don’t know,” Croft said kindly. “But he is dangerous. He might not bother you, but if he does, please let us know.”

“We will,” Merle said, his voice faltering. “This . . . is not what I expected.”

Tom believed him and it seemed that Croft did, too. “Can we see the car?” he asked.

Merle rose unsteadily, Joni at his side. “Of course. It’s this way.”

Tom and Croft followed the couple to the back of the house, passing along a wall covered in framed photos. Tom paused at one that caught his eye—two photos side by side, both of small boys about four years old, both blond, nearly identical in appearance. But one was in color while the other was black-and-white and appeared much older.

“That’s Waylon as a baby,” Joni said when she realized what he was staring at. “Waylon and DJ at the same age. There’s a strong resemblance, isn’t there?”

“There really is.” Tom met Joni’s gaze. “May I snap a photo of these pictures?”

“I don’t see why not.” Joni stepped back, allowing Tom to take the photo.

“Thank you.” Tom scanned the wall. There were several photos featuring an older couple—Merle’s parents, he figured. In one of the photos, Merle and his father stood in front of the classic Camaro, wearing matching grins. There was another photo with the older couple and DJ, dressed for church. But there was no sign of Pastor’s wife and children. “No photos of Margo and the twins?”

“Mom has a few at the nursing home,” Merle said. “The rest are in storage. Why?”

Tom smiled at him. “Just curious. I apologize if I overstepped.”

“No worries.” Merle jerked his head in the direction they’d been walking. “Car’s this way.”

Tom whistled softly when Merle opened the door to the garage. “Sweet.” It really was. Even from several feet away, it was obvious that the car had been well taken care of.

Tom wondered where Ephraim had kept the car all this time. They might never know now.

“Your forensics guys won’t hurt her?” Merle asked.

“They’ll take good care of her,” Croft assured him. “We’ll just wait out in our vehicle for the flatbed truck to arrive. Can I have the keys?”

Merle handed them over reluctantly and Tom and Croft returned to the SUV, where Croft called for a truck while Tom called San Francisco PD about the Camaro.

A half hour later, a truck was on its way and Tom had confirmed that the Camaro had only been cursorily searched by SFPD. “Not sure if the car will yield anything new, but it can’t hurt to check,” he told Croft.

“I agree.” She glanced up at the Belmonts’ house. “I believed them.”

“I did, too.”

“Why did you ask for the photo?”

Tom shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not sure. Maybe just to fill in some gaps on my case wall.” He’d been collecting documents and photos for the past month, keeping them organized both on the wall of his office at work and at his home office. “Maybe I’m just curious.”

“Curiosity isn’t a bad thing,” Croft said. “So we know Pastor’s wife is still alive. Not sure what that gets us, if anything. We also can be fairly certain that DJ hasn’t contacted his aunt and uncle. So we can cross them off our list and refocus on trying to track him through his connection with the Chicos and with the rehab center where Pastor is. Sound like a plan?”

Tom nodded, aware that she was kindly telling him to stop chasing after Eden’s past. “Sure.”

She gave him an understanding smile. “It’s okay, Tom. We’ll likely chase down a ton of leads before we replace the right one. It’s the nature of the business.”

Tom managed to smile back. “Thanks. I’ll dig into the dark web when we get back. If DJ is selling drugs for the Chicos, there should be some record somewhere.”

“That’s good thinking. And I’m going to reread your Eden file while we wait for the truck.”

Leaving Tom to check his phone for any messages from Liza. There were none. He sent her a text, asking if she was okay, but got no answer.

I need to fix this. But if she shut him out, he wasn’t sure how.

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

THURSDAY, MAY 25, 5:15 P.M.

DJ’s eye twitched as he was beeped into the rehab center through the back door. He was still shaking an hour later.

Kowalski had lured him into a trap. The package that DJ was supposed to pick up had been a trap. His last-minute decision to take Smythe’s Lexus might have saved his life. His gut hadn’t liked the setup—the warehouse in Stockton had been too quiet. He’d been right.

He’d pulled into the loading area of the next warehouse and looked through his scope. And there had been Kowalski, waiting with two of his biggest thugs. His finger had itched on the trigger, but he hadn’t fired a shot. If DJ had fired, he would have been made, and likely wouldn’t have been able to escape.

