Say Goodbye

by Karen Rose

  Rafe was already dialing her number, Amos watching his every move.

  “We’ll see ourselves out,” Croft said quietly.

  When she and Tom were on the street, she turned to him. “Well?”

  “Liza texted me. She spotted the flash of a scope on a rooftop across the street from the eye doctor where they took Abigail this morning.”

  “A scope?”

  “She thought so. Rodriguez has reported it and called for a team. He remained with Mercy, Abigail, and Liza, getting them away from what, at that point, they believed to be an active shooter scene.”

  “He followed protocol. Good man. You got the eye doctor’s address from your girlfriend?”

  Tom blinked. “Liza isn’t my girlfriend.” Although it was a common mistake. Everyone assumed they were more than friends. But Liza knew the score, so Tom didn’t worry over the label too much.

  It was Croft’s turn to blink. “Oh. I thought you lived together.”

  Tom felt his face heat, because he’d recently found himself wishing that they did. Not actively wishing, of course. Just the stray thought every now and then. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. Because Liza was his best friend. Period.

  “I own a duplex.” It was basically two town houses stuck together. Perfect for our needs. “Separate doors. She rents the other side from me. It was a mutually beneficial solution,” he added defensively when Croft continued to stare at him in confusion. “I needed a house and so did she. We were both new to town and didn’t know the area or anyone else. This way I get rental income and a tenant I know I can trust.”

  “Oh,” Croft repeated. “So . . . you just happened to move to Sacramento at the same time?”

  “Pretty much. I got my first assignment here when I graduated from Quantico and she’d already been accepted to school here.” He shrugged. “Serendipity, I guess.”

  “I guess.” She shook her head. “Okay. Sorry. I just . . . never mind. Let’s go.”

  FOUR

  GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 11:50 A.M.

  Liza huddled on the floorboard in the back seat of Agent Rodriguez’s SUV, a pale Abigail on her lap. Mercy was on the opposite floorboard, still trying to calm Rafe down over her phone.

  “My papa must be worried, too,” Abigail whispered.

  Liza rubbed her back. “You want to talk to him?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Even terrified, this child was polite. Liza wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but she motioned to Mercy, then pointed at Abigail.

  Mercy nodded, her expression weary. “We’re okay,” she said to Rafe for the tenth time. She’d described the situation at least three times. “I promise. Look, Abigail wants to talk to Amos. He must be as freaked out as you are.” A moment later, she handed the phone to Abigail.

  “Papa?” Abigail said softly. “I’m here.”

  Liza could hear Amos’s voice because Abigail’s hold on the phone was tentative. After growing up without technology in Eden, phones still made her nervous. “Are you all right?” Amos asked, his voice calm but with an underlying urgency. “Agent Tom said you were fine.”

  “I am, Papa. Liza was there. She saw a gun and got us out of the eye doctor’s.” Abigail snuggled more firmly into Liza’s hold. “She was brave, Papa.”

  “So were you,” Liza told her. “Very brave.”

  Abigail rested her head on Liza’s shoulder. “I was brave, too.”

  “I heard her say so,” Amos said thickly. “I’m proud of you, Abi-girl. I’m always proud of you, though. You’re a good girl and very brave. Remember that.”

  Abigail sniffled. “I will, Papa.”

  “That’s all I can ask. Can I talk to Liza for a minute?”

  “Yes.” But Abigail hesitated. “Agent Rodriguez is taking us to Miss Irina’s house. Will you be there soon?”

  “I will. We’re on our way now, but we’re stuck in traffic. Mr. Rafe is saying it might take us an hour to get there. Give the phone to Miss Liza now.”

  Liza took the phone and kissed Abigail on the top of her head. “Very brave,” she murmured, then spoke to Amos. “She’s okay, Amos. Really okay.”

  “I know. I wanted to thank you. You likely saved my baby’s life.”

  Liza’s cheeks heated. “No need. I did what anyone would do.”

  Amos made an impatient noise. “Stop it. I heard Mercy tell Rafe what happened. How many people would have seen a flash of light and acted so quickly? Not many. So let me thank you, then tell me ‘You’re welcome.’ ”

  Liza laughed softly. She’d come to care for and respect the older man during his convalescence. He exuded a paternal steadiness that calmed her. “You’re welcome.”

