Say Goodbye

by Karen Rose

  “Thank you, Irina,” Liza murmured, touched. She thought she’d managed to hide her aversion to raisins from the woman, but she should have known that Irina missed very little.

  “You’re important to us, too, Liza,” Irina told her. “And at some point, when you’re ready to talk about what Tom Hunter did to hurt you, I’ll be ready to listen.”

  Then she was gone, calling Abigail’s name a split second before there was a shout and the thunder of running feet above Liza’s head. Liza ran from the kitchen, ready to do whatever needed to be done to help, but ran into Mercy Callahan as she came down the stairs.

  Mercy’s face was puffy, her eyes red and swollen. Liza took one look at her, then opened her arms. Mercy immediately accepted, huddling close as she shuddered out a harsh breath.

  “Hey,” Liza murmured, stroking Mercy’s sleek hair. “What’s going on?”

  She’d seen this woman under the most stressful of situations for a month, but she’d never seen her cry. Not like this.

  “I scared her,” Mercy sobbed. “Abigail, I mean. I was on a call with my therapist and when I finished, I just sat there and cried. But I heard you come in and knew I needed to hurry to get Abigail to the eye doctor, but then I heard someone else crying. I opened the door and she was sitting on the floor.”

  “Oh no,” Liza breathed. “What did she hear?” Because the horrors that Mercy had experienced were nothing that anyone else should ever hear, especially not a child Abigail’s age.

  “That was what I first thought—that she’d been listening in. I . . .” Mercy’s body shuddered as she sucked in great, gulping breaths. “I yelled at her. Asked her what she was doing there. Accused her of spying on me.”

  “I don’t think she was,” Liza said, trying to think logically. “If you heard me come in after your call was over, she didn’t hear anything. Except maybe you crying.”

  “That was what she heard,” Mercy confessed. “She went sheet white, like I was going to hit her. She ran to her room.”

  “Should we go after her?”

  “Irina already did.” Mercy pulled back, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater. “I’m a mess. I need to apologize to her. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Not intentionally,” Liza reasoned. “But she has to understand that she can’t listen at doors. What if she had heard what you were telling your therapist?”

  Mercy looked sick at the thought. “I’d never forgive myself.”

  Liza cupped Mercy’s cheek in her palm, cooling her heated skin. “You need to stop that. Abigail knows you were hurt in Eden.”

  Eden. The very name was an abomination. It was a cult, its leaders criminals hiding from the law. They’d harbored pedophiles who’d abused Mercy and tried to assault her brother, Gideon. One of the cult leaders had killed their mother for helping them to escape.

  And these evil men still, after thirty years, managed to elude the authorities. Except now the FBI was rigorously searching. And at least one of the agents on the case would not give up until he found them.

  Tom Hunter would never love her, but he was a good man who wouldn’t stop until he’d avenged Mercy and Gideon and saved the remaining innocents who were trapped in the cult.

  “I think she understands more than we give her credit for,” Liza went on. “But at this point she doesn’t understand that it was sexual. She doesn’t understand the concept yet.” I hope. “Her therapist checked, because we were all worried about what Abigail knew.”

  Mercy knew this. She’d talked to the therapist herself. But Liza knew that hearing it again, calmly stated, would do more to soothe Mercy’s anguish than all the platitudes in the world.

  “You’re right.” Mercy drew a deep breath. “I need to apologize for shouting at her.”

  “You want me to come with you?” Liza asked, brushing Mercy’s damp hair from her face.

  “No.” Mercy managed a small smile. “I’ll tell her I’m sorry, then I’ll get cleaned up and we can go.”

  “Tell Abigail that I still need to brush her hair. That’s why she went upstairs, to retrieve her hairbrush. She probably heard you crying and didn’t know what to do.”

  Mercy’s nod was shaky. “Which means I really need to apologize now.”

  Liza watched her go up the stairs, then returned to the kitchen, retrieved the cake from atop the refrigerator, and cut a generous slice for Abigail.

  “Stress food, indeed,” she muttered, cutting an even larger piece for herself, leaving enough for Irina and Mercy. The day had to get better from here. It just had to.

