Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rafe hissed. “Do not fuck around with me, Hunter. I’m not in the goddamn mood. He killed the old lady. Why?”

            “It’s possible that she suspected him.” He’d heard back from Yuba City PD. They’d found another set of prints on another beer can in the trash, and that person could also have killed her.

            Could have been Kowalski, even. The man didn’t trust DJ, evidenced by the cameras he’d planted. “There is another possibility on the Ellis murder, still linked to Belmont. Have you ever heard of a guy called Kowalski? You said you knew some of the members of the Chicos, and he’s supposed to be one of their higher-ups.”

            “Kowalski,” Rafe growled. “Yeah. I know him. Low-to-mid-level thug. Did a few deals with him when I was undercover. If he’s a possibility for the Ellis woman’s murder, that means he was also there. With Belmont.”

            Tom had hoped Rafe would make that connection. “Can you describe him?”

            “I can do better than that. I can give you a photo. It’s five years old, but his face is clear. It was one of my surveillance photos and . . . well, I’m not supposed to still have it.”

            That was a helluva lot more than they’d gotten from any of the local PDs, and Tom wondered why. That Kowalski had cops in his pocket was a possibility. “I won’t say it was from you.”

            “At this point, I don’t care. It’s unlikely that I’ll return to SacPD, at least in my old role.”

            A month ago, Rafe had been bitter about an injury keeping him from being a detective again. He was sounding resigned now. No, not resigned. Accepting. There was a difference.

            “I still won’t tell,” Tom said, “unless it’s unavoidable, and I’ll give you a heads-up first.”

            “Thanks. I assume you’ll want this photo sent to your burner? I still have the number.”

            “No, you don’t. I tossed that burner two weeks ago. Never keep them for long.” He gave Rafe the new number, then had a thought. “Does Gideon have a burner?” Because Liza had called him about William Holly’s—a.k.a. Pastor’s son Bo’s—tattoo on a burner phone.

            “You don’t quit, do you?” Rafe asked, amused. “Talk to Gideon. I’m not involved.”

            “I will.” His burner chimed and Tom immediately opened the text from Rafe. “You have a burner, too, I see. This isn’t your normal number.”

            “We see, we learn,” Rafe said lightly. “I always carried one when I was undercover, but I’m finding it has its uses even now.”

            Tom looked at the photo of Kowalski. “He looks ordinary.”

            “Best way to blend,” Rafe said.

            Tom glanced at the signed basketball on the edge of his desk—the child’s birthday gift he’d promised the officer in Yuba City—with a sigh. He might always be recognized. He’d likely never be able to blend. “True enough. What do you remember about him?”

            “He seemed educated and too polite. The kind of polite that makes you check for your wallet and to be sure there’s no knife in your back. He once took a personal call when we were doing a deal. Left in a flash. His partner said his wife had just gone into labor. That was six years ago.”

            “So we’re looking for a family man with a six-year-old kid.”

            “Six-year-old boy. His partner yelled after him to remember that he’d promised to name the baby after him. So maybe they were brothers.”

            “What was the partner’s name?”

            “Jed, but none of them used their real names. I got something else that will help.”

            “What is it?”

            “Kowalski always dressed very well. His shirts were always starched and pressed. Even his jeans were pressed. Hell, he even wore Gucci loafers once. He was a show-off.”

            Tom winced, because he had a pair of Gucci loafers, too. “So he liked to look good?”

            “No, he liked to look good, and he carried a hankie in his pocket. Pulled it out once to wipe the sweat from his forehead on a hundred-and-six-degree day. The hankie was monogrammed. ‘A.W.’ ”