  “That’s better. Now put Abigail back on. I want to tell her I love her before I hang up.”

  Abigail told her papa that she loved him, too, then squinted at the screen. “I push the red circle to hang up, right?”

  “Right,” Liza said, then handed the phone to Mercy. “Your papa is a nice man.”

  “I know,” Abigail said. “He loves us. Me and Mercy. And Gideon, too,” she added, then pulled away enough to stare up at Liza. “Do you have a papa?”

  “Abigail,” Mercy chided gently. “Liza may not be comfortable talking about her family.”

  Abigail frowned. “Why not? What’s wrong with your family? Are they . . .” Her frown deepened. “Are they mean to you?”

  Liza tapped the end of the little girl’s nose, charmed by the protective look in Abigail’s eyes. “No, they weren’t mean to me. Mercy is concerned because my family is all gone. It was always just me and my mother and my sister. My father wasn’t in our lives. He . . . well, he left when I was a baby. We heard later that he died.”

  Abigail’s eyes widened. “He just left? On purpose?”

  “On purpose,” Liza confirmed. “He wasn’t a nice man like your papa. He sometimes hit, so I think my mother was happier once he left. But my mother died. She got sick with cancer.”

  “And your sister?” Abigail asked.

  “She died, too.” Liza glanced at Mercy, who looked sad but gave her a nod of approval. “She was killed. A very bad man killed her.”

  Abigail sucked in a startled breath. “Oh no. I’m sorry.”

  Liza smiled down at her. “Thank you. I miss her, every day.”

  Abigail’s eyes filled with tears and they spilled down her cheeks. “Then you were all alone?”

  Her sorrow was like a punch to the gut. This child saw, heard, and felt too much. “Yes and no.” Taking the tissue Mercy offered, Liza dabbed at Abigail’s wet face. “I met Agent Tom about that time and he introduced me to his family. I was only seventeen then, so I went to live with a friend of his mother. Her name is Dana and she’s like my new big sister.”

  “Like Mercy is to me?”

  “Very much like that. She let me live with her and her husband. They had a lot of kids, so I wasn’t alone anymore, and that was nice. Some of the kids were hers, and—Well, that’s not true. All of the kids were hers. Some were permanently hers and some were temporary. They lived with her while their own families fixed the problems they were having. That’s called foster care. But Dana loved every child that came through her house.”

  “How long did you live with them?” Mercy asked. “I’ve been curious, but didn’t want to pry. Don’t answer if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” And it was true. That phase of her life was one she didn’t mind remembering. “I stayed with them until I was eighteen. I’d already decided—even before my sister Lindsay died—that I’d go into the military. Lindsay and I didn’t have any money, and, at the time, I thought Lindsay was cleaning office buildings at night to put food on the table. I didn’t want to be a burden to her when I was old enough t
o carry my own weight. I’d already discussed my plans with an army recruiting officer in Minneapolis.”

  Abigail’s eyes were wide. “You were a soldier?”

  “I was,” Liza said soberly.

  “Did you kill people?” Abigail whispered.

  “Abigail!” Mercy hissed.

  Abigail stiffened. “I’m sorry.”

  But Liza could see that she didn’t understand why she’d been scolded. “It’s a fair question, Mercy,” Liza said, giving Abigail a hug. “It’s all right, Abs. Yes. I did. And . . . well, that’s hard to talk about.”

  “Why?” It was asked with such innocence that Liza’s heart hurt. She remembered being that innocent, so many years ago. Before her mother died. Before Lindsay was taken.

  Before she’d made decisions that still haunted her.

  “Because my job was taking care of people, not shooting. But one day we were attacked and I had to jump in and help.” Changing the subject, she gave the child what she hoped was a warm smile. “I was a medic. Do you know that is?”

  Abigail mouthed the word, testing it. “Like a doctor?”

  “A little like that. I’m not a doctor, though. Someday I’ll be a nurse, but medics do . . .” She faltered, trying to figure out how to explain it to a seven-year-old. “We took care of soldiers who got hurt on the battlefield. Emergency fixes, until they could get to a surgeon.”

