Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            A bandana obscured his face, except for his eyes. One of Smythe’s ball caps covered his newly bald head. He wasn’t giving the cops any more photos of him. The carpeted floor quieted the sound of his footsteps as he approached.

            Miss Stephanie cried out once when he put the barrel of his gun to her temple, but he stifled what would have been a scream by slapping one of the pieces of tape over her mouth.

            “Get up,” he said quietly.

            She looked over her shoulder, eyes wide and petrified. She didn’t move, frozen in place. She was young, maybe in her midtwenties, with strawberry blond hair piled atop her head.

            With his left hand, he took her laptop from her, placing it on the cushion at the end of the sofa. “Stand up. I don’t want to hurt you,” he lied. “Do what I say and I won’t.”

            She finally obeyed, her body shaking like a leaf, her pleas muffled by the tape. Stowing his gun under one arm, he quickly taped her wrists behind her back, then pushed her to sit and restrained her feet.

            He took a seat at the end of the sofa, gun in hand once again. Her laptop was new and shiny and weighed next to nothing as he rested it on his knees and opened her hard drive.

            From the corner of his eye, he saw her start to wiggle, like she was planning an escape.

            Sorry, sweetheart. It wasn’t her fault, of course. She was simply a teacher to the wrong kid. That wasn’t going to stop him from using her to get what he needed, though.

            What he needed was access to Kowalski’s weapons stash, so what he needed was Kowalski’s—Excuse me, Anthony Ward’s—home address.

            He pointed his gun at her face. “Don’t even think about it.”

            She sagged, tears running down her cheeks and over the duct tape.

            He typed roster into the laptop’s search box, but got nothing. Student yielded too much, but information gave him the file that he needed.

            “Ward, Ward, Ward,” he muttered to himself. Anthony Ward Jr. was at the bottom.

                             Parents: Anthony (real estate developer) and Angelina (homemaker).

                Allergies: None known.

                Health concerns: None known.

                Favorite color: Green.

                Pets: Rottweiler named Lucky.



            Well, that was particularly useful information. He needed to be prepared to drug the dog when he got there. Just in case.

            And, finally, the pièce de résistance: Anthony Jr.’s home phone number and address.

            DJ laughed, genuinely amused. “You can’t make this shit up.” He glanced at Miss Stephanie. “They live in Granite Bay, less than five miles from where I’ve been staying.”

            He took a photo of her screen with his phone, then closed the document and set the computer aside. Her nostrils flared as she watched him stand, hope flickering in her eyes.

            “Sorry,” he murmured. Because he really was. She hadn’t spied on him like Mrs. Ellis had, or fought him like Mr. Smythe had. Or betrayed him like Nurse Gaynor had.

            Or escaped and thrived like Gideon and Mercy had.

            Stephanie Stack was just a first-grade teacher, who’d begun to shake her head, her “No, no, no” muffled by the tape.

            At least he could make it quick. No need to make her suffer. He fired twice, checked her pulse, then went in search of something to drug Kowalski’s guard dog. Five minutes later, he had a six-month-old bottle of oxycodone and a pound of hamburger.

            Finally something had gone to plan.





TWENTY-FOUR



GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

            SUNDAY, MAY 28, 7:30 P.M.





Tom ended the kiss and rested his cheek on the top of Liza’s head. His heart was pounding like it would come out of his chest. He felt giddy with relief and tightened his arms around her. It was like he’d been underground for years and had finally emerged to breathe fresh air.