Say Goodbye (Sacramento Series, The Book 3)
Say Goodbye: Chapter 27

Tom delivered Liza to the Sokolovs’ house because that was where all of the security was. He was directed into the garage, where one of the bays stood empty for secure pickups and drop-offs. As soon as the garage doors were down, Irina burst from the house, Karl on her heels. They opened the passenger door and dragged Liza into their arms.

“Irina was worried,” Karl said over Liza’s head when Tom got out of the SUV. “The bombing at the radio station has us all upside down.”

Karl owned the station, Tom remembered. “Your staff? They’re all right?”

“All but our receptionist, but she’ll be all right soon.” Karl walked around the SUV and clapped Tom on the shoulder, his grin a little sly. “Thank you. I won two hundred bucks.”

Tom rolled his eyes, his cheeks heating. “Yeah. Well. I need to go.”

“Did you eat?” Irina asked.

“No,” Liza said. “We came straight here. Now that I know everyone is okay, I can eat.”

Irina pointed to Tom. “You cost me twenty dollars.”

Liza laughed, the sound musical. “Take me to the food, Irina, and leave poor Tom alone.”

Karl herded them through the laundry room and into the kitchen, which was bursting at the seams. Half of Karl and Irina’s brood was here, as were Mercy’s friends from New Orleans.

Irina shooed him toward the table. “I’ll get you a plate. We had a late breakfast.”

Tom pulled Liza’s chair out for her and looked around. “Where’s Jeff?”

“Asleep,” Zoya said. “He was up all night doing something for you.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Tom asked, surprised.

“No,” Zoya pouted. “I was annoyed, but he said he didn’t have permission to share that. Just that you two were—” She waggled her brows. “You know.”

Catcalls followed. Tom thought the seclusion was getting to them. They were a punchy crowd. “He helped us locate Pastor’s wife,” Tom said.

Silence descended as every eye met his. At least they weren’t teasing him anymore.

Mercy exhaled unsteadily. “What?”

Tom sat next to Liza, nodding his thanks when Irina gave them each a plate full of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. “Jeff helped us locate Pastor’s wife,” he repeated.

“But . . .” Gideon swallowed hard and met his sister’s gaze. “I guess she wasn’t dead, either.”

“I guess not,” Mercy murmured.

Rafe scowled. “Jeff should have told us.”

“No,” Irina said, sitting down with her ever-present tea. “He did the right thing.”

“Tell us about Marcia,” Gideon said quietly. “What did she tell you?”

Tom glanced at Liza. “You can tell them. I need to eat and run.”

Eating faster than his mother would have approved of, he listened as Liza shared what they’d learned. When she got to the part about the banker, he cleared his throat, and she glided past it so smoothly that he was certain she could read his mind.

“It doesn’t sound like you cared for Pastor’s wife,” Daisy said to Liza.

Liza made a face. “She seemed selfish. She did report Eden once she’d gotten her kids out, but the community had already moved on to a different location. At least that’s something.”

“What’s the next step, Tom?” Karl asked. “Do you have any leads on Belmont?”

“Nothing that you didn’t replace out the hard way,” Tom said. “He stole a box of explosives from a business partner.”

Irina abruptly set her cup on the table. “He has more?”

“Yes.” Tom wasn’t sure if that was classified, but this family needed to be aware. “Be very careful about anything that’s delivered, even if it’s something you ordered. Raeburn said that he’d keep FBI presence here at your house. Not as many as yesterday, but you’ll still have protection.” He stood. “I need to go now. Liza, a word please?”

She looked worried as she followed him into the laundry room. “What did I—”

He didn’t let her finish, closing the door and then crushing her mouth with his. She hummed deep in her throat, her arms winding around his neck. As kisses went, it was pretty damn good.

She was panting when he backed away, and he was hard. “Keep yourself safe,” he said roughly, as his phone began to buzz. “Hey, Croft. Did you replace Daniel Park?”

