Twenty-nine

Yuma, Arizona

Her phone was ringing in the front seat. She could see it through the passenger-side window, next to the box Croft had given her. She put the shoebox with the cat inside it on the roof of the car and popped the lock, reaching for it just as the sound of it was cut off. Six missed calls and eight text messages.

Five of the calls were from Church. One of them was from a number she didn’t recognize, save for the area code.

San Francisco.

Before she could even figure out how to deal with that one, the phone buzzed again, signaling another text. A picture of Croft’s dark green Jetta, parked in a slot in front of a cheap motel. Room 122.

Hitting redial, Sabrina wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder, bending over to grab the box. Church let it ring. She hung up and looked at her watch. It was 12:05 a.m.

Shit.

Using the key fob to pop the trunk, Sabrina tucked the box Croft gave her inside. On impulse, she added the box with the cat carcass before punching out a quick, one-word text.

DON’T

Shutting the lid, she noticed that the parking lot was nearly full. Parked across the lot, along the shoulder of the road, was the same King Ranch she had seen outside Vega’s house.

He was here.

Her phone rang and she breathed a sigh of relief, answering it quickly before Church changed her mind and hung up in favor of following through on her threat and slitting Croft’s throat.

“I stopped by Saint Rose on my way back to the hotel—Vega is here for midnight mass. I’m going to slip in and—”

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear your voice, yeon-in.” Phillip Song’s voice wrapped around her, deep and smooth, as playful as always. “Almost as relieved as I am irritated that you disappeared without telling me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “How did you—” She stopped short, panic squeezing at her throat. “Michael. Michael called you.”

He’d left their valley. Used a cell phone. Risked his life and everything they’d built. For her. She didn’t know if she wanted to kill him or kiss him.

“He did,” Phillip said, his tone going flat. “He also told me he’d asked you to do it but that you’d refused. Why would you do that, Sabrina?”

The parking lot was emptying, the last few people filing into the small sanctuary. Men in shirts that looked clean and pressed. Women, their heads covered with shawls and scarves. Children in what looked to be their very best clothes. Within moments, she was alone.

“A secret only stays a secret if you keep your mouth shut, Phillip.” She told him the truth. At least part of it. The rest—that some part of her knew Michael was right, that Phillip’s feelings for her had grown far beyond his perceived debt to her—was something she didn’t want to get into.

“You don’t trust me.” There was no question in his tone, only something that sounded like hurt, mixed with disbelief.

She really didn’t have time for this. “It’s not that.” She sighed. “I trust you but there’s a lot at risk here—not just me. Not just Michael.” She thought of Christina and Alex, the children they’d rescued. Loved. “We’re a family. That’s not something I’m willing to jeopardize. Not for anyone or anything.”

“It seems to me,” Phillip said quietly, “that when it comes to your well-being, you and your Michael are willing to risk very different things. He says you need my help and for once I am inclined to agree with him.”

For a second, she tried to imagine introducing a powerful Korean mobster to the former pet psychopath of Livingston Shaw. The mental picture made for a spectacular shit show. She needed to keep Phillip and Church far apart. “I don’t need your help, Phillip. I’m—”

She watched a lone figure materialize from the shadowed fields surrounding the church. It was Will Santos. She watched him walk across the dirt lot, pausing for a moment in front of the King Ranch she’d tagged as Vega’s before continuing on. He hesitated for a moment before he pulled open the door to the church and stepped inside.

Phillip was still talking and she had to force herself to focus on what he was saying.

“… I care for you, Sabrina,” he said, his voice hardening around the words. “But you have always been a poor judge of what and who you need. I’ll see you soon.”

She looked down at the closed trunk lid, weighing her options.

The box can wait, darlin’. Better hurry inside now—the show’s about to start.

“Okay.” She didn’t have time to fight a battle she’d already lost. “Whatever,” she said, without bothering to tell Phillip where she was. If he wanted to put his nose where it didn’t belong, he was going to have to work for it. She killed the call without waiting for a response, then she followed Detective Santos into the sanctuary.