What am I thinking? Nothing smart, that was for damn sure. “Are you all right?”

Her smile was brittle. “Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He frowned, having no idea what to say next. Then he remembered Molina’s words from that morning. “You know I’m proud of you, don’t you?” And if the words sounded a little desperate coming from his mouth, that was understandable, because he was desperate.

She blinked, her lips parting in surprise. Then her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

He stared at her, at a loss for words. “What do you mean, why?” he finally asked.

“Because when you start with ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ and progress to you being proud of me, you have to admit it sounds a little suspicious.”

“Fair enough,” he acknowledged. The slight relaxation of her rigid shoulders made him relax a little as well. He’d been genuinely afraid there for a moment. “I was worried.”

The rigidity returned, and with it the brittle smile. “Mercy and Abigail are fine.”

He blew out a frustrated breath. It was like she was turning his words upside down and inside out. He hadn’t meant just Mercy and Abigail, and she knew it. “What’s wrong with you?”

Which was the exact wrong thing to say.

Because she swallowed hard and tears welled in her usually warm brown eyes. “Clearly too many things to count,” she whispered. “Tell Irina I’ll be back tomorrow.”

And with that, she fled from the laundry room into the Sokolovs’ garage. Follow her, you idiot. But his feet wouldn’t move, his body frozen in place at the sight of her tears. What had he done? Why was she crying?

A moment later, the rumble of the garage door going up finally got his feet moving. He made it into the garage in time to see her back as she retreated to her car, parked at the curb. She paused a split second to wave at Irina’s husband Karl, who was pulling into the driveway.

Tom stood there, completely at sea. Liza wasn’t a crier. Well, sure, she cried at sad movies, but so did he. They often spent the evenings on his sofa watching movies, sometimes sharing a box of tissues between them before she retreated to her own side of the duplex for the night.

But he had never made her cry. He was frowning when Karl parked his Tesla and hit the button to bring the garage door down. Karl was also frowning as he got out of his car.

“What the hell did you do to her?” Karl demanded.

Tom’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“She’s crying,” Karl said, as if Tom’s guilt was obvious. “What did you say?”

“Nothing!” Tom protested. Which wasn’t exactly true. “Well, I did tell her I was proud of her. She probably saved Mercy and Abigail’s lives today.”

Karl Sokolov looked unconvinced. “What else did you say?”

“Why do you think it was me who said something to her?”

Karl tilted his head, studying him. “For real?”