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room.
    “Irene Rivers,” Dom said, “this is my longtime friend Digger. Digger, this is my longtime friend Irene.”
    He held out his hand, and Irene grasped it. They felt rough, the hands of a worker. She anticipated a crushing handshake but was pleased when his grasp proved to be gentle. “I’m pleased to meet you,” Irene said.
    “Dom tells me you’re with the FBI.”
    “That’s correct.”
    “And he tells me that your children are in danger. That they’ve been taken.” As he spoke, Digger’s eyes never left hers. From someone else, it would have felt intimidating, but coming from him, it felt as if he were trying to read her mind.
    Irene nodded, suddenly not trusting her voice.
    “I’m sorry to hear that,” Digger said. “Really, I’m very sorry to hear that.”
    Dom gestured to the furniture with open arms. “Let’s sit down, shall we?”
    Nothing about this felt right to Irene. As she resumed her seat on the sofa, she asked, “Forgive me, Dom, but why is Digger here?”
    “I think he might be able to help you,” the priest replied.
    “Help me how?”
    Dom pointed with his forehead to the new arrival, who’d helped himself to a bentwood rocker.
    “Before we get to that,” Digger said, “I need you to tell me that you want this resolved badly enough that you’re willing to break the laws that you’re sworn to protect.”
    “What are, you, some kind of hit man?”
    His face remained like stone. “Would it matter if I were?”
    She turned to Dom. “What is going on here? Do you two rehearse your lines together?”
    He shrugged. “Under the circumstances, I think he asks a legitimate question.”
    Irene scoured her mind for a way to answer. “I guess it depends on what laws we’re talking about.”
    Digger leaned forward far enough to brace his forearms on his knees. “They’re your daughters, Irene. Which laws are out of bounds?”
    “Who are you?” Irene demanded. Her bullshit reservoir just filled to overflowing. “And what the hell kind of name is Digger ?”
    Digger looked across to Dom, who held up a hand in a silent request for patience.
    “Irene,” Dom said, “if you just go along with the questions, the rest will play itself out.”
    Could she actually say aloud the answer she was contemplating? Dare she confess such a thing out loud, even if it was painfully obvious to everyone in the room? They both waited for her answer.
    “As you say,” she said, “they are my daughters. I would do anything for them.”
    “Would you kill for them?”
    She hated this line of questioning, and she found herself hating Digger for exploring it. Her feelings for Dom were only slightly more charitable.
    “Yes,” she said. That was the answer they were waiting for, wasn’t it? Yes, she would kill for her daughters. “If circumstances warranted it.”
    Digger’s eye twitched as he half-scowled, half smiled. “A man kidnaps two little girls on the heels of kidnapping two boys after murdering the two boys’ parents. How many more circumstances do you need?”
    Irene sensed that she was speaking with a monster. “If you’re asking me if I will commit cold-blooded murder, then the answer is no.” She was surprised when Digger seemed satisfied by her response.
    “Good,” he said, “because I am in fact not a hit man, and I don’t care to associate with those who are.” A beat. “Besides, murder wouldn’t serve your purpose. Once somebody’s dead, their intel value drops to zero.”
    Irene sensed she was on a roller coaster. Whoever this Digger was, he was expert at keeping people on edge.
    He read her confusion and said, “The first part of this mission—the only really important part—is to find your daughters. What are their names?”
    “Ashley and Kelly.”
    “We need to find Ashley and Kelly. Then we need to liberate them if we can. This Jennings punk is only as valuable as the information he can deliver. Beyond that, he’s a piece of meat that consumes oxygen. I