“Not yet,” Croft told him. “I’m texting you an address. Come there instead.”

“What is it? Who lives there?”

Liza’s eyes widened as she grew more alarmed. But she said nothing.

“Stephanie Stack,” Croft answered. “She was Tony Ward’s first grade teacher. Now she’s dead. Two bullets to the head, like the nurse and the woman he killed Saturday night.”

“Fuck. What was he looking for?” Then he knew. “Addresses. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Tom ended the call, then kissed Liza one more time. “Stay here. I need you to be safe.”

He could see that she wanted to ask more questions, but she nodded. “I will. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Tom waited until she was back in the kitchen before heading to the garage for his SUV. He’d left the Sokolovs’ block when his cell buzzed again. He answered with his handsfree. “Special Agent Hunter.”

“It’s Raeburn. Where are you?”

“Leaving the Sokolovs’ neighborhood.”

“Good. Turn around.” He gave Tom a new address, literally around the corner from Karl and Irina. “Belongs to a Mr. and Mrs. Nelson Smythe.”

Tom instantly understood. “That’s where Belmont’s been hiding?”

“It appears so. We’ve identified the woman whose car was stolen. Kathy McGrail. She was supposed to return home from a business trip this morning, but she wasn’t there when her husband woke up. He called her boss and learned that she’d come home early, wanting to surprise him.”

“On Saturday night,” Tom murmured.

“Exactly. That got him even more worried, of course, so he did a Find My Phone.”

“But Belmont destroyed her phone.”

“Yes, but she had an iPad in the car, and the app identified its last known location as of six this morning. After that the battery died. Get there ASAP. Rodriguez is right behind you.”

Tom checked his rearview and, sure enough, Agent Rodriguez was following him. “Thank you. Do we have a warrant to search?”

“We have permission from the homeowner. The wife was out of town with her grandchildren, but is on her way home. Her husband wasn’t answering her calls and she got worried because he’d texted that he’d been sick.”

“Make and model of Mrs. McGrail’s car?”

“Blue Honda Civic, three years old. Feed from the security cameras at the radio station show it parked down the block when the station blew. We put out a BOLO and got lucky. The car was spotted by SacPD, which is following now. Driver is wearing glasses and a wig, but is the same height and weight as Belmont. I’ve sent agents to back up SacPD, with instructions to intercept the car and take Belmont into custody ASAP.”

Yes. Finally, Tom thought, his pulse thrumming. “Where is he?”

“About twenty minutes from you. I expect to have him in custody before he arrives. If we don’t, do not engage Belmont without backup. I’ve sent more backup to your location.”

“Yes, sir. I’m pulling up to the Smythes’ house now. Will call you back soon.”

He met Rodriguez at the front door. The other agent had a battering ram and together they broke the door in. The house was very quiet, but the scene in the dining room proved that Belmont had been there. Several sticks of dynamite lay on the dining room table, wires and detonation caps strewn about.

“Dammit,” Tom said. He pointed to two sets of packaging. “He bought two alarm clocks.”

“Two bombs,” Rodriguez said. “My money’s on the Sokolovs’ house for the second.”

“Mine too. They know not to accept any deliveries, but we need to alert them.”

Rodriguez was already texting. “I sent a message to Raeburn and the agent he put in charge of guarding their house. They’ll get a bomb squad out there to sweep the property to make sure he hasn’t already managed to get a package into the house. Let’s keep going. Keep your eyes open for the homeowner. I don’t think he’ll be in good shape, if he’s still alive.”

“Can you also let Raeburn know that we only found a few sticks here? And that he could have the box with him?” Tom had done a cursory search and saw no sign of the box DJ had stolen from Kowalski’s garage. “If the box was full when he stole it, he could be carrying a fuckton of explosives.”

They continued searching the house, Rodriguez checking the master bedroom and Tom heading to the side of the house that faced the street. He checked every room, in the closets and under the beds. Just in case.