  Except she could hear Abigail crying upstairs and it ripped at her heart. The child had experienced enough fear and heartache for a lifetime. A particularly shrill wail pierced the air and Liza found herself gripping the edge of Irina’s counter, her knuckles white.

  She’d heard wails like that before, not nearly long enough ago. From terrified and dying children. From wounded mothers clutching babies to their breasts, praying for a miracle to save their lives. The memory triggered what the army therapist had labeled PTSD. All Liza knew were the images crowding her mind, the ones that normally waited until sleep to torment her.

  She glanced at the kitchen door, tempted to run. Run where, she wasn’t sure. Just . . . run. Away. As far and as fast as she could. She dropped her chin to her chest and focused on breathing. She’d promised Abigail that she’d go with them today, and the child needed a distraction. Some sense of normalcy.

  No running. Not today.

  Upstairs, Abigail wailed again, not at the same intensity or decibel level, thankfully. But it was enough to make Liza’s heart beat faster. Desperately she looked around Irina’s kitchen, then spied the mixer on the countertop, clean and ready to work. Irina had allowed her to bake in her kitchen in the past, so Liza knew where everything was.

  Stuffing her mouth full of chocolate cake, Liza gathered the ingredients for her favorite stress recipe: Caramel-Pecan Dream Bars. Or brownies, as everyone not from Minnesota called them. She wouldn’t have time to finish them, but she could get the batter in the oven. Irina wouldn’t mind taking them out when the timer dinged.

  Her mother had taught her to bake, and it was one of Liza’s most precious memories. Re-creating her mother’s recipe step-by-step would replace the bad images with good ones. This she knew from experience.

  Plus the whir of the mixer would drown out the sound of Abigail’s tears.

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 9:30 A.M.

  “What’s going on between Raeburn and Molina?” Tom asked as he and Croft walked toward the lobby where Jeff waited with the boy whose pregnant girlfriend had managed to send an e-mail from Eden.

  “Molina’s been recused from the Eden investigation because Belmont shot her,” Croft said. “The edict came down this morning, according to Raeburn. He told me before morning meeting. I think he had something to do with it, though. He was entirely too pleased that he was still leading the investigation.”

  “Son of a—” Tom cut himself off before he was publicly disrespectful to his boss.

  Croft’s lips twitched at his near curse. “So that’s why Raeburn demanded we report straight back to him when we get back.”

  Tom was irritated, yet a half chuckle escaped when Molina’s words sank in. She’d said that Raeburn’s version was “less than satisfactory.” Tom had assumed she’d meant Raeburn’s assessment of his performance, not that the ass was withholding information from Molina.

  She was pumping me for information. He’d appreciated Molina before, but he really appreciated her now.

  “Tell me about this contact of yours,” Croft said, increasing her pace to keep up with Tom’s long stride. The woman was only about five-two, but her bearing made her seem so much taller.

  “Jeff Bunker is a sixteen-year-old going to Sac State, majoring in jour
nalism.”

  Croft made a face. “He wrote that awful article about Mercy Callahan, didn’t he?”

  “He did, but his version wasn’t the same as the one that was published. His boss added material Jeff had deleted.” Making Mercy look like a slut, when really she was a victim of sexual assault. It still made Tom furious. “Jeff issued a retraction and used his platform to give victims a chance to tell their stories. He wanted to make amends. Helping Cameron Cook is most likely part of his making amends. He set up an alert for articles about Eden.”

  Croft gave him a side-eye. “So did we. Why haven’t we seen this Cameron guy’s article?”

  “Good question. I already planned to ask Jeff.”

  Croft was quiet for a minute. “So Jeff Bunker knows about Eden?”

  She asked the question with care, like she’d been instructed to find out who else Tom had given information to. But like she wasn’t happy about it. Tom trusted her, to a point.

  “He does, but I didn’t tell him.”

  Croft visibly relaxed. “Who did?”

