“Hello,” Liza called. “I’m a medic.” She no longer wore Sunnyside Oaks’s scrubs, as they’d been soiled by mud and blood—both Kowalski’s and Belmont’s. Luckily one of the helicopter pilots had had a pair of sweats in his duffel, and she’d changed while they’d been in the air. It was a good thing she was tall. The sweats were baggy, but she’d only had to roll up the sleeves. Far better than walking up to the Eden compound covered in blood. “Do you have need of emergency services?”

They’d agreed that Liza should be the first to speak, as the community had been brainwashed to distrust the government.

“No,” the man said. “Take your helicopter and go.”

But a scream met their ears.

“Hayley,” Tom murmured. “Call her Magdalena.” To the man he said, “Please lower your weapon. We’re a rescue party.”

“We don’t need to be rescued,” the man bit out. “Go away or I will shoot your heads off. You’re trespassing.”

Technically, the man was trespassing, but Liza wasn’t going to escalate things by pointing that out. She took a step closer, her hands up in surrender. “My name is Liza. I was sent by your healer, Sister Coleen. I work at the hospital where Pastor has been recuperating. She was busy caring for Pastor, but asked me to come and help. She’s worried about the young woman who’s about to give birth. Magdalena.”

The man hesitated. “Sister Coleen sent you?”

“She did. She was afraid the baby would be born breech and that she wouldn’t be able to get back in time for the birth.”

“Who are they?”

“Tara is my assistant,” Liza said, pointing to Molina. They’d agreed that this would be a less precarious mission if Tom and Molina didn’t scare them by identifying as FBI right away. “And Tom is here with food and water. Sister Coleen also said you were low on supplies.”

The man looked torn. “Can you prove what you say?”

Liza smiled at him. “Sister Coleen thought you might say that. Can I show you a photo of us together?” She took Tom’s phone from her pocket and the man eyed it suspiciously. “Here we are, just this morning.”

She showed him the photo that she’d taken at Brooklyn’s request—bless her—and had accessed from her e-mail using Tom’s phone. Molina had assured her that Brooklyn was well after the raid, which had soothed her mind enough to focus on this next task.

The man frowned at the photo. “Pastor looks awful.”

“He was hurt badly. But his recovery was going well when I left today.” Which was true. Pastor’s recovery hadn’t tanked until DJ had killed him.

“Who’s the bald kid?” he asked gruffly.

“That’s my patient. She’s got a kind of cancer.” Another scream echoed through the caves. “May I please come in? Magdalena sounds like she needs assistance.”

The man made his reluctance clear, but he lowered the shotgun and stepped back so that they could enter. “You have to leave after.”