Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            Croft complied, and hearing the severity and breadth of Dixie’s crimes helped Tom’s focus more than anything else. The fifty-five-year-old woman had committed everything from manslaughter and kidnapping to petty theft. There was a vehicular homicide in there, too.

            “She’s a bad motherfucker,” Tom commented as they stopped outside Dixie’s studio.

            “She really is. I’m glad you’re not a person who thinks that women can’t be evil.”

            “Oh, I know they can. My aunt Dana had a female serial killer terrorize her women’s shelter, back when I was a teenager. That woman had no soul. She burned our house down and even hit my mother with a car, trying to kill her.”

            “Oh my God! Was your mother okay?”

            “Yes, thankfully. My mom is pretty resilient. You ready to talk to Dixie?”

            “I’m ready to try. She may not talk to us if she’s been doing tats for the Chicos, as it would be a violation of her parole, but hopefully she’ll let something useful slip.”

            The inside of the studio was what Tom expected. He’d never gotten a tattoo himself but had accompanied Liza when she’d gotten hers. This place was clean and the buzzing sound of the needles was almost soothing.

            Behind the counter stood a man wearing a short-sleeved button-down shirt and a paisley tie. Both forearms bore colorful sleeves. “Can I help you?” he asked, giving them a suspicious look.

            “We’re here to see Dixie Serratt,” Croft said, without showing her badge.

            The man sighed. “Dixie!” he called. “You got POs here again.” He looked back at them with a mild sneer. “You people just won’t leave her alone, will you?”

            A tiny woman with tats covering nearly every inch of skin appeared from the back of the shop. “What?” she asked rudely. “Who are you? What happened to O’Leary?”

            “We’re not parole officers,” Croft said. “I’m Special Agent Croft and this is Special Agent Hunter. We’d like to ask you some questions.”

            Tom was watching Dixie carefully. She’d stiffened, her expression briefly telegraphing that she was considering running.

            Croft tilted her head toward Tom. “He’ll just chase you, Miss Serratt. And he’s young enough and his legs are long enough to catch you.”

            Dixie drew a breath and let it out. “Fine. We’re just talking, right?”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Tom said. Unless you’ve done something illegal.

            “Then come with me.” They followed her to one of the unoccupied rooms, where she gestured at the two chairs.

            Croft sat, the picture of calm. Tom sat, kind of wishing that Dixie had run. He had a lot of pent-up energy he would have liked to expel.

            “Chinese Cobras, also known as Chicos,” Croft said, and Dixie flinched.

            “You don’t start out throwin’ softballs, do you, lady? I don’t have nothin’ to do with them.”

            “But you have,” Tom said. “In the past?”

            “In the far past,” Dixie claimed. “Way far. I got nothin’ for you guys.” She was halfway to the curtain separating the room from the hallway when Croft stopped her in her tracks.

            “You are required to cooperate with law enforcement, Miss Serratt. Otherwise you’re violating your parole. We’d appreciate your help.”

            Dixie turned to confront them, face hard and fists clenched harder. “Right. Like I have a fuckin’ choice.” She rolled her eyes but plopped down on a stool.

            Croft pulled a photo of DJ Belmont from her pocket. It was the still Tom had printed from the office building surveillance video. “This guy. You seen him?”

            Dixie snatched the photo and peered down at it. Tom could see the moment that she recognized DJ’s face. And that she briefly considered denying that recognition. “Yeah.” She returned the photo to Croft and settled herself in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.