She rested her forehead on his. “I love you, Tom Hunter. I always have.”

He drew a breath. “You’re right. It’s awfully nice to hear.”

They stayed there for a long moment, happy in their bubble. Then Tom sighed. “I need to get dressed, which is the exact opposite of what I want to do. But Raeburn could call me in, so if we’re going to get to Walnut Creek, we’d better go now.”

She sighed. “I’ll walk Pebbles and put your coffee in a travel mug. Meet me downstairs.”

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

MONDAY, MAY 29, 9:28 A.M.

DJ shifted in the driver’s seat of the Civic. He’d been sitting in this same position outside Daisy Dawson’s radio station since eight. Her car wasn’t in the lot, but she was on the air.

The package DJ had addressed to her had been delivered, thanks to a college kid who looked so squeaky clean that nobody would have suspected him of wrongdoing. He’d seen the kid riding by on his bike and asked if he’d make a private delivery.

It’s a peace offering for my girlfriend, DJ had explained earnestly. I fucked up and hurt her feelings and she’s not taking my calls. I got her a stuffed animal and chocolate. Think it’ll work?

In reality, the stuffed animal and chocolate had come from Smythe’s house. The explosives were in the stuffed animal, a very rudimentary bomb, detonated with a common alarm clock.

He’d built two bombs, in fact. The first was a minute away from detonating inside the radio station, having been delivered by the random kid to whom he’d paid twenty bucks. It would be worth every penny.

It wouldn’t be a big explosion. The box he’d taken from Kowalski’s garage had been filled with a variety of stick sizes. DJ had chosen a quarter stick for Daisy Dawson’s package, the size used in cherry bombs and fireworks.

He wanted the station evacuated so that he could finish what he’d started on Friday morning. Hopefully Gideon was in there, too. He’d kill them both and then he’d wait for Mercy to surface, either at their funeral or at the Sokolovs’ house.

He’d driven by on his way out this morning, sticking to the street a block over. He’d spied no fewer than six guys patrolling, and that was just a two-second glimpse through the houses on the other side of the street. He wasn’t getting close to the Sokolov house anytime soon.

So he’d arranged for their package to be delivered the following day by a private courier service. He’d drop it off as soon as he was finished here. Their package contained a significantly larger load. Four full sticks. If it didn’t kill everyone in the Sokolov house, it would damage them severely. Hospitalize them at the very least.

Either way—whether at the hospital or at a funeral—he’d get close enough to Mercy to eliminate her. He needed to do it soon. Pastor was getting well enough to watch the news. He wanted Mercy’s murder to have cleared the news cycle by then.