  “Probably Zoya, the Sokolovs’ youngest daughter. She and Jeff have been getting friendly. Zoya knew about Eden because she’s known Gideon nearly all her life, and she was in the room when Mercy told her story. Zoya’s a good kid. So is Jeff, actually. Even though his relationship with the Sokolovs started out on the wrong foot because of the story about Mercy, Jeff’s redeemed himself in the family’s eyes.”

  Croft nodded thoughtfully. “So you trust him.”

  “I don’t not trust him,” Tom replied truthfully.

  “All right, then.” Croft pointed as they approached the lobby where two young men sat waiting. Both looked ready to fall asleep in their chairs. “That them?”

  Jeff Bunker’s head jerked up, his body relaxing when he saw Tom. “You came.”

  “I said I would.” Tom shook Jeff’s hand, then extended his hand to the young man at Jeff’s side. He looked about the same age, but scared. “I’m Special Agent Hunter. You are?”

  Wiping his palms on his jeans nervously, the kid came to his feet, all gangly limbs. “Cameron Cook.” His handshake was as nervous as the rest of him. “Will you help me?”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Tom promised, then gestured to Croft. “This is Special Agent Croft. We’re going to an interview room so we can talk. Do you need anything? A soda, some food?”

  Cameron shook his head. “We ate on the way.”

  Jeff was texting rapidly, then looked up. “Needed to tell Zoya that we found you so she can get to school.”

  Tom blinked. “Zoya Sokolov drove you to San Francisco?”

  Jeff’s cheeks turned pink. “I don’t have my driver’s license yet.” He grimaced. “Or a car.”

  “I see,” Tom murmured. “Do her parents know?”

  “Maybe? I didn’t ask, she didn’t tell. She’s on her way to school now, so if they didn’t miss her yet, they won’t. And we didn’t get any phone calls on the road, so I think we’re clear.”

  Tom held Jeff’s gaze. “You and Zoya will tell her parents. Got it?”

  Jeff sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Or you will. Got it. I hate being sixteen.”

  “Seventeen isn’t much better,” Cameron muttered. “Nobody listens to you.”

  “Come with us,” Croft said. “We’ll listen.”

  The young men were quiet as they signed into the building and followed Tom and Croft to an interview room. Once they were seated at the table, Cameron looked at the two-way mirror. “Is anyone back there watching?”

  “No,” Tom assured them. “But we will be recording this. It’s standard operating procedure.” He turned on the video camera and recited the date and the participants.

  Croft leaned forward, concerned. “Cameron, do your parents know where you are?”

  The boy sighed. “Kind of. I texted them that I’d left the house early to meet a friend at school. But I’ll tell them the truth when we’re finished here. They know about Hayley’s e-mail and they know I’ve been trying to get someone to listen to me. They’ve been really supportive, taking me to the police station and to the coordinates Hayley sent me. They won’t be too mad that I’m here. I hope,” he added under his breath.

  Croft shot Tom a look. “We should have a guardian here.”

  “I’ll be eighteen in two weeks,” Cameron protested. “I need to make sure someone is looking for Hayley.” He swallowed. “She’s pregnant and due soon. She’s got to be so scared.”

  “He’s not being accused of anything,” Jeff inserted. “You can talk to him without a guardian. The law allows it.”

  Croft frowned at Jeff. “I’m aware of what the law allows, Mr. Bunker.”

  Jeff didn’t back down. “Then you know you don’t need a guardian.”

  Croft rolled her eyes. “It’s to protect him. But . . .” She waved her hand. “Mr. Cook, please start from the beginning.”

  Cameron folded his hands on the table and drew a breath. “Hayley has been my girlfriend since we were fourteen.” His cheeks darkened with embarrassment. “She got pregnant. We . . . well, we weren’t careful once, but that was enough, I guess.”

  Croft’s expression softened. “I guess. How far along is she?”

  “Eight and a half months. We . . . we saw the ultrasound. It’s a girl. We call her Jellybean for now.”

  Croft smiled. “Cute. What about your folks? How did they feel about the pregnancy?”