So now he was sneaking into Sunnyside Oaks through the employees’ entrance, wearing a cheap goddamn wig that he’d been forced to buy at a party store, because his drug-dealing boss wanted to kill him because his fucking face was all over the fucking Internet.

A nurse met him at the door, a surgical mask in her hand. “You’re wanted by cops in several jurisdictions and by the FBI. I think covering your face may be in your best interest, since that wig won’t fool anyone, and not everyone here is paid to look the other way.”

DJ rolled his eyes, but he took off the wig and put on the mask. Dammit. “How is my father doing?” he asked as she led him down a hallway where the stainless-steel wall tiles gleamed so brightly he was tempted to put on his sunglasses.

“He’s awake and talking.”

Alarm skittered down DJ’s spine as he imagined all the things Pastor might say if he was high on painkillers. All the truths he might speak that both DJ and Pastor would prefer he keep quiet.

“What’s he saying?” he asked casually, but the nurse wasn’t fooled.

“Nothing like that, sir. You’re not alone in your worry, though. We keep all recovering patients who are still on painkillers in their own rooms with specialized personnel who are trained and vetted. They won’t share anything they hear.”

“Or what?”

“Or they’re terminated,” she replied without a heartbeat of hesitation.

DJ wasn’t sure if that meant fired or killed, but he didn’t really care if it was the latter. “I see. Thank you for letting me know. What’s he talking about?”

“His children mostly.” A sad note entered her tone. “The ones who died. That’s not uncommon, though. Painkillers can fog the patient’s brain and make old memories resurface.”

DJ remembered Pastor’s twins. They’d been a few years older than him and real assholes. They’d been the prince and princess of the community and had never let anyone forget it. They’d also believed they were invincible and ignored the warnings to stay out of the forest. Their mother had gone hiking with them and nobody had seen any of them alive again.

It might have been the only case where Edenites truly had been killed by wolves.

Pastor had disappeared for two weeks, searching and then mourning. When Pastor had returned, he’d immediately adopted DJ and declared him his new heir.

Fat lot of good it’s done me.

“He’s a real sweetheart,” the nurse continued. “All of his nurses love him already.”

A sweetheart? Pastor? “I’m glad,” DJ managed, and she smiled.

“They’re often nicer here than they are at home. Don’t take it personally.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, for which DJ was grateful. He was still trying to wrap his mind around Pastor being a “sweetheart.” He was loved by his congregation, but that was more of an awed worship. Not affection.

DJ felt no affection for the old bastard. Especially after the stunt he’d pulled that morning with the access code. He wondered if Coleen loved Pastor. She might. She’d been sufficiently brainwashed over thirty years, despite knowing the deep, dark truth.

He was momentarily stunned when the nurse showed him into Pastor’s room, which wasn’t a room at all. It was a suite with several rooms—a master bedroom with an en suite bath, a second bedroom also with an en suite, a third bathroom, a living room, a kitchen, and a dining room.

Holy fucking shit. “How much does this run us a day?”

“It’s all part of the prepaid package,” the nurse said, not answering his question. “Your father is in the master bedroom, through there. If he’s asleep, let him sleep. Your mother is sleeping in the other bedroom.”

She is not my mother. But DJ smiled tightly. “That’s good. She must have been tired.”

“She was, poor thing. The bedrooms are soundproofed, so if you want to watch TV out here, you won’t disturb them. His private nurse will stay in there with him. Her name is Nurse Gaynor and she’s one of our best. She’s been with us for almost ten years. I’m Nurse Innes, the charge nurse, by the way. Contact me with any concerns. Speed dial one on the house phone goes right to my cell.” She held up a smartphone. “Cell coverage is very good here and there is Wi-Fi. Password is changed daily. Your father’s nurse will have it for you. Nurse Gaynor just came on shift, so she’s probably checking his vitals. I’ll leave you to your visit. Call me when you’re ready to leave and I’ll escort you out.”

As soon as she was gone, he took off the wig and the mask, wondering if last night’s surgeon did plastic surgery. He might need it when this was over and he skipped the country with his fifty million.