  Abigail looked doubtful. “Emergency fixes?”

  Liza hesitated. “Soldiers get hurt sometimes.”

  “Like Papa did.” Abigail lifted her chin. “He got hurt saving Mercy, because Brother DJ wanted to shoot her. Because he’s bad.”

  “You’re right,” Liza agreed. “DJ is—”

  “Evil,” Abigail interrupted angrily, her jaw clenched. “He is going to hell.”

  Mercy blinked, taken aback at the little girl’s vehemence. “That sounds about right.”

  Abigail seemed to relax at Mercy’s confirmation. “Gideon’s girlfriend took care of Papa until the para—” She pursed her lips. “What are they called again?”

  “The paramedics?” Liza asked.

  “Yes. Daisy made his bleeding stop until the paramedics came. That’s what Miss Irina told me. Then they put bandages on Papa and took him to the hospital. In a helicopter. Is that what you did when you were a medic?”

  “Pretty much. Lots of bandaging.”

  “Did you go in helicopters?”

  “Sometimes. It depended on where we were and how close the enemy was.”

  “Who was your enemy?”

  Liza blew out a breath. “I’ll get a map and show you, okay? I’m not ignoring your question,” she said when Abigail frowned. “It will be easier to explain with a book and a map.”

  “And a miracle, maybe,” Mercy muttered.

  Liza had to agree. After years in the army, she knew who they’d been fighting, but that knowledge was clouded with memories of the civilians who’d been caught in the cross fire.

  Women, children. Little girls who’d been Abigail’s age. Until they died. In her arms.

  She swallowed hard, pushing that memory back as well. She was not going there now.

  Or ever, if she had her way. Unfortunately, her subconscious didn’t play by the rules. She’d probably dream of the children tonight.

  Mercy was watching her, concern in her eyes. “Are you all right, Liza?”

  No, not really. “Yeah.” She turned back to Abigail. “Is that okay? Waiting till later?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” The child went silent and Liza wished she’d start talking again. It was unnerving, hunkering down on the floor of an FBI SUV as a grim-faced agent drove them back to Granite Bay, where Karl and Irina lived.

  In fact, they should have arrived by now.

  “Agent Rodriguez?” Liza said quietly. “ETA?”

  “Ten,” Rodriguez said, tone clipped. “Thought we had a tail, so I took the next exit.”

  “The tail is gone?” Mercy asked.

  Abigail went still on Liza’s lap, hearing the tension in their voices.

  “Yes. They exited already. Just being careful, Miss Callahan.”

  “Thank you,” Mercy said sincerely.

  A grunt was her answer and Liza’s lips twitched unexpectedly when Abigail piped up. “You should say ‘You’re welcome,’ Agent Rodriguez. It’s not polite to say—” She imitated Rodriguez’s grunt.

  Agent Rodriguez coughed, probably hiding a laugh. “You’re right, Abigail. You’re welcome, Miss Callahan.”

  Liza hugged Abigail hard. “Nice job,” she whispered loudly, tickling Abigail’s ribs.

  Abigail giggled and wriggled, then froze, staring at the vee of Liza’s blouse. A button had come loose, revealing more cleavage than Liza normally did.

  “You have a tattoo,” Abigail said with a mix of awe and horror.

  “Yes,” Liza said slowly. “I do. Is that bad?”

  “They made Papa get a tattoo. They made all of the boys get one when they turned thirteen. Even the grown-up men had to get one if they joined the congregation.”

  “Oh.” Liza sighed. Abigail sounded too grown-up herself as she parroted the words she’d undoubtedly heard from Eden’s adults. She’d known that Eden marked the males in the community by tattooing their chests with the cult’s symbol—two children kneeling in prayer beneath an olive tree, all under the wings of an angel holding a flaming sword. “Well,” she said, stalling for time as she considered her response.

  Mercy’s brother Gideon had gotten his tattooed over, choosing a phoenix to cover the symbol of the cult’s cruelty. Liza had seen Amos’s tattoo when a hospital physician had pulled his gown aside to listen to his heart. She hadn’t realized that Abigail would associate all tattoos with oppression.

