Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            She spun the blade so that it was flat against the inside of her forearm. If she lost it, she’d be defenseless. “You’re nothing.”

            “We’ll have to agree to disagree. Get out.” He jabbed the barrel hard against her neck and she winced. “Now.”

            “Or what? You’ll kill me? I’m not helping you.”

            “I still have my phone. I can still detonate that bomb.”

            “I don’t think you ever had one,” Liza said flatly. And even if he had, the FBI would have swept the facility already, just like they’d swept the Sokolovs’ house yesterday. Little Brooklyn and the other innocents wouldn’t be harmed. “I think you’re lying.”

            He grabbed the collar of her scrubs and yanked her from the Jeep, dragging her on the ground. “You do not get to disobey me.”

            She twisted out of his grip, catching his grimace. She’d hurt him. Good. She’d keep hurting him until either she killed him or he killed her.

            “You do not get to tell me what to do,” she fired back, distracting him with her words so that she could deliver a kick to his knees.

            He grunted in pain, but he sidestepped out of her reach, his hand clenching the butt of his gun as he pointed it at her head. It was suppressed, just as she’d thought. When he fired, no one would hear. No one would come. She experienced a pang of regret, not that she’d volunteered for this assignment, but that Tom would probably be the one to find her body. He was on his way. She had no doubt of that.

            I’m so sorry, Tom.

            “Well?” she challenged as she stared up at him. “What are you waiting for?”

            It was madness to taunt him. But he’d been raised in a community that viewed women as chattel, where women never talked back. Her best weapon now was his own fury.

            He stared down, finger still on the trigger. “I’m imagining you with your very own locket.”

            “You’re assuming you’ll even have a community to oppress.” She pointed at Pastor’s body. “Without him, no one will want to stay. No one will follow you. Are you going to kill them all?”

            His jaw tightened and she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Maybe. Maybe I’m not going back.”

            “I wouldn’t. I’ve heard a lot about Eden’s amenities and they’re not great.”

            “Shut up and get up. Now. We’re going for a walk to the ravine.”

            This would be it. Her only chance. She focused on his left shoulder, mentally rehearsing what she was going to do. Slowly she rolled to her knees, then rocked back on her heels.

            Then she sprang, gripping her blade and thrusting it into his left shoulder, as hard as she could.

            He screamed, dropping his pistol.

            She scooped it up and backed away, holding him at gunpoint with hands that, miraculously, did not shake. He watched her with eyes filled with hatred. She’d seen those before, too. That day. That day when her friends had died. When Fritz had died.

            “Don’t move,” she said quietly. “Or I will kill you.”

            “You won’t,” he said, and on the surface he sounded confident. Beneath there was doubt.

            “I will. You’re not the first person I’ve pointed a gun at. Nor the first I’ve killed.”

            But if you do, you’ll never find Eden. With Pastor gone, no one else knows where it is.

            Then shoot to maim.

            But he snarled at her, lunging for her, stumbling to his knee, starting to rise again. She had her finger on the trigger, ready to pull—until they both heard it. An engine. A big one, from the sound of it. It was approaching quickly, coming around the bend. DJ froze, still on one knee. She saw the realization in his eyes at the same moment that she processed the sound.

            They’re here. They’re finally here. Relief coursed through her and her legs went weak.

            She glanced at the black SUV that was screeching to a halt. And that was the opening DJ Belmont had been waiting for. He lurched to his feet, grabbing her wrist and twisting until he could snatch the gun from her hand. In a practiced move, he jabbed the pistol into her temple, one fist clenching the neckline of her scrubs, cutting off her air.