He turned off all the lights in the living room and opened Coleen’s bedroom door to ensure that she was really asleep and not going to spy on him. She was under the covers, visible by the light from the bathroom that she’d left burning. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically. If she was awake, she was good at faking it.

She wore a simple nightgown, the sleeping uniform of all Eden women. The neckline wasn’t high like a turtleneck, but it exposed nothing below the hollow of the throat. Where her locket lay, glinting in the dim light. Even Coleen had to wear a locket. No discussions. No exceptions.

Satisfied that she slept, he closed her door and approached the master bedroom, remaining quiet. He really didn’t care if he woke Pastor, because the old man was a douchey motherfucker. He was more concerned with hearing what Pastor was saying in his nurse’s presence, and whether he was aware.

Nurse Innes might be convinced that their staff was trustworthy, but DJ was not. The only person he could trust was himself. Everyone else had an agenda that conflicted with his—getting the money and living in luxury on a tropical island. Even Coleen had an agenda, but DJ hadn’t figured that out yet. Maybe it was just to remain in power at Pastor’s side. If he died, she’d become the bottom-rung wife of another man in Eden and it would suck to be her.

He opened Pastor’s door a mere crack, not wanting to alert the old man.

What the hell? He froze, staring as the nurse in Pastor’s room rocked back on her heels, having been standing on her toes to reach a lampshade.

She then pulled something from her pocket and slipped it under the nightstand lamp. The light was dim, and DJ couldn’t see exactly what she’d deposited there, but he had a fair idea.

She was bugging the room. What the actual fuck?

His mind raced, analyzing all the possible responses. He decided on pretending he hadn’t seen it. He wanted to replace out if this was a plot by the facility’s owners to gather incriminating information that they could use for future blackmail.

Or . . . it could be that someone else was pulling the nurse’s strings. Kowalski was the top contender, considering the man wanted him dead. And since he’d recommended the doctor. He was the only one who knew for sure where they were.

The other option was the Feds. That was least likely, though, because it made no sense that either Kowalski or the facility’s owners would be giving the Feds information.

So . . . probably Kowalski. Fucking Kowalski.

DJ closed the door and took a step back, giving the nurse a minute to resettle herself wherever she’d been sitting or to do whatever she’d be pretending to do when he knocked.

He turned on the lights, then knocked lightly on the bedroom door, opening the door a fraction. “Is he asleep?” he whispered.

The nurse startled, whipping around to face him, and even in the dim light he could see her face flush with color. “Yes,” she whispered back. “But you’re welcome to sit with him.”

DJ entered, shutting the door behind him. The master bedroom was elegant. Pastor probably hadn’t slept anywhere so nice since the last time he’d left Eden and stayed in a hotel. That had been a decade at least.

He took the chair next to the one in which she’d been sitting and waited for her to follow. “Has he been eating?”

“He had some chicken broth and applesauce. Tomorrow we’ll give him food that’s more solid, and we’ll work him up to his favorites. Do you know what food he likes?”

“He eats a lot of lamb.” Pastor hated lamb. “Also he loves tomatoes.” Pastor got hives when he ate tomatoes. “And chocolate, of course. Everyone loves chocolate.” Chocolate gave Pastor heartburn. Of course, the old man would never admit to having a physical weakness. He felt that admitting a weakness lessened his status as a pseudo-deity.

DJ had brought him chocolate at least once a month during the seventeen years since he’d taken over as the community’s buyer, feigning ignorance of Pastor’s plight. The second to the last time they’d moved, DJ had found a pile of chocolate in one of Pastor’s desk drawers, much of it white with age.

“Chocolate gives me gas,” Pastor whispered. The raspy admission made DJ want to smile, but he bit it back.

“Why didn’t you say so?” DJ asked, dragging his chair to sit closer to Pastor’s bedside.

“You’re a vicious little cunt,” Pastor wheezed. “You knew. You gave it to me on purpose.”

Damn straight.

“That’s why you’re not getting the access codes,” Pastor added.

Motherfucker.

“Aw, Dad,” DJ said with mock affection. He wasn’t sure if he was hamming it up for the nurse or for the bug. “You know that’s not true. I’m sorry. You know I would never have caused you pain on purpose.”

Pastor’s eyes narrowed. “Asshole.”

It was fair. “How are you feeling, Pops?”

