She was dead. He’d stayed to make sure, ignoring the tug of remorse at the sight of her facial muscles going slack, her mouth falling open. She’d been a pain in his ass, but she had baked the most amazing cherry pies.

No more pies, he thought with a silent sigh. He’d watched the camera feed, mouth watering, as she’d filled three plastic containers with cookies and taken two pies from the oven to cool.

He paused now as he passed the pies in the kitchen, his stomach growling loudly. His name was written on one of the pie pans, and he was tempted to take it, but he left all the baked goods behind. He wouldn’t do anything that might alert investigators to an intruder in her home. He wasn’t so certain the ME would buy that she’d had a heart attack.

The needle had left a mark on the inside of her elbow. It might get missed in the crepey folds of her skin. But if it didn’t? He wanted nothing to point to him.

No more pies, he thought again, stifling a sigh as he picked up the cordless phone. He’d reviewed the video of her talking on the phone the night before, the conversation in which she’d called him “weird and antisocial.” She’d picked up the receiver of the ancient phone in the living room and begun speaking, so it had been an incoming call.

He pulled up the call log, then took out his own cell phone to take a photo of the numbers. He hadn’t used his cell since he’d left Eden, but the sat phone didn’t have a camera. He was about to slide his phone back into his pocket when he saw the missed calls.

Ten missed calls, all in the last two hours. What the actual fuck?

The only person alive who had this number was Pastor, and he had no way of accessing a signal. Not in the caves. If he’d climbed high enough on the mountain, he might have, but the old man wasn’t as spry as he used to be.

Something had to be wrong. Dammit.

Heart hammering, he put his cell phone away. If Pastor had access to a signal, he might have access to the Internet. If that happened, and he saw a story about Mercy Callahan?

“Fucking hell,” he hissed quietly.

Frowning, he stared at the tools he’d left at the kitchen door. He needed to fix the damn lock, but he also needed to find out what was wrong in Eden.

He took a breath, forcing himself to think logically. Kowalski didn’t want any suspicion on this job, and he was the biggest threat.

Decision made. He quickly added wood putty to the door frame he’d splintered when he’d forced the lock. It needed to set for an hour before sanding, so he left the door slightly askew and slipped back into his own house.

His hands were trembling as he hit the notification for the first voice mail, then blinked in surprise when it wasn’t Pastor’s voice.