Hayley frowned. Then straightened as Tamar’s words made sense and something else clicked into place. Tamar had vivid blue eyes, just like Rebecca’s youngest child.

Oh my God. The child that Rebecca had stolen from another woman because she’d been barren, unable to conceive her own children. Rebecca’s other two children had come from mothers who’d died in childbirth, but the youngest had been taken. Rebecca stole Tamar’s baby.

“Okay,” Hayley breathed, her hands cradling her belly of their own volition. “I understand. Thank you. I welcome your help. All your help.”

Tamar patted Hayley’s hand lightly. “It’s my Christian duty to provide it. I need to go now. My husband and his family await me.” She rose and glided across the stone floor with such grace she might have been an angel, joining the family belonging to Brother Caleb. He was an older man and not cruel like Joshua was, at least not that Hayley had been able to see.

Pastor rapped on the pulpit with his fist, silencing the quiet murmurs of the assembled group. “Please stand for prayer.”

Hayley struggled to stand, shooting Graham an appreciative glance when he helped her up. Bowing her head, she stared up through her lashes at Graham, who now stood beside her, one hand on her elbow to steady her. Be careful, she mouthed, and her little brother nodded grimly.

Someone was watching them. Someone was watching Graham.

This place kept getting worse. It wasn’t simply a prison, although that would have been bad enough. Now someone here was dealing drugs?

Cameron, please find us. Please.

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 12:35 P.M.

“These are so good,” Abigail moaned around a mouthful of the Caramel-Pecan Dream Bars that Liza had made that morning. She’d had three already, without dropping a single crumb—much to the dismay of her puppy, who lay beneath her chair, ever hopeful.

Liza nodded, her mouth too full to speak her thanks aloud.

“They are,” Irina agreed. “I want this recipe, Liza.”

“Anytime. It was my mother’s.”

Mercy gently tapped Abigail’s hand when she went for a fourth helping. “First, you’re going to get sick. Second, save some for your papa, Rafe, and Mr. Karl.”

Abigail’s sigh was long-suffering. “And Zoya, too. She likes a sweet treat when she comes home from school. When will that be, Miss Irina?”

Irina’s mouth tightened. “In three hours, but I don’t think Zoya will be having any treats.”

Recognizing the look on Irina’s face as one her own mother had worn too often, Liza’s brows lifted. “What did she do?”

Irina looked away, then huffed. “She decided it would be prudent to take her car and drive to San Francisco this morning.”

Mercy’s eyes widened. “Why? Is she all right?”

“She is fine,” Irina said with a wave of her hand. “I got a call from the school saying that she hadn’t been present in homeroom this morning. I was busy”—her gaze flitted to Abigail—“so I let the call go to voice mail. I listened to it after you all left for the eye doctor’s.”