His expression flickered, despair becoming fear. Fear for her.

He stepped back, and her hands fell from his face to dangle uselessly at her sides. “We wired the nurse who agreed to work with us. She’s still dead.”

Liza was too tired to debate with him any further. He wasn’t going to change his mind any more than she was going to change hers. “I’ll see you around.”

And this time when she opened the front door, he let her go.

SEVENTEEN

ROCKLIN, CALIFORNIA

THURSDAY, MAY 25, 11:50 P.M.

Tom stood staring at the door after Liza left. This had to be coming from her PTSD. Survivor guilt. She’d experienced enough loss. Her mother, her sister. Her husband.

Tom hadn’t seen this coming. Because you didn’t ask the right questions. He’d known something was wrong, that she was experiencing PTSD, but he’d let it go on way too long.

Well, that was history. From here on out, he was asking all the questions. Because I’m not going to let her undertake a damn suicide mission.

You can’t stop me.

Watch me. He could stop her. True, he couldn’t keep her from applying, short of putting her into protective custody. Briefly he considered it. Because the alternative was ruining her résumé, altering her references so that they gave her a bad review. He could do it.

But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to save her from herself.

He locked the front door, resetting the alarm, then climbed the stairs to his office, his thoughts a whirlwind. Pebbles ambled after him, settling down in her preferred place against the wall.

The sight of the dog curled up against what had been Liza’s bedroom wall had Tom’s eyes burning. “She’s not there,” he said, his voice breaking. Because she wasn’t coming back.

Heavily he sat in his chair, all thoughts of her résumé fading as the words she’d whispered in pain echoed in his mind. I need more than that.

Pebbles’s growl cut into his mental fog, the sound low and ominous. Her head was tilted, her uncropped ears pricking up. Then Tom heard it too, the quiet buzzing of an incoming call.

It was Molina. Grateful for the respite of work, he answered. “Hunter.”

“Agent Hunter, I’ve got Agent Raeburn patched in. We’d like to talk to you.”

Tom frowned, not liking the sound of that at all. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

“No,” Raeburn said. “In fact, I think something could be very right.”

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Molina said. “Liza Barkley just called me.”

Tom’s breath got stuck in his chest. “Wh-what?”

“Liza called. She informed me that, through no fault of your own, she overheard a conversation she wasn’t meant to hear.”

“Not her fault, either. She was bringing the dog in. I thought I was alone in my house.”

“Tom,” Molina said overly patiently. “We’re not calling to hand out demerits.”