Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            Raeburn looked reluctantly impressed. “Explain.” Then pointed to Agent Croft when Tom had finished giving them the details. “Check it out.”

            Tom held up his hand. “The kid came to see me. He was told to trust me. I don’t know that he’ll be as forthcoming with Agent Croft.” He glanced at Croft. “No offense.”

            Croft’s lips twitched. “None taken.” She turned to Raeburn. “I’ll take Tom with me. It’ll be good training for him.”

            Raeburn glared. “I want regular updates. Report back directly to me. Go.”

            Tom looked at Molina questioningly, because Raeburn’s orders excluded her.

            “Come on,” Croft muttered. “I’ll fill you in.”

            With a last look over his shoulder at Molina, he followed Croft.





TWO



GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

            WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 9:30 A.M.





Liza Barkley looked up at the security camera over the Sokolovs’ front door, wondering if anyone else had been watching her standing on the porch, psyching herself up to enter. The FBI agent standing guard by the door certainly had, although he hadn’t said a single word.

            Just go in, she told herself. You can paste on a smile. You do it every day.

            But she wasn’t certain that she could pull it off today. She’d tossed and turned, trying to forget the six-six blond, blue-eyed Adonis whom she’d loved for seven years but who’d unknowingly stomped on her heart the evening before. Tom was completely unaware of her feelings—as he’d shown last evening by making friends with her date. I should have known better than to try to move on with anyone new. Her own reaction to Tom’s lack of reaction was proof that she had no business trying to date other men. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t over Tom.

            She’d wanted to stay in bed today with the blankets pulled over her head.

            She had, however, made promises to the stepsisters—one a little girl and the other a grown woman only a few years older than Liza. Both deserved a lot more than life had given them so far, so she knocked, taking a surprised step back when the front door flew open before she could rap the second time.

            “Liza! You’re here!”

            Liza barely had time to lift the cake plate she held out of the way before she was tackled by the seven-year-old who wrapped her in an impressive bear hug. “Hey, Shrimpkin,” Liza said, hugging back with one arm while balancing the plate on the other palm. Without making it obvious, she angled her body so that Abigail Terrill was shielded from both prying eyes and any other dangers that might be lurking.

            Yes, there was an FBI agent standing guard, but Liza had sharp eyes, trained eyes, and she intended to use them. Because no one in this house was safe. Yet. “Careful. I’ve got cake.”

            Abigail pulled back, her gray eyes wide. “You brought me cake?”

            Liza tapped the end of Abigail’s nose while nudging her backward into the house, still protecting her. “I brought everyone cake. You can have your portion after lunch, if I don’t drop it on the floor by accident. Your puppy will eat it and then he’ll puke. Remember last time?”

            Abigail’s sigh was long-suffering. “That was disgusting. Did you bring Pebbles?”

            “I did not. She’d destroy everything in Miss Irina’s house.” Shuddering at the thought of the young Great Dane running loose in the Sokolov house, Liza closed the door securely behind them. Habit had her ruffling Abigail’s hair, but her finger caught in a tangle. “Where’s your brush? You have snarls.” She flexed her fingers. “Let me at ’em. Snarls flee from me in terror.”

            Abigail’s childish giggles were like music to Liza’s ears, and suddenly her weariness abated. “Will you do the fancy braid thing?” Abigail asked, looking hopeful. “Like a princess’s crown? Papa can’t make a crown. He tried.”

            “Of course I’ll braid your hair.” Liza had grown so fond of Abigail over the last month, gladly taking her to visit her father in the hospital as he recovered from a gunshot wound. A single father, Amos Terrill had always braided Abigail’s hair, so Liza had taken up the job until Amos was discharged. Abigail, however, liked Liza’s “fancy braids” better, so her daddy had been demoted to backup stylist. Liza had thought that Amos would be upset by this, but he loved seeing his little girl settling in with people who made her happiness a priority. Liza patted her pocket, having come prepared. “I brought a bunch of hair ribbons, so you can choose the color I braid in. But I need your brush.”