“You didn’t,” Tom said firmly. “I promise you didn’t. But keep watching your e-mail. Maybe Hayley and her brother will be able to send you another message.” Especially if Pastor and DJ were both in Sacramento. Tom wondered who was minding Eden in their absence.

“I hope so.” Cameron shuddered out a sigh. “I’ll call you as soon as I see something.”

“Thank you. Listen, Cameron, do you have someone with you?”

“My mom and dad. They let me take a few mental health days but they say I have to go back to school on Tuesday. So after that I can’t watch my e-mail.”

“If I have your permission, I can put an alert on your e-mail that will let me know if you get a message. I might see other personal messages, though.”

“Do it,” Cameron said quickly. “I got nothing to hide, Agent Hunter. I need to get Hayley back. I need her. And my daughter, too.”

“All right, then. I’ll send you a form you can sign, and then I can do it legally. I have to go now, but you have my number.” He ended the call and looked at Croft helplessly. “I hate having to tell him that I’ve got nothing.”

“But you don’t,” Croft encouraged. “You got a lot of somethings. We just don’t know how they fit together yet. But we will. Come on. We need to round up Hall and Summerfield. If Raeburn offers backup, I am for sure taking it.”

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

FRIDAY, MAY 26, 8:45 A.M.

“Oh my God.” DJ grimaced at his reflection in Smythe’s bathroom mirror. “This is awful.”

It wasn’t the dye’s fault. It had done exactly what was advertised. His hair and scruff were now Deep Dark Brown. Just like the guy on the box. So why do I look so bad?

He didn’t consider himself a vain man, but this was truly awful. “I look dead.”

Which was true. His skin was pale, his face gaunt. It hadn’t shown so much when his hair was blond, but it sure did now. His cheekbones jutted out in sharp relief, his dark eyes looking . . . Dark. Like black-hole dark.

Some people were not meant to go dark. He snorted. With their hair, anyway.

But, he thought objectively, he didn’t look like himself anymore, which was the effect he’d been going for. He trimmed his scruff and slid on the glasses that he’d bought on a whim.

“Not bad.” He stroked the edges of the goatee that was the only thing that looked better dark. The dye had made his blond scruff a little denser, and he’d been able to remove the stains left on his skin with some rubbing alcohol he’d found in the Smythes’ medicine cabinet. The glasses were an excellent touch, drawing attention to the end of his nose where he settled them.

Grooming completed, he cleaned up his mess and bagged it. He’d noticed the neighbors putting all their trash cans out the night before and he hadn’t heard the rumble of the garbage truck. He’d toss the bag into one of their cans on his way out. No way was he leaving any of his personal trash around any more bodies.