  “They weren’t thrilled, of course. We’re too young. But we always planned to get married as soon as we could, and my folks knew that. So when we told them, they took a day to cool off, then brought us into Dad’s office and told us that we would go to college and live with them. That they’d help us as much as they could. I expected them to be supportive, but Hayley . . . She cried. She was so sure that my folks would throw her out, that she’d have to be homeless.”

  “Her folks weren’t as supportive, I take it,” Croft murmured.

  “No. Her mom isn’t married. Divorced when Hayley was ten and Graham was five. Graham’s her little brother. Kid is wicked smart. Her mom is very . . .” Cameron paused, searching for the right words. “Old-fashioned?”

  “Judgmental,” Jeff muttered.

  “That too,” Cameron admitted. “I don’t want to be cruel about her mom, because it was a shock. Mrs. Gibbs believed Hayley was a virgin. That she was pregnant didn’t go over well. She screamed and threw a fit.” His expression darkened in anger. “She called Hayley names, like ‘whore’ and ‘slut.’ And that’s not true.”

  “Did she throw Hayley out?” Tom asked, already feeling sorry for these kids.

  “She didn’t throw Hayley out. We told my parents first, because I knew we’d have a safe place to fall, you know? When we told her mother, she threw me out. Like, dragged me out by my hair, screaming at me. I wish I’d taken Hayley with me, but I didn’t want to make it worse.”

  “And then?” Croft prompted.

  Cameron shoved his hands through his hair. “Then they were gone. The next day. All of them—Mrs. Gibbs, Hayley, and Graham. Just gone. The house was put up for sale, with all the contents included. They disappeared. I’ve been crazy with worry.”

  “But you heard from Hayley,” Tom said quietly. “When was that?”

  “A month ago.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Croft. The paper was limp from handling and falling apart at the creases. “I got this e-mail.”

  Croft read it silently, then passed it to Tom.

  “April nineteenth,” he said quietly, and Croft nodded her understanding. The date was the exact day that DJ Belmont had murdered Ephraim Burton, destroying any link the FBI had to Eden. Until now.

  “ ‘Dear Cam,’ ” Tom read aloud, noticing Cameron mouthing the words. He’d obviously memorized the e-mail. “ ‘We are in a place called E
den. We are at these coordinates. Please come ASAP and bring the cops. This place is insane and we are being held against our will.’ ” Tom put the paper down. “What did you do next?”

  “I went to the police station closest to the coordinates. My dad took me, but when the cops got there, it was forest. No houses, no signs of life at all. Nobody lived there.”

  “You didn’t find anything?” Tom probed, because he’d seen Eden’s most recent compound, now deserted by the cult. It had been populated with earth shelters and camouflaged with branches to hide the settlement from any satellite cameras.

  “No. There was no evidence that any people had been there, ever. It was just forest. After the cops told us that they hadn’t found anything, Dad and I checked an area about a mile square around the coordinates. That day, anyway. We’ve been back several times and expanded the search. Every weekend, my dad and I looked for Hayley, but there’s nothing there but forest.”

  Tom checked the coordinates on his phone. The location was twenty miles from the closest of the known Eden settlements—that the FBI knew of. The position of the coordinates in Hayley’s e-mail was over a hundred miles from the most recent Eden site. That was not a small error. Someone or something had altered the coordinates, probably using a proxy program.

  “How did Hayley get these coordinates?” he asked.

  Cameron shrugged miserably. “I don’t know. I’ve waited for another e-mail from her, but I haven’t gotten anything. If they caught her sending me a message . . .” His eyes filled with tears. “They might hurt her,” he whispered. “She’s scared. I know it.” He clenched his fists. “Her mother dragged her to that place. I don’t know if she left Hayley there by herself, or if she and Graham are there, too. And I don’t know why.”

  Jeff squeezed Cameron’s shoulder. “The place is a cult, Cam, like Zoya and I told you. They live like they’re in the nineteenth century, and they’re super fundie. Someone probably told her mother that they’d fix Hayley’s sin. Make her repent.”

  Croft gave Jeff a dry look. “You know a lot about Eden, Mr. Bunker.”

  Jeff glanced quickly at Tom before returning his attention to Croft. “I haven’t told anyone. Only Cameron.”