Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            She finally exhaled when she was concealed behind the trees. Go. Fast.

            Crouching as low as she could, she set off at a half jog, half crab walk.

            Dammit, Tom, where are you?





THIRTY-ONE



TWAIN, CALIFORNIA

            TUESDAY, MAY 30, 4:10 P.M.





Don’t you dare touch him,” DJ growled, crouching in front of Pastor.

            It was actually over. He’d disarmed and disabled Kowalski quickly, because for all the man’s bluster about teaching DJ everything, DJ was a better shot.

            But he hadn’t wanted Kowalski to die too easily. He’d played with him, shouting and shooting. DJ had wanted Pastor to hear him fighting “for him.” Kowalski had been down several minutes before, and he’d screamed like a little girl. That had been satisfying.

            Almost as satisfying as seeing his head burst like a melon from the kill shot.

            “DJ,” Pastor gasped. “Be careful.”

            Oh, yeah. This was exactly what he’d wanted. Pastor overwhelmed with concern and gratitude because DJ had protected him at the risk to his own life. It might be the “sacrifice” that Pastor needed to see to give him the bank codes. Because I saved his life and everything.

            DJ shuddered out a sigh. “If I don’t make it . . .” He pulled the sat phone from his pocket. “You can call for help.” Pretending to brace himself, he lurched to his feet, firing over the hood of the Explorer five more times.

            Every bullet hit Kowalski’s corpse. So satisfying.

            DJ turned, sinking to sit on the ground. He popped the empty magazine from his pistol, pulled a full one from his pocket, and reloaded. Then he sighed. “He’s dead.”

            Pastor looked awful. His skin was gray, his face screwed up in pain, his body trembling. A new abrasion on his head was bleeding. “Good. What a disgusting man.”

            “Yeah, well. Listen . . . you could have died. I could have died. And with Coleen gone . . .”

            “You’d have no way to let my banker know if I had died,” Pastor said sadly.

            His banker. Whose name Barkley had known. If Pastor didn’t tell him soon, he’d make the bitch talk. “Exactly. It doesn’t make sense for your banker to have no way of knowing that he should execute your will.”

            Pastor shook his head. “You really are a moron. If I die, I won’t be calling my banker. In a week, he’ll know. And if there is any hint that you killed me? He knows to revoke your inheritance. You don’t fool anyone. You never returned to Eden. Coleen told me last night.”

            DJ sat motionless, seething. “She promised she wouldn’t.”

            Pastor laughed. “You know what’s funny? I didn’t believe her. I told her I needed proof. You gave that to me just now.”

            Rage bubbled and flowed, red tingeing the edges of DJ’s vision. “I could kill you now.”

            “But you won’t,” Pastor said confidently. “You’re still that little boy whose daddy didn’t love him enough. I didn’t think Waylon would actually let me have you after my Bo and Bernie died, but he always surprised me. He was a doormat. He’d do what I said, so I’d up the ante, thinking surely he wouldn’t keep obeying. I told him to divorce his wife so that I could marry her. And he did. He did everything I ever told him to do.”

            DJ stared at him. “Why? Why did you hate him?”

            “Oh my. Of course I didn’t hate him,” Pastor said, making DJ feel like the question had no basis in logic whatsoever. “He was like a puppy. Making him dance to whatever tune I played?” He shrugged, grimacing in pain. “It was fun at first.”

            “But you were friends.”

            “No, he wasn’t my friend. He was useful.”

            DJ wanted to strike back. Wanted to make this old man hurt. “Your wife loved him.”

            That was a direct hit. “But she married me. And she stayed with me.”

            “Until she left you.”