He came to a halt when he saw the pink camera on the windowsill in a spare bedroom. “This window has a view of the Sokolovs’ street,” Tom called out. “He’s got a camera set up. He’s been sleeping in here. Printers are here, too, including a 3D printer.”

Rodriguez joined him. “I found a lot of hair in the trash can. I think he shaved his hair off.”

“We’ll have to update the BOLO.”

“Already done.” Rodriguez grimaced at the view of the street. “He can’t see the Sokolovs’ front door from here, but he could see all the vehicular traffic.”

“And the foot traffic.” An unpleasant shiver ran down Tom’s spine. “That spot, right there?” He pointed out to the street. “I was standing there yesterday with another agent. We were in tactical gear, but . . . damn. We were just standing there.”

Rodriguez grunted. “You’re charmed, kid. Either he didn’t see you or he didn’t want to risk shooting, knowing we were all there. Come on. Let’s keep going.”

They continued searching, ending up in the garage. Tom pointed to the hair dryer sitting atop a chest freezer. “What do you think?”

Rodriguez made a face. “That we need to open the freezer.” He picked up the hair dryer and lifted the freezer’s lid. “Fucking hell.”

Tom stared down into the face of the homeowner. “Nelson Smythe.” The body was covered in a blanket of ice—except for the face.

“What the hell?” Rodriguez asked. “His face is, like, thawed.”

“The wife got a few texts from her husband’s phone this weekend,” Tom said. “I think he was using the man’s face to unlock his phone.”

“I thought you needed open eyes. Open and alive eyes.”

“Not with all phones.” Tom sighed. “I’ll call the body in.”

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

MONDAY, MAY 29, 12:05 P.M.

“Fuck.” DJ gripped the Civic’s wheel, yanking back into his lane after nearly veering into oncoming traffic. The loud blaring sound coming from his cell had scared him to death. It was one of those Amber Alert tones that made everyone race to silence their phones.

But a glance at the screen showed it was not an Amber Alert. It was an alert from the pink camera he’d set up in Smythe’s spare bedroom.

Fucking hell. The camera had picked up audio nearby.

He hit the alert flag on his locked screen and held the phone to his face to unlock it. What he heard when he tapped the app icon made his blood run cold.

“This window has a view of the Sokolovs’ street,” a man called out. “He’s got a camera set up. He’s been sleeping in here. Printers are here, too, including a 3D printer.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I found a lot of hair in the trash can. I think he shaved his hair off,” a second man answered.

“We’ll have to update the BOLO,” the first guy said.

“Already done.” There was a slight pause before the second guy said, “He can’t see the Sokolovs’ front door from here, but he could see all the vehicular traffic.”

“And the foot traffic. That spot, right there? I was standing there yesterday with another agent. We were in tactical gear, but . . . damn. We were just standing there.”

The second guy grunted. “You’re charmed, kid. Either he didn’t see you or he didn’t want to risk shooting, knowing we were all there. Come on. Let’s keep going.”

“Stay calm,” DJ muttered. “Stay calm. Think.”

He glanced in his rearview, his heart racing faster when he spied two cruisers behind him. They hadn’t been there before. Neither had the two nondescript black sedans.

You got sloppy, he snarled to himself. You stopped watching.

Because he’d thought himself safe. Because he’d disabled the Civic’s GPS.

How had they found him? A search of all the houses?

“Fuck.” Don’t panic. Think.

It didn’t matter at this point how they’d found him. They had. He needed to ditch this car. He looked around, searching for a way out.

His gaze fell on the box on the floorboard of the passenger side. It still had a few sticks. He leaned sideways and grabbed four sticks. They were bigger than the stick he’d used in the radio station package, but smaller than the ones he’d used in the package he’d dropped off at the courier, bound for the Sokolov house first thing in the morning.

It would be enough to cause a panic, giving him time to ditch the Civic and replace another ride.

