Belmont was second-in-command to Eden’s leader, a charismatic man known only as “Pastor” to his followers. Luckily the FBI had learned a bit more than that. Pastor’s name prior to his starting the Eden cult had been Herbert Hampton. Prior to that he’d been Benton Travis, serving a sentence in a federal penitentiary for forgery and bank fraud.

They knew the identities of the cult leaders. They just didn’t know where the cult was. It was a small community that moved around remote sections of Northern California, and they were clever at evading detection.

Belmont was more than Pastor’s second-in-command, though—assuming he was still alive. He was a dangerous, ruthless, alarmingly competent killer who’d taken out five federal agents, most of them SWAT. He’d also fired the bullet that had taken Molina out of commission for the past month, so her reaction to his name was understandable.

Tom pulled up a file on his computer, then turned the screen to show her the photos taken from surveillance cameras. “The resolution of the bank’s drive-through camera is good, but he was wearing a bandana over his face, sunglasses, and a cap with a wide brim. Facial recognition couldn’t pick up anything useful. The body type and size fit Belmont’s description, though.”

“If he didn’t withdraw cash from Eden’s offshore account, which account was it?”

Tom gave her a sideways glance. “I thought you got weekly briefings from Agent Raeburn.”

Molina’s eyes narrowed. “I did. I want to hear your version.”

Tom managed to hide his wince. “My version?”

“Yes,” Molina said coolly. “Agent Raeburn’s version was less than satisfactory.”

Well, damn. “I figured as much,” Tom muttered. “He’s . . . well, he’s not very flexible.”

Her brows lifted. “He is a damn good agent.”

Careful, careful. “Never said he wasn’t.”

“You thought it.”

Tom pursed his lips, unsure if Molina was amused or upset. It was often hard to tell. But of course he’d thought it. Raeburn was by-the-book to a fault and left no wiggle room for the humanity of any situation. He wasn’t going to say that out loud, though. He was aware that Molina knew he bent the rules every now and then.

He had, in fact, bent the rules often since his first day on the job. Which seemed like it had been a year ago, even though it had only been five months. There was something about Gideon Reynolds and Mercy Callahan that made him want to help them, to ease their fears—even when he technically wasn’t supposed to. But the brother and sister had been through too much abuse.

Tom knew abuse. He still bore the scars from his own biological father’s cruelty. He knew heartache, far more recently. He knew that sometimes rules needed to be bent or even broken in order to do the right thing.

But he also knew that if he wanted to continue helping Gideon and Mercy, he’d need to toe Molina’s line. Or appear to, at least. Which meant not badmouthing her temporary replacement, who was still technically his direct supervisor.