Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            “Where did you put it?”

            “Near where I dump the pee.” He smirked. “One good thing came from the shoe incident. Everyone’s giving me a super wide berth because I’m ‘clumsy.’ Nobody gets close enough to see what I’m carrying. But back to Tamar. Do you think we can trust her?”

            “I hope so. She’s going to deliver this baby unless Sister Coleen gets back really soon.”

            Graham’s nod was grim. “When Coleen comes back, she’ll take over. I know you’re scared, but I think you have more of a shot keeping the baby with Tamar on the job than Coleen.”

            “I don’t think so, Cookie,” she said sadly. “Tamar couldn’t keep Rebecca from taking her baby. She’s not going to be able to keep her from taking mine.”

            Graham’s mouth fell open in shock. “What?” he squeaked, rather loudly.

            “Shhh.” Worried, Hayley glanced around him, looking to see if someone was coming. “I thought you knew,” she breathed softly. “I guess I forgot to tell you.”

            Graham looked down numbly before looking back up at Hayley. “Did she tell you this?”

            “No. I figured it out. Her eyes are the same exact color as Rebecca’s third child. The other wives told me that Rebecca’s other children were born to mothers who didn’t survive the births. Nobody said what happened to the mother of the third child. I wondered why. Now I know.”

            “So Tamar has a really good reason to help us.”

            “Yeah.”

            Graham’s brow furrowed. She could almost see the gears turning. “That means,” he said, “that when we go we’ll be transporting two kids. Not only one. And that’s assuming that Tamar’s baby doesn’t throw a tantrum because we’re taking him away from Rebecca. We’ll have to keep him quiet somehow. I’m considering the logistics of getting out of here. There’s nothing but rocks and mountains and trees as far as I can see, and I’ve explored way up the mountain. If we’re going to make it to civilization with two kids and you—who’ll just have had a baby—we need to have the right gear. You ever rock climb?”

            “No. I’m sorry,” she added weakly.

            “Don’t be sorry. I’m just thinking. You know how I do that.” Graham patted her stomach. “No worries, little Zit. Your uncle Graham is on the job.” He rose fluidly. “Gotta go. More pots to empty.” With a final wink, he was gone.

            Hayley let the smile drop from her face, closing her eyes as the fear swamped her. “It’ll be okay, Jellybean, like Uncle Graham said.” But she wondered who she was trying to convince.





TWENTY



SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

            FRIDAY, MAY 26, 4:00 P.M.





DJ refilled his glass with the whiskey he’d found in Nelson Smythe’s very well-stocked bar. He normally wasn’t a big drinker, but this afternoon had left him shaken.

            He’d blown it. Nearly gotten himself caught.

            He’d shot Gideon Reynolds, which should have had him celebrating—if the bastard had actually died. But the bastard hadn’t died and now DJ’s face was all over the Internet, the photo updated to the one that cops had pulled from the surveillance cameras at the radio station, reflecting his darker hair and his goatee.

            He ran a hand over his newly bald scalp and freshly shaven face. He still had the wig he’d borrowed from Nurse Innes at Sunnyside, but that wouldn’t be enough. Not if he ever intended to walk on a public street ever again.

            Motherfucking Gideon. DJ drained the tumbler in his hand and hurled it, the glass hitting the dresser mirror. The mirror shattered along with the glass.

            Just as well. He’d never been much for mirrors, but today, after the memories had obliterated the wall he’d built around them in his mind . . . he couldn’t stand the sight of his own face.

            He could have run from Pastor and Eden at any time after he’d turned seventeen. But he hadn’t because he’d had something to prove.

            To whom? He didn’t have a clue. Hours later and he still didn’t have a clue.

            He could have held a knife to Pastor’s throat at any time and demanded the old man give him the access codes to that damn bank account, but he hadn’t. He should have, but he hadn’t.