If not . . . he’d have to shoot his way out. He patted his pocket, relieved to replace he still carried Nelson Smythe’s engraved lighter. He set the sticks upright in the cup holder and waited until he had the exact right moment.

He saw it a minute later when a city bus came to a lumbering stop in front of him. Just ahead was a strip mall.

Go, go, go. He floored the gas pedal, forcing a car out of his way so that he just slipped around the bus. He lit the first stick and started to count.

The fuse was two inches long, so he had five seconds.

He rolled the window down. Four, three.

He tossed the first stick out the window, unable to quell his grin when it exploded right on schedule.

People started screaming and cars came to screeching halts. Horns blared and the cruiser lights started flashing as they tried to get past the traffic jam.

It was chaos.

It was perfect.

He raced around the back of the strip mall before braking. He jumped from the car, grabbing the backpack he’d stuffed with his laptop, magnetic signs, and the license plates he’d created, then the duffel with the weapons he’d stolen from Kowalski. Everything else was replaceable.

Calm, calm, calm. Gun in hand, he ran the length of the strip mall, staying in the back.

Luck was still with him. A woman emerged from one of the stores, struggling with the big box she carried. He could see the key fob in her hand as she jostled the box, pointing the fob at a waiting minivan. A second later the side door slid open.

Not pausing, he ran up behind her and shoved her hard, knocking her down. She cried out, but he ignored her, grabbing her keys and shoving his duffel through the open side door. He glanced at her to see her scrambling away while pulling a cell phone from her purse.

Shit. He shot the phone, then fired once more, feeling a pang when her body went still.

Sorry, he thought as he climbed into the van, then wiped her from his mind as he drove away.

He’d ditch the van ASAP, but for now he was safe.

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

MONDAY, MAY 29, 12:30 P.M.

“What’s happening?” Abigail asked in a small voice, clutching her puppy.

Sitting at Irina’s kitchen table, Liza put her arm around the little girl and pulled her close. There was commotion in the foyer. “I don’t know,” she told Abigail. “But we won’t leave you.”

“Never,” Mercy said.

“Never,” Daisy echoed, her tone calm, but she petted poor Brutus with a frenetic energy. Brutus simply licked her hand, doing her job, helping Daisy keep her anxiety in check.

The word was repeated by everyone gathered around the table. It was still a decent-sized group, although most of Mercy’s New Orleans friends had been taken to the airport. Farrah and her mother and fiancé remained, along with Irina, Karl, Zoya, Jeff Bunker, and his mom. Rafe and Gideon were at the front door, talking with the agents guarding them.

Amos, who’d gone to the front door with Rafe and Gideon, returned to the kitchen, his eyes turbulent. His smile was forced. “The federal agents are going to bring in some dogs.”

Abigail brightened. “Dogs?”

“Not to play with,” Amos said, taking the empty chair next to Abigail. “They’re sniffing dogs. They’re . . .” He looked at Liza helplessly.

“They’re bomb dogs,” Liza said quietly. “DJ is still out there and still wants to hurt people.”

“He sent a bomb to Daisy’s work,” Abigail said, even more quietly.

Amos looked startled, then resigned. “I should have known you’d figure that out,” he murmured. He opened his arms and Liza let Abigail go so that she could sit on her papa’s lap. “Ask your questions, Abi-girl.”

“Will he send a bomb here?”

“That’s what the dogs are going to replace out,” Amos said. “They’re trained to sniff out the stuff that bombs are made from.”

“They have a job,” Abigail said. “Like Brutus.”

Amos kissed the top of her head. “Exactly. When they get here, we need to let them work.”

“Okay, Papa.” She sighed, a grown-up sound. “Why does he want to hurt us?”

Amos closed his eyes. “He’s bad, baby. Just . . . evil. But Mr. Tom and all the other officers are looking for him. We just need to be brave a little longer.”

Abigail nodded. “We could bake. Miss Irina always bakes when she’s afraid. So do Liza and Mercy.”

