“She would have loved you. You have so much in common, but mostly because you’ve been so good to me.”

“You are deserving of people being good to you.” Irina hesitated. “Tom’s called me a few times and I’m not sure what to say to him. Did you tell him that you were moving out?”

Liza sighed. “Yes. I told him I’d keep paying rent when he hinted that he wouldn’t approve whoever I got to sublet my side of the duplex.”

Irina went to the sink to wash her hands, her face set in a scowl. “He threatened you?”

“What a dick!” Zoya said.

“Language,” Irina scolded.

“But Zoya’s not wrong,” Karl said, frowning.

“Yes, she is.” Liza couldn’t let them believe that about Tom. “He was hurt that I was moving. And it is in our contract. He didn’t want just anyone renting from him, because sports fans can be intense. Everything he owns is bought in the name of a corporation so that people can’t stalk him. And that was before he joined the FBI and made criminals hate him.”

“I can understand that,” Irina allowed, pouring from the ever-present teapot.

“So no calling him a dick, Zoya,” Liza said. “He even registered my car under his corporation, so that anyone looking for him wouldn’t come at me.” She was going to have to register it in her own name when it expired. But that wouldn’t be until mid-January of the following year, so she had time to figure it out.

“Oh, all right,” Zoya muttered. “I just don’t like people hurting you.”

Liza smiled at the teenager. “And I appreciate that. Thank you,” she added when Irina filled her cup. She’d taken her first sip of the tea—not “special tea,” Irina assured her—when her cell phone began to ring. On the off chance that it wasn’t Tom, she checked the caller ID.

It was a number she didn’t recognize. I swear to God, Tom, if this is one of your burners . . . She hit accept and went nearly limp with relief when a woman asked to speak to Miss Barkley. God. I don’t even care if she’s a telemarketer. “This is she.”

“Hello. My name is Portia Sinclair. I’m the head of HR at Sunnyside Oaks Convalescence and Rehabilitation Center.”

“Oh.” Liza blinked. “That was fast. I just sent in my application last night.”

“Well, your résumé is very impressive, Miss Barkley. Would you be available to come in for an interview today? Say, noon? We have a pressing need to fill this position.”

Liza’s heart was racing. Yes. This was what she was meant to do, how she was meant to protect this family who’d taken her in. “Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

“Then I’ll text you the address. When you arrive, have the front desk call me.”

“I will. Thank you.” Liza ended the call and met three curious gazes. “Job interview.”

“We figured that out,” Irina said with a smile. “What facility?”