Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            But he still didn’t buy into the holidays. They were only good because sales of narcotics skyrocketed over long holiday weekends.

            He’d take Memorial Day, though, if it meant he had the house through Monday. It wasn’t like he planned to stay forever anyway. Just until he could figure out where Mercy was living.

            The Smythes appeared to communicate through texts. There had been no calls between them, either incoming or outgoing, which was encouraging. It was less likely that the wife would be worried if her calls went unanswered, and as long as the dead man’s face continued to unlock his phone screen, DJ could text back, keeping her from becoming suspicious.

            Closing the freezer lid, he scouted every room in the house and found it unoccupied. The spare room was filled with sewing equipment, but it had a twin bed—and a view of the street he’d wanted to monitor in the first place. He could put the camera in the window and not worry about anyone else finding it.

            Exhausted from all the driving the night before, DJ was tempted to take a nap, but he needed to get the camera from outside. Once it was in place, he could finally sleep.




SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

            THURSDAY, MAY 25, 10:30 A.M.

            “This is fantastic work, Hunter,” Croft said as Tom drove them across town. She was studying Pastor’s medical file on her phone. “Looks like he took either a beating or a fall.”

            Tom wished he had an ounce of her enthusiasm, but all he could think about was Liza’s empty closets. And how he’d yelled at her when that was the last thing he’d wanted to do.

            Rob Winters had been a yeller. God, don’t let me be like him. Please.

            Tom thought he’d rather be dead than have an iota of his father’s personality. But genetics were a bitch sometimes.

            I’ll go to Irina’s as soon as I have a break. I’ll take Liza flowers. She liked bright, happy flowers. He had to make this right.

            “Hunter.” Croft sounded annoyed. “Are you even listening to me?”

            Tom realized that he’d completely missed what she’d said. “I’m sorry. My mind wandered.”

            “To the moon,” Croft confirmed. “Are you okay?”

            Nope. “Of course. I was thinking about the employee file.” Raeburn had announced in the morning meeting that they wouldn’t be storming the Sunnyside rehab center, but that they’d be focusing on recording conversations between Pastor and DJ while Pastor was recuperating. The mission was first to find Eden, then to punish those who’d committed crimes against its people. Raeburn had made it sound like it was all his own idea, but Tom wasn’t going to call him on it. As long as they got eyes and ears inside, Tom was on board.

            “Did you find anyone who might turn informant?”

            “Maybe. I gave the list to Raeburn with a few recommendations.” Raeburn was hoping to find someone who could be pressured to plant a few bugs in Pastor’s hospital room and to keep tabs on DJ.

            “Don’t worry,” Croft said quietly. “Raeburn may be a jackass on a personal level, but he’s a good agent. If he said he won’t raid the rehab center, then he won’t.”

            Tom managed a smile, both grateful and a little irritated that Croft read him so well. “What’s this tattoo artist’s name again?” he asked, changing the subject. “Your top pick, I mean.”

            They were headed to a tattoo parlor in Natomas. Croft’s source had never seen DJ Belmont or anyone with the Chicos gang tat but had recognized the style. They now had the names of a few possible tattoo artists and were following up on the most likely offender.

            “Dixie Serratt. She’s on parole, by the way, so if she did the Chicos tats or knows who did, she might be persuaded to tell us.”

            “Excellent.”

            They were silent for a time, and then Croft sighed. “If you’re in a bad headspace right now, I need to know. We don’t know what we’re walking into. If you’re not sharp, you need to say so.”

            Tom wanted to punch himself in the face. Liza deserved better than his anger, and Croft deserved a partner who had her back. “I’m good. Read me Dixie Serratt’s rap sheet.”