She understood what he’d lost.

His attention was brought back to the room by the buzzing of the cell phone in his pocket. It was his work phone—not the burner he never left home without—so he peeked at the text.

It was from Jeff Bunker, a sixteen-year-old budding journalist who, despite authoring a trash piece on Mercy Callahan that had hurt her deeply, had since made amends. Now Tom considered the kid a friend and ally.

Call me. Please. It’s important.

Tom glanced up to see Croft frowning at him. He winced and slid his phone back in his pocket.

Only to have it buzz again.

Again, he peeked. Again it was from Jeff. PLS CALL ME! About Eden. CRITICAL.

Jeff knew the buttons to push. He knew that anything “Eden” would bring Tom running. Wincing again, he pushed his chair back, grateful it didn’t squeak.

Raeburn still whipped around to glare at him. “You are not dismissed, Agent Hunter.”

Tom held up his phone. “An informant. It’s about Eden.”

Molina held up her hand, silencing the retort poised on Raeburn’s lips. “Hurry back.”

Tom nodded and left the room, dialing Jeff Bunker as soon as his ass cleared the doorway. “What is it?” he asked when Jeff answered.

“I put an alert on any news articles about Eden,” Jeff said. “Last night I got a hit from an article by a guy named Cameron Cook. His pregnant girlfriend disappeared two months ago. He got an e-mail from her, saying she’d been taken to Eden and she needed him to bring the cops to spring her. He said she sounded scared. She’s due in two weeks.”

Tom sucked in a breath, both excited and dismayed. Eden’s conditions were primitive at best. Many women died in childbirth. “How did she get an e-mail out?”

“He doesn’t know. He told the police and they went to the coordinates in the e-mail but the place was just forest.”

Tom stood straighter. “She sent him coordinates?”

“Yes, but they were bogus. The cops got mad at him, threatened to have him arrested if he kept bugging them, because he kept calling. He finally went to the newspaper. He’s desperate. He’s been searching the area around the coordinates for weeks all by himself.”

“Where is he?” Tom asked, his pulse ratcheting up. This could be the break they’d been hoping for.

“With me, in the lobby of your building. I drove to San Francisco to get him. I figured you’d want him to stop talking to the newspaper.”

A grin pulled at his mouth, so wide it hurt his cheeks. “You thought right. I’ll be down to get you both as soon as I can.” He started back for the meeting room. “Don’t let him leave.”

Jeff whooshed out a relieved breath. “Thank God you believe me. I told him that he could trust you.”

Tom paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Thank you,” he said, then ended the call, reentered the meeting room, and smiled at Molina when she stopped talking to meet his gaze.