The three of them laughed. “You are far too smart, lubimaya,” Irina said. “Come. We will bake. Mercy? Liza?”

“I am so in,” Liza said, but her cell phone began to ring. It was Special Agent Raeburn. “But I need to answer this first. You get started and I’ll help in a bit.”

She went into the laundry room to take the call, shutting the door for privacy. So far, Mercy didn’t know about her job at Sunnyside Oaks, and Liza aimed to keep it that way. Mercy had enough to worry about. “Hello?”

“Miss Barkley, this is Special Agent Raeburn. Are you well?”

“We’re nervous,” Liza said, knowing that he wasn’t asking about her health. “But okay.”

“Good. Very good. I’d wanted to bring you in for a briefing before you start at Sunnyside tomorrow morning, but it’s better that you stay where you are.”

“Has something new happened?”

“Things are . . . in play. For now, let’s discuss your role. First and foremost, you are not to do anything that puts you in any additional danger. You will wear your wire.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You will leave your personal phone with the agents manning the surveillance van. Agent Hunter will make sure you get a burner that you can use in an emergency.”

“Because Sunnyside will break into my locker and search my phone. What’s next?”

“We have custom shoes for you. They have a hollow sole in which you can conceal a small blade that we will also provide.”

“How very James Bond.”

He chuckled. “Isn’t it, though? I assume they’ll search you or maybe even have some kind of metal detector for you to pass through. The blade is ceramic and won’t set off the detector.”

“Yes, sir.” Liza wondered if Tom had told him about recruiting Rafe and decided not to ask.

“Do you wear glasses?”

“Contacts, but I have glasses.”

“Give your glasses to the agent on duty. He’ll be around shortly for them. We’re going to remove your lenses and replace them with nonprescription lenses. The frames will be fitted with a small camera. That way if something happens to the pendant Agent Hunter prepared for you, we’ll still have a visual.”

“I have my glasses with me, so that’s no problem.”

“Good. We still don’t have access to the security network. This puts you at a higher risk.”

“I understand. I’m still fully on board.”

“I figured you would be. Do you have any questions for me?”

She drew a breath, then let it out, all while wondering how trustworthy this man was.

“Maybe I should rephrase,” Raeburn said wryly. “Do you want me to transfer you to Special Agent in Charge Molina so you can ask her questions?”

She smiled at that. “No. I think Molina likes me too much for this. I’ll ask you.”

“I don’t know if that’s flattering or not.”

“Not meant to be flattering, sir. Just honest. If something happens to me, well, I haven’t updated my will since I was discharged. My beneficiary was my husband, but he’s deceased. I signed a letter changing that and mailed it to myself. Please make sure someone checks for it.”

Tom didn’t need the money, so she’d left everything to Dana’s halfway house for survivors of sexual assault. Dana would know how to make best use of whatever Liza left behind.

Raeburn cleared his throat. “You have my word.”

“Thank you. That’s all, sir.”

“Until tomorrow, then.”

He ended the call and Liza went to replace her new glasses.

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

MONDAY, MAY 29, 7:45 P.M.

As soon as the Sokolovs’ garage door lowered, Tom turned off the engine of his SUV and leaned his head on the steering wheel. He hadn’t been so exhausted in a very long time.

He sat in the quiet, Pebbles’s happy panting from the back seat the only sound. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, the interior lights of his vehicle were on and Liza was sitting in the passenger seat, lightly squeezing his upper arm.

“Tom?”

He slowly lifted his head to blink at her blearily. “Sorry.”

“Come on. You can have some supper and then a nap.”

“With you?”

“Absolutely.” She turned to the back seat with a sweet smile. “Hello, Pebbles. I missed you.”

Pebbles was wriggling in her harness, trying to get to her favorite person.

“You had to come back to me,” Tom said. “Pebbles would have been inconsolable.”

Liza leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Come on. The kitchen is quiet. Everyone is watching a movie in the living room. You can eat in peace.”

That sounded like heaven.

