“Two. Ben, who’s eight, and Samantha—she’s fourteen.”

“Fourteen, huh? You must have had her soon after we finished the academy.” He frowned. “I remember you were dating that guy . . . Steve? Is he the father?”

She cleared her throat. “Yeah.”

“Brilliant!” Carver beamed at her. “I really liked him. He was a math teacher at Columbia University, right? I had a long chat with him during our graduation barbecue; he seemed like a really fantastic guy.”

“Not as fantastic as you might think. We’re divorced.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Carver looked embarrassed.

“Eh, it’s fine, I’m over it. Listen to the violin solo; that’s the best part of the song.”

Dave Arbus’s incredible solo always made Abby think of Samantha playing it, biting her lower lip, trying to get it right. Guilt crept into her mind. Her daughter was still at Steve’s place, fuming over Ben’s new snake. Abby would have to make it up to her.

The song ended and “Bargain” started.

“Do you have kids?” Abby asked.

“Nope. I have a lot of nephews and nieces, though.”

“How many is a lot?”

Carver didn’t answer, frowning.

“Carver? How many nieces and—”

“Hang on, I’m counting.”

“You’re counting?”

“Nineteen.”

“Nineteen? You’re making it up.”

“I’m not. See, one of my sisters wanted a big family.”

“So she had nineteen kids?”

“What? No, of course not. She had seven. But Dewey—that’s one of my brothers—he had a kid, and he was like, well, I want two. Except the second kid was actually a triplet. So that brings us up to eleven. Dana had three, and Holly had one. And Jake—”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“You made me lose count. I have four—”

“That’s a lot.”

“—sisters. And three brothers. Eight altogether. My mom also wanted a big family. That’s where my sister got it.”

“And what do they think about you not having kids? Are you like the black sheep of the family?”

“No, that would be Gerald. He’s in prison.”

“God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Carver laughed. “No worries. He’s a con man. He had a scam selling rocks online. Which he claimed were moon rocks, complete with certificates signed by supposed astronauts.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup. He managed to sell over three hundred rocks before he was arrested. Got two years. We take turns visiting him.”

“Wow. Is the website still up?”

“No, of course not.”

“I’d have bought one. Just to say that I have a pretend moon rock.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“No,” she conceded. “I wouldn’t. So you have seven siblings. And nineteen nieces and nephews. What do you do on Christmas?”

“Dewey has a farm down in Texas. We usually celebrate Christmas there. It gets very loud.”

“I can imagine.”

“I don’t think you can.” He grinned at her. “I don’t think anyone can. It gets really loud.”

She laughed. “Okay, fair enough, I guess I can’t imagine.”

Eight siblings. How had it been, growing up like that? Hectic for sure. But her own childhood, even after her parents had adopted her, had been quiet and often lonely. A brother or sister would have made things easier.

“So . . . ,” Carver said. “You were in the Moses Wilcox cult with Eden?”

Abby’s heart sank like a stone. “How did you find out?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Had Will told him? It would crush her if he had. Will never— “I didn’t, really. I wasn’t sure up until this moment.”

She was such an idiot. She’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book. She stared out the window, saying nothing.

“That thing you told Eden about the germs was weird. I couldn’t figure it out,” Carver said. “But it felt like you two had a connection. Something that went far beyond a casual acquaintance. And yesterday, after you said she was in a cult as a child, I did some research. Moses Wilcox’s obsession with germs is well documented. And when you talked about cults, it didn’t sound like you just did your research. It sounded . . .”

“Personal,” Abby said hollowly.

“Well, yeah. The identities of the Wilcox siege survivors were hidden. But the press mentioned three children. A seven-year-old girl, a thirteen-year-old girl, and a twelve-year-old boy. The ages matched.”

“It doesn’t impact the case.”

Carver glanced at her. She gazed stonily forward, trying to contain her emotions. She was furious at him, as if he’d read her secret journal. But he hadn’t. He’d only done his job.

“It might impact it,” Carver said. “If it ever goes to trial. They’ll find out the connection. But I don’t care about the trial right now. I just want to get Nathan Fletcher back home.”

“Me too.”

“And your personal knowledge about cults might turn out to be helpful. Can you be objective when we get there? It’s important, Mullen.”