“He apparently didn’t lock her in,” Tom said sarcastically. “Because she was here.”

There was a beat of silence. “She was where?”

“Here, in my house.”

“Oh. Well, she’s back in her place now. She and Mercy are on the phone. Mercy’s eating ice cream because Liza is, and apparently there’s some girl-commiseration pact or something.”

“Rocky road,” Tom murmured. It was Liza’s go-to flavor when she was sad. He wondered how many times his actions had driven her to drown her sorrows in rocky road. “Thanks for letting me know. It was good of you.”

“Anytime,” Rafe said kindly. “You sound rough, Tom. Call one of us if you need anything, okay? Even my mom. She’s annoyed with you, but she’ll still listen and give you good advice. Maybe not the advice you want to hear, but . . . Anyway, have a good night.”

“Wait,” Tom said. “I need to tell you something.” Because Rafe had done him a solid when he hadn’t needed to. “Belmont is still lurking around Sacramento.”

A long moment of silence. “Give me another minute.” This time, the sounds were of a door closing and Rafe’s quiet groan. “I need to get a chair out here in the foyer. These steps are hard on my ass. But now I’m all comfortable and you’re going to tell me what you meant by that.”

“Just that. He’s here in the city, but we have a lead.” Actually, they knew exactly where he’d be . . . eventually. The surveillance vehicle they’d placed near Sunnyside’s entrance hadn’t seen him return after killing Penny Gaynor, but he would. Unless Pastor died inside.

That wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Kind of like Rob Winters being shanked in prison. Tom would not mourn Pastor’s death any more than he’d mourned his father’s.

“You should keep Mercy at home this weekend,” he told Rafe. “Keep her safe.”

Rafe blew out a breath. “I can’t. Can’t keep her home, anyway. We’re having a surprise party for her on Sunday.”

Tom knew about the party, had even requested the following day off from work so that he could help with cleanup. He didn’t hesitate with his reply. “Cancel it.” That was simple enough. Mercy couldn’t celebrate her birthday if she was dead.

“I can’t. We’ve got people coming in from New Orleans. A lot of people.” There was a pause during which Tom could hear Rafe’s muttered counting. “Ten, at least.”

“Tell them not to come,” Tom said, speaking slowly and enunciating.

“No,” Rafe insisted. “I’m not going to deprive her of this. She’s lost enough in her life.”

“She could lose her life,” Tom snapped.

“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?” Rafe hissed. “We’ve been living with the threat of DJ Belmont for a month, Tom. A fucking month. I’d already hired security for the weekend. I just bumped it up.”

Tom heard the desperation in Rafe’s voice. He also heard determination. “How much security and what organization are they out of?”