She released Pebbles from her harness, laughing when the dog licked her face. It was such a joyful sound, he couldn’t replace it in him to rebuke her tonight. He grabbed his briefcase and a bag of kibble and followed Liza into the kitchen. She took everything from his hands and set it aside before drawing him into a hug that he hadn’t known he’d needed.

But he had needed it. So damn much.

“Baby, you’re swaying on your feet.” She led him to the table and pushed him into a chair. “What do you want to do first? Food or sleep?”

He patted his knee and she sat on his lap and kissed him. “That’s all I could think about, all the way here,” he murmured.

She kissed him again, then rested her head on his shoulder. “How bad was it? From the news reports, it looked awful.”

“Nobody died,” he said. “Which was a miracle. That fucking asshole threw fucking dynamite into fucking traffic.” She pulled his tie free of his collar, the movement more caring than sexual. “Ten people were taken to the hospital. Three serious, one critical. The critical one wasn’t in the blast. She was shot.”

“The minivan owner.”

“Yeah.” Tom wasn’t sure what the news had covered and what it hadn’t. He’d been too busy at the scene and then in a marathon team meeting in Raeburn’s conference room. “He was in too much of a hurry to double-tap her like he’s done with his other victims.”

She unfastened the top buttons of his shirt, allowing him to breathe. “At least you found her in time.”

“True.” Two of the cars tailing DJ Belmont had finally managed to get free of the traffic disaster, only to replace DJ in the wind once again. He’d abandoned the Honda Civic that he’d stolen from Kathy McGrail on Saturday night and taken the woman’s minivan.

“Do you know where he is?” she asked cautiously.

“No. He ditched the minivan for a laundry truck, then traded that for a really old pickup without GPS. He’s in the wind. Again.”

“He was so close,” she murmured. “Just around the corner. Karl and Irina knew Mr. Smythe, but only to wave when they were out walking.”

“His wife is angry.”

“I can see why,” she said.

“Not with DJ. Well, not only with DJ,” he amended. “She’s furious with Karl and Irina for welcoming ‘troublemakers’ into their home.”

Liza immediately scowled. “What the hell?”

He shrugged wearily. “I know. It was a very unpleasant conversation. She arrived home when I was still at her house, before I got called to the scene of the blast. She was . . . incensed.”

“She’s in shock, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, but I’m not looking forward to the interviews she’s already threatening to give to the news. Karl and Irina don’t deserve any of that.”

“Should we warn them?”

“Raeburn will, so that it’ll be official and on the record. He’s supposed to call them tonight.”

“I think he did already. Karl excused himself from the movie to take a call right about the same time that I heard you opening the garage door.” She stroked his hair off his forehead, gentle little caresses. “There was also a report about a disturbance at another house nearby. A robbery with several homicides. The reports didn’t say it was DJ, but it was, wasn’t it? Was that the call you got from Croft this morning?”

He nodded. “The homeowner’s a leader in the Chicos.”

Her eyes widened. “DJ’s tattoo that Abigail saw. Is that where DJ got the dynamite?”

“And several rifles and handguns and ammo.” He sighed. “I didn’t know the news was reporting that. Normally I’m on top of coverage, but today it’s been one thing after another. What else are they saying?”

“Not that there was a gang connection, but they did say the homeowner and his family are missing. They speculated that it might be a ransom situation.”

Tom thought about the way Angelina Ward had left her devices neatly stacked on the kitchen counter. “Unlikely. But I am concerned about his wife and kids.”

“There was one more murder reported. A teacher at a private school here in Granite Bay.”

He sighed again. “What did the media say about her?”

“At first only that her body was found. There was some talk from her friends that she’d had a bad breakup, and some thought that her ex could have done it. Later, though, when parents at the school heard about the ‘disturbance’ at the Wards’ home, and that the family was missing, they put it together that one of the Ward children was in the dead teacher’s class.”

“Busy day for the media,” Tom muttered.

“Did DJ kill her, too?”

