Then, eventually, the prick would visit his sister. And then I’ll have them both.

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

FRIDAY, MAY 26, 12:00 P.M.

“Wow.” From behind the wheel of the Bureau-issued SUV, Croft stared up at the mansion that Anthony Ward—a.k.a. Roland Kowalski—and his wife Angelina called home.

Ward’s business location had been a bust. Mr. Ward had not been in, according to his receptionist. She’d told them that Mr. Ward would call them if he wanted to and, unless they had a warrant, to remove themselves from the premises or she was calling security.

Tom had low expectations for this home visit. Anthony Ward would already be in hiding. Or manufacturing an alibi. But maybe they could get through to Mrs. Ward.

Croft glanced at Tom from the corner of her eye as she turned into the grand driveway. “I guess this kind of place is old hat to you, though.”

The Wards’ house resembled an old manor home. “I’ve seen a few like this. A lot of my former teammates had estates like this, with electric fences and security guards.”

“Why don’t you?” Croft asked. “I’ve wondered why you bought a duplex in Rocklin when you could have had something like this.”

“I didn’t want something like this.”

Her glance had become disbelieving. “What did you want, then?”

“I lived in the house that my stepfather grew up in. When it got burned down, we rebuilt on the same foundation. It’s a home. Not a mansion. I wanted something like that.”

“But a duplex?”

“I liked the neighborhood,” he said defensively. “There are real families there that you can smile at, and you can buy their kids’ lemonade.”

She smiled. “Even though it was awful.”

He smiled back, not surprised that she remembered the detail from their conversation on Wednesday. “Even though.”

“But you could have afforded more.”

“Liza couldn’t.” The words were out of his mouth before he could call them back.

Croft’s brows went up. “Liza couldn’t? Did she buy the house with you?”

“No. But we’d agreed that she’d rent from me, and she stipulated that it be a place she could afford. She spent hours while we were driving down from Chicago researching neighborhoods and rent values. She found the duplex online.”

And he hadn’t argued. He’d been so damn grateful to know that she was on the other side of the wall that he’d made an offer on the duplex the day after they’d arrived in Sacramento.

“But don’t you want security?”

He shrugged. Hiding his address behind layers of corporations was good security, in his book. “I’m not that recognizable. That guy yesterday in Yuba City wasn’t rare, per se, but it doesn’t happen that often. And fans aren’t exactly a threat, except to my privacy.”

Croft shook her head fondly. “You already signed something for that cop’s kid, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Liza had—” His words stumbled to a halt and he felt his cheeks heat at Croft’s too-insightful gaze.