Pastor’s eyes narrowed further, to tiny slits. “Watch it.”

The old man was right. DJ was pushing him, which could result in him changing his will entirely. The pleasure he got from the verbal jabs wasn’t worth it in the long run.

DJ nodded once, which seemed to pacify the old man. Either that, or the act of narrowing his eyes had tired him out.

“Did you talk to Brother Joshua?”

“I did,” DJ lied smoothly. He had no intention of ever bringing Joshua into the fold. That would be one more person who knew about the money, and that didn’t fit with DJ’s plan. “He’s completely on board.”

Pastor smiled wearily. “Knew he would be. He’s going to make a good right hand.”

DJ maintained his pleasant expression, even though inside he was fuming. I’m your right hand. He suspected Pastor didn’t realize he’d admitted that, but it was good to know his true intentions. Not that it was that much of a shock.

Pastor said no more, dropping back into a deep sleep.

“He’ll do that for a few more days,” the nurse murmured from her chair. “The painkillers are strong because his body needs rest to heal. All perfectly normal.”

DJ pulled his chair until he and the nurse were side by side again. “Is there a pad of paper in this room?”

“Desk drawer.”

“Thanks.” He got the paper and a pen and sat down to write. I know what you did. If you don’t want your management to know, walk with me to the parking lot, where you can explain.

He placed the notepad atop her electronic tablet. He knew when she’d read it, because her body stiffened. She glanced up, eyes full of fear. Excellent. DJ pulled his jacket back enough for her to see the gun in his shoulder holster. She inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring.

He tilted his head toward the door, secretly relieved when she stood up.

Kowalski, then. If it had been the facility owners, she wouldn’t have been afraid for them to know.

He left the bugs in place. He’d deal with them once he learned the extent of this treachery.

When they got to the living room, DJ leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You’re giving me a tour if anyone asks. Got it?”

She nodded, her body trembling.

“And if you fuck it up,” he added silkily, “I will kill you and anyone who has the misfortune to stop us. Nod if you understand.”

She swallowed hard and nodded.

He put the damn mask back on. “Hands where I can see them,” he murmured as they left Pastor’s suite and began the walk to the back door. No one stopped them. No one even passed them. The halls were so quiet, it was creepy. DJ didn’t breathe until they were outside.

He pointed at the lot. “Which car is yours?”

“The Audi.”

“Fancy. Let’s get in it so that we can talk.”

The woman was shaking so hard she could barely walk, but she made it to the car. DJ stopped her, making it look like he was opening the passenger door for her. Instead he patted her down, hissing when he found a wire.

A fucking wire. Bugs weren’t enough? Kowalski had to wire her as well?

He yanked it off her and tossed it on the asphalt, where he crushed it with his shoe. He then opened the door and showed her his gun again.

She got in and immediately began to cry. It was good that women’s tears had no effect on him. He took her keys and got behind the wheel.

“Don’t kill me,” she begged. “This is the first time I’ve done anything like this. I swear.”

I don’t care. He pulled the mask down, giving her his kindest smile. “I won’t kill you if you cooperate.” He totally would, regardless. “How much is Kowalski paying you?”

She frowned in confusion. “I didn’t talk to him.”

He believed this as well. Kowalski could, however, have sent one of his underlings. He likely had, in fact. “Who put you up to this?”

“Mr. Raeburn.”

DJ didn’t recognize the name, but he didn’t know most of Kowalski’s men. “What did he offer you?”

Tears were flowing down her face. “Help for my son. He’s in prison, waiting for his trial. Mr. Raeburn promised to get him out.”

Now that sounded like Kowalski. Of course, the man had no ability to spring people from prison. He’d lied to the nurse just as DJ had.

“Do your employers know your son is in prison?”

She shook her head. “He was recently charged. I was trying to replace him an attorney.”

“Charged with what?”

“Murder. But he didn’t do it!”

“Of course he didn’t,” DJ said dryly. He started the car and headed toward the security gate.

She paled. “You said you wouldn’t kill me.”

“And I won’t,” DJ said. Here in this parking lot, anyway. He needed to get her off the property so that the rehab center wouldn’t have him charged with her murder. He noted the card reader and grabbed the badge clipped to her scrubs. He pulled the mask up to cover his face in case there were cameras at the gate. At least he learned from his stupid mistakes.