“Croft is working that case. She thinks so.” He stopped himself before he said his next words, which would have been I do, too, because the man is a murderer and you’re walking into Sunnyside tomorrow like a lamb to slaughter. Please don’t do it.

But he didn’t, because she’d known DJ was a murderer when she’d agreed to the job. That he’d killed more people wasn’t going to change her mind.

If anything, it would strengthen her resolve. So he bit the words back, even though he was screaming inside. “Can we not talk about this right now? I just want to hold you, okay?”

“More than okay.”

She sat on his lap, giving him the closeness he’d needed—until his stomach growled loudly. She pushed to her feet. “Let me feed you.”

Tom guessed that the food he ate was delicious, but he barely tasted it. It was as if all the sleepless nights had finally hit him like a freight train.

And he still hadn’t gained access to Sunnyside’s security network. He could shut down the network he had, but that was mostly e-mail and databases for employees and patients. He didn’t want to damage the patient records. Patients included drug lords and their families, but there were also celebrities and their families—innocent people receiving care.

It was ingenious, really. Sunnyside Oaks was a legal, licensed facility where criminals had been successfully hidden among the legit patients who required discretion. Perhaps Sunnyside would even use the legit patients as a shield should they be discovered. The lives of those legit patients had to be protected.

They needed to proceed with extreme care.

So he’d convinced Raeburn to allow him to join the agents in the back of the surveillance van. Raeburn hadn’t wanted him to, because he feared Tom was too close to the case now that Liza was involved. Tom hadn’t let anyone at the Bureau office know that he and Liza were involved romantically as well. That would have gotten him tossed off the case for sure.

“I’ll be in the surveillance van tomorrow morning,” he told her after he’d eaten. “I can at least hack into their Wi-Fi cameras, but most, if not all, are probably hardwired. Until I can manufacture a network crisis, we can’t touch the hardwired cameras or the alarm systems.”

“It’ll be okay,” she told him. “Although I am relieved that you’ll be close.”

“So will Rafe. He’s going to be in the SUV you’re borrowing from Karl. I’m going to smuggle you back into the parking garage of your apartment in time for you two to switch vehicles and leave.”

“Does Raeburn know?”

“No. I know I should tell him.” He’d felt guilty about it all damn day. But not guilty enough to tell him. “Rafe knows that and he’s still okay with helping. He’s so grateful that you’re doing this for Mercy.”

“Mercy doesn’t know,” she murmured.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“Agreed.” She put his dishes in the dishwasher, then tugged him to his feet. “Come on. You need to sleep.”

“I need you.”

“I’ll be right there with you.” They walked up the stairs, Pebbles behind them. “This room is ours for tonight.”

He stripped to his boxer briefs and slid between the sheets, happy when she stripped as well.

She noted him watching and winked. “I’m going to take care of you. On your stomach.”

His libido flared, then waned. He grimaced, embarrassed. “I never thought I’d be too tired.”

“Hush,” she said again, surprising him when she straddled his upper thighs. “ ‘Taking care of you’ wasn’t a euphemism for sex.”

Then he groaned when she began massaging his back, long strokes that felt so damn good.

She chuckled. “Keep groaning like that and everyone will believe that’s what we’re doing.”

“Like they don’t already,” he murmured, already relaxing. “They probably have a betting pool for that, too.”

“Probably,” she said and he could hear her smile.

This . . . This was good. Too good. Fear lanced his mind, making him tense up. Please don’t let her get hurt. Please just let me have this. Have her.

“You’re thinking,” she chided quietly. “You went all tense just now. I guess I’m going to have to work harder.”

She did, giving all the muscles in his back attention before scooting lower, tugging his boxers off to work on his buttocks.

“Hmmmm.” His body was starting to wake up, but his brain wasn’t cooperating now. He felt floaty.

“Let go, Tom,” he heard her say. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He must have needed the words, because they were the last ones he remembered hearing before sleep finally claimed him.