  “Well,” she said again, “not all tattoos are bad. Not like in Eden when the boys were forced to get them. I got mine because I chose to.”

  “But why?” Abigail pressed.

  Liza tugged her blouse a little farther down so that Abigail could see more of the tattoo. “It’s a rose and a musical note, twined together. For my mother and sister. Mom loved roses. Lindsay played the piano. So I got their favorite things inked over my heart.”

  “Oh.” Abigail seemed to consider this. “Did it hurt?”

  “A little. But it was worth it to me.”

  “Do you have any tattoos, Mercy?” Abigail asked.

  “No,” Mercy answered. “I’m kind of like you, kiddo. For me, a tattoo is a bad memory of Eden. But you remember my friend Miss Farrah? The one who lives in New Orleans?”

  Abigail nodded. “Does she have one?”

  “She does. Hers is a shield with her fiancé’s name. He’s a police officer, so that’s why the shield. Like the shape of a badge. Mr. Karl has a tattoo, too.”

  Abigail’s eyes widened comically. “He does?”

  Mercy nodded. “From when he was in the army. So not every tattoo is bad.”

  Abigail bit her lip. “But what if the person is bad? Are all their tattoos bad?”

  Liza lifted Abigail’s chin so that their eyes met. “Who do you mean?”

  “Brother DJ. He had another tattoo that wasn’t of the Eden tree.”

  The hairs on the back of Liza’s neck lifted, her intuition shouting that this was important. “What did it look like?”

  “It was letters. A long word.” Abigail moved her hand in the shape of a rainbow. “Across his back. I saw it once,” she admitted in a small voice that sounded guilty.

  “How did you see it?” Liza asked. “Were you guys swimming or something?” She hoped it was something that innocent. She hadn’t considered that DJ Belmont might have touched her Abigail. Fury flared at the very notion.

  Abigail shook her head hard and fast. “No. We didn’t swim. At least we girls didn’t.”

/>   “It wasn’t proper for women and girls to show any skin,” Mercy said. “Luckily we were usually living up high enough that it didn’t get terribly hot in the summer.”

  “Oh. Wow.” That shouldn’t have surprised Liza, based on what she’d heard about the fanatical restrictions in Eden. “So how did you see his tattoo, Abs?”

  She kept the question casual, but Abigail wasn’t fooled. Her eyes narrowed and she clamped her lips shut.

  “Nobody’s going to be angry with you,” Mercy said quietly. “You’re safe with us.”

  Abigail swallowed hard. “I saw a bunny and I wanted to pet it. But it ran away.”

  “So you chased it?” Liza prompted when Abigail said no more.

  She nodded miserably. “It ran into the smithy.”

  “DJ was the blacksmith,” Mercy offered. “He was Edward McPhearson’s apprentice before Edward took on Gideon.”

  Liza knew how that story ended. McPhearson had been a sexual predator and had tried to rape Gideon. Gideon had fought back and killed the man accidentally. The community had nearly beaten Gideon to death as a result. They might have, had his mother not smuggled him out of Eden that very night. He’d been thirteen, his Eden tattoo still raw from the artist’s needle.

  Liza wondered if DJ had been molested by Edward during his apprenticeship, but that was a question that was definitely inappropriate for Abigail’s ears.

  “Did you chase the bunny into the smithy?” Liza asked.

  Abigail’s face went pink as a peony. “I started to, but I saw Brother DJ in there. He was standing at the forge and the fire was hot. Kids weren’t allowed in there. He took off his . . .” Her face flushed even darker.

  “He took his shirt off,” Mercy said softly.

  Abigail nodded. “I wasn’t supposed to look. Not at a . . .”

  “A man,” Mercy supplied. She glanced at Liza. “The genders were kept very separate. Women weren’t supposed to speak to or even look at men unless they’d been spoken to.”

  Liza swallowed her sigh. Abigail’s information was more important than any indignation over Eden’s repression of women—including little girls. “Do you remember any of the letters in the word you saw? In his tattoo,” she specified.