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eyes.
    “No. My wife and I weren’t blessed in that way. But I’ve always believed God has his reasons for everything. If we’d had our own family, I might not have had the time or energy to start Let the Children Come.”
    The perfect segue to talk about his work in Guatemala.
    “Tell me how that came about.”
    His face grew more animated—and intent—as he described his first trip to a Guatemala clinic in the rugged western highlands.
    “My pastor hooked me up with a volunteer medical mission. It was, to use a cliché, eye-opening. I’d never seen such destitution and incredible need. Especially among the children. Seventy percent are malnourished. Eighty-three percent live in poverty. Spina bifida is rampant, in large part due to dietary issues and poor prenatal care. It was appalling. I came home knowing I had to find a way to help on a more ongoing basis.”
    He leaned forward, his passion about his cause almost palpable as he knitted his fingers together and placed his hands on his desk.
    But as he continued to speak, Moira didn’t hear a word he said.
    All she could do was stare at the gold Claddagh ring on the fourth finger of his left hand.

5
    C homping down on a carrot stick, Cal reached for the vibrating BlackBerry on his belt without taking his gaze off the employee exit of the upscale hospice. Once he had it in hand, he flicked a quick glance at caller ID.
    Not a familiar number.
    He hesitated. This wasn’t the moment to lose focus, not with his subject scheduled to come through the door any minute. But the guy’s car was at the end of the lot. He should have plenty of time to alert Dev and Connor even if he took the call.
    Swallowing the mouthful of carrots, he pushed the talk button. “Burke.”
    “Mr. Burke . . . it’s Moira Harrison.”
    Now he was distracted.
    He took a breath to steady the sudden leap in his pulse. “What can I do for you?”
    “There’s been a new development. I’m sorry to bother you on your cell after hours, but I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to talk about this.”
    “You’re not bothering me. And there’s no such thing as after-hours for a PI. What’s up?”
    “A couple of things have happened in the past few days. They don’t prove anything, but the coincidences are unsettling.”
    The door of the hospice opened, and Cal shifted his attention back to the task at hand as their thirty-six-year-old male Caucasian subject exited.
    “Hold for a minute, okay?” He didn’t wait for a response. After setting the phone on the seat beside him, he grabbed the walkie-talkie and pushed the talk button. “Our guy’s on the move. Stand by.”
    He watched through the dark-tinted windshield of the van as the man slid behind the wheel of his SUV. Waited until he started the engine and drove toward the street. Pressed the talk button as he exited.
    “He’s heading west on Lamping. Over.”
    “Copy.” Dev’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie, followed by silence for thirty seconds. “Okay. I’ve got the eye. Connor, you with me?”
    “One block back. You’re in sight.”
    “It’s all yours, guys. Good luck. Over.” Cal set the walkie-talkie back on the seat and picked up his phone. “Are you still there, Ms. Harrison?”
    “Yes. But it sounds like you’re busy—and with a far more important job than mine. Look, I’m probably overreacting, so—”
    Cal cut her off as he watched a few more employees exit. “You don’t strike me as the overreacting type. Where are you now?”
    She hesitated. “In my car. I’m just leaving an interview with a doctor at Mercy Hospital.”
    “I’m in West County too.” The proximity was too close to ignore. “Do you know the Starbucks at Mason and Clayton?”
    “No. But I know those streets.”
    “Why don’t I meet you there? I could use a cup of coffee, and it’s always better to talk in person.” That was a stretch. Phone calls were often more efficient—especially in a tenuous case that was also