Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            This time her hesitation was longer, her voice softer. Warmer. Like a blanket right out of the dryer. “Well, get comfortable, son, and I’ll tell you a story.”

            Tom did as he was told, grabbing another beer before settling into the corner of the sofa. Without thinking, he pulled an afghan over himself, flinching when Liza’s scent hit his nose. She’d crocheted the damn thing and liked to cuddle in it when she came over to watch TV. Rafe’s words pinged around in his head and he tightened his jaw.

            I’m not ready. Even if she were interested, I’m not ready. He contemplated switching out Liza’s afghan for the throw on the back of the love seat. It was within his reach, the love seat and the sofa arranged in an L. He only had to stretch a little to the left to grab it. But he didn’t.

            Instead he pulled Liza’s afghan closer, inhaling her scent. “Okay, Mom. I’m ready.” Again he flinched, this time at the words that had fallen from his mouth. “What’s up with Gracie?”




YUBA CITY, CALIFORNIA

            WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 8:40 P.M.

            DJ did a final sweep of the house, looking for anything that might be incriminating in case the ME suspected foul play and the cops came sniffing around.

            He’d already swept the basement twice. It smelled like weed, but there wasn’t even a leaf on the floor and Kowalski had already cleared out all of the product that DJ had harvested before he’d been shot. He’d planned to take some of that back to Eden with him and store it in the caves. Their mushroom production had been disrupted with the last two moves in such quick succession, and they’d had no Eden-grown product to sell all winter. DJ had sold most of the pot he’d skimmed from what he owed Kowalski, just to keep revenue coming in.

            That money was supposed to have been his. He wasn’t supposed to have shared it with Eden. But Pastor had demanded an accounting of their income and DJ hadn’t wanted him to see that he’d been siphoning money from the community for years. So he’d dipped into his own stash to keep Eden’s coffers full so that Pastor wouldn’t go looking.

            This room had no product, just DJ’s electronics. He packed up his laptop and the hard drives he’d collected over the years. He knew the Feds could find stuff, even on wiped hard drives. So he’d never thrown anything away.

            He’d learned his way around computers on the old machines. His father had never been interested in the Internet. Had never understood what it could do.

            DJ had immediately seen the benefits—some for Eden, but mostly for himself. Once Waylon was dead and DJ was in charge of supply runs, he’d met Kowalski, who’d taught him how to use software, how to manipulate photographs, how to use the surface web to sell Eden’s quilts and sundries, and, importantly, how to use the dark web to sell the drugs they grew.

            Once all of his old laptops were boxed up, he turned to the printers. There was no way he was leaving them. Cops could get copies of things a printer had produced by checking the device’s memory. If DJ was suspected in Mrs. Ellis’s death by virtue of being her “weird and antisocial” neighbor, the cops could come sniffing.

            If the cops got evidence from his electronics, Kowalski would drop him like a hot potato. DJ didn’t hold it against the man. He’d do the very same thing. Business was business, after all.

            DJ loaded everything into his truck and took a last look at his house before driving away. He didn’t think he’d be coming back. Even if Mrs. Ellis’s death was assumed to be from natural causes, Kowalski had wired his house with cameras. He had no intention of allowing the dealer to monitor his every move.

            He got enough of that from Pastor.





NINE



ROCKLIN, CALIFORNIA

            WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 9:10 P.M.





From her front window, Liza watched Rafe sheltering Mercy with his body until she was safely in his Subaru. Something needed to give before Mercy broke. Liza had seen soldiers break under the stress, and Mercy wasn’t too far from that point.

            They needed a distraction, something that would take Mercy’s mind off the fact that DJ was out there without allowing her to lower her guard. Putting the leftovers that Irina had sent into the oven, Liza sat at the counter and dialed a known compatriot.

            “Liza!” Daisy Dawson sounded chipper as always.

            “Hi, Daisy. I hope I’m not calling too late. I know you get up early for work.” Daisy was the cohost of a morning radio show, and her bedtime was surely approaching.