Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            “It wasn’t good.” That was all Tom could say.

            “And the woman he killed?”

            “Innocent bystander. Belmont stole her car. We still haven’t ID’d her or her car.”

            Rafe frowned. “I thought he stole the cruiser.”

            “He did, along with one of the cops’ shirts, his vest, and his gun belt. We assume he used the cruiser to pull her over. The woman’s body was found in the back seat. He killed her there.”

            Rafe closed his eyes. “That woman died thinking she’d been killed by a cop.”

            “Yeah.” Tom wasn’t surprised that had been one of Rafe’s first takeaways. It had been his, too, as soon as he’d seen the body. “Her phone was found on the shoulder. It appears that Belmont shot the phone and ran over it with her car. Once we get an ID on the victim, we’ll try to track her car—if he still has it. Hopefully it’ll lead us to where he’s hiding.”

            “He’s here, isn’t he?” Rafe asked grimly. “Somewhere around here? In the neighborhood?”

            “I think so. At least he was. But we’re proceeding as if he still is, taking all the precautions we can. We’ve knocked on doors, done searches where we legally can. We have the neighbors who are here on alert, helping us watch for anything suspicious. In the meantime, Mercy’s family will be safe. And then, tomorrow, we start looking again.”

            Rafe hung his head. “I’m sorry, Tom. I acted like an ass.”

            “I would have done the same. We’re good.”

            “Thanks. Now, because you’ve done something for me, I’m going to return the favor.” He found something on his phone, then held the screen so that Tom could see. “Look.”

            Tom reluctantly shifted his gaze to the phone’s screen, then frowned. It was a photo of himself, his expression so incredibly vulnerable, so very sad, that he had to look away.

            “Look,” Rafe repeated. “I mean it, Tom. As your friend, I’m telling you to look.”

            I don’t want to. But he did, cringing at the sight of himself looking like a kid who’d lost his puppy.

            “You were watching her,” Rafe murmured. “I was so damn mad at you, but I had to take a second out of being angry to take this picture. I need you to see.”

            Tom sighed, exhausted. “See what, Rafe?”

            “You want her, but you don’t want to. It’s hurting you and it’s hurting her. You both say that you’re just friends, but that’s bullshit. We can all see it. Why are you fighting this so hard?”

            Wasn’t that a damn good question?

            Tom closed his eyes, childishly hoping that when he opened them, Rafe would be gone.

            “I’m still here,” Rafe said wryly.

            “Of course you are.” Tom looked up, met Rafe’s piercing stare. “I don’t know.”

            “You don’t know why you’re fighting it? Or you don’t want to admit that you do know?”

            Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can’t you just let this go?”

            “I will, if that’s what you really want. Except we both know you’d be lying if you said so. Pictures don’t lie.” He held out his phone again, the photo a slap to Tom’s face.

            The expression he wore was . . . longing. He swallowed hard as the admission took root in his mind. In his heart. “It’s only been fourteen months,” he whispered.

            Fourteen months, twenty-three days, and seven hours.

            “I get it,” Rafe murmured. “I waited five years for Mercy to come along. I’ve wondered since we talked Wednesday—or didn’t talk since you told me to leave your house—if I’d have been ready for Mercy if it had only been fourteen months since Bella.”

            “And?” The word grated on his throat, which was suddenly dry. Suddenly burning. As were his eyes and his nose. Goddammit.