He exited the lot after swiping her card through the reader. He’d made it to the end of the street when a plain white panel van pulled out of a side street behind him.

Oh goody. Kowalski sent a tail.

“How many bugs?” he asked.

To her credit, she didn’t play dumb. “Three.”

“I know about the lampshade and under the nightstand lamp. Where is the third?”

She closed her eyes and said nothing.

“Nurse Gaynor? I asked you a question.”

“You’re going to kill me either way,” she said hoarsely.

“No. I won’t kill you if you cooperate.” He might have even believed himself, he sounded so fucking sincere. “I will definitely kill you if you don’t.”

“In his Bible. I figured with him being a pastor, he’d keep it close.”

DJ snorted. “Thank you.”

“You won’t kill me, then?”

“Of course not.” He’d wait until he got free of Kowalski’s tail.

They were only after him, at least. Kowalski didn’t care about Pastor, so the old man was safe for now. Not that DJ cared about Pastor. He just didn’t want Kowalski getting those access codes before he could.

The van behind him kept a steady pace, leaving three cars between them. Like that’s supposed to fool me. He bided his time until he came to an intersection at which the light was yellow, about to turn red. Gunning it, he flew through the intersection a second after the light turned red, earning him a cacophony of blown horns.

Ignoring them, he turned at the next corner, following the road to the rear lot of a grocery store, where he parked and made sure his mask was still in place.

“Where are we going?” the nurse asked fearfully.

“Well, you’re going to hell,” he said pleasantly. Not prolonging things, he dragged her across the console and out of the car and tossed her to the pavement. She immediately tried to run, but he drew his gun, tightened the silencer, and shot her in the head.

She dropped and he shot her in the head a second time, just to be certain. Then he slid behind the wheel of her car and drove away—just in the nick of time. In his rearview mirror he saw the white panel van pulling into the grocery store lot as he turned the corner. He didn’t see anyone following him the rest of the way back to Sunnyside Oaks.

He was met by the same charge nurse, who wore a forbidding frown. Standing behind her was the big-ass security guy from that morning. He did not look pleased.

“Where did you go? Where is Nurse Gaynor?” she demanded.

“She’s permanently resigned,” DJ snapped. “She agreed that she wasn’t competent enough to care for my father. I dropped her off at a grocery store nearby. Come with me.”

The two followed him into Pastor’s bedroom. Putting a finger to his lips, DJ lifted the lamp on the nightstand, holding it so that the underside of its base was visible. He could see when the security guy saw the bug. The man’s jaw tightened, making a cheek muscle twitch.

DJ laid the lamp on its side, then pointed at the lampshade, showing them the second bug. He opened the nightstand drawer and withdrew the Bible, exposing the third bug.

It wasn’t Pastor’s Bible. Pastor only waved one when he was preaching. Wasn’t like he read it every day. Or any day, for that matter.

Nurse Innes’s lips had thinned. She motioned to DJ and the security guy, leading them into the hallway.

“Who?” she asked sharply.

“A guy who wants to kill me,” DJ told her. “He already tried once today.”

“How did he turn her?” the security guy wanted to know.

“Her son is in prison, waiting for trial.”

Innes shook her head. “We would have known.”

“It’s new, apparently. You can check it out.”

The security guy made a call, then scowled at whatever he heard. He ended the call and gave Innes a nod before turning to DJ. “Was she ambulatory when you dropped her off?”

“Not really,” DJ said.

The man sighed. “Can’t say I blame you. Which store? I’m going to need to grab her before the cops replace her. Did you use a silencer, at least?” DJ gave him a look and the man sighed again. “Of course you did. What a mess.”

Innes suddenly looked exhausted. “I told you to come to me with concerns, Mr. Belmont.”

DJ blinked at her. “I thought you meant if my father needed extra pillows.”

Innes rolled her eyes. “Get her body,” she said to the security guy. “You may return to your father’s room,” she said to DJ. “I’ll send our tech guy to retrieve the bugs. We’ll destroy them.”

DJ shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ll sit with my father until you assign him another nurse.” He turned away, but not before he saw Innes shaking her head. It was her mess now.