Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            Pastor struggled to open his eyes. “Specifically my will that states you are my heir.”

            Yes. He bowed his head so that Pastor couldn’t see his glee. “I see.”

            Pastor huffed, a weary, sick little sound. “I’m sure you think you do, but you’d be mistaken. If I don’t show up at a hospital by morning, my banker is instructed to mail all of the sealed envelopes in his possession. I send him a new one every year detailing everyone’s personal sins. Including yours. He also knows to place my money in a series of trusts if I’m declared missing or dead. One trust is for the people of Eden. One is for you. You will get a stipend once a year.”

            Motherfucker. “I see,” DJ said levelly. Because he did. The old man was ever cagey. “You said a series of trusts. Are there more?”

            “Yes. One goes to my wives. One to my banker.”

            “Your banker gets a trust?”

            “He’s served me well.” Pastor coughed, moaning at the resulting pain. “The point is, I better show up at a hospital. If I don’t, you’d better hope it was an accident and we all died, otherwise your face will be on an FBI wanted poster.”

            Too late, asshole. The FBI already had his prints. If there was camera surveillance in the office building he’d used Wednesday morning, his face was now known to the Feds as well.

            Then a detail popped up, distracting him. “Wait. How does your banker know all of this?”

            “I told Coleen to call him. Gave her a onetime code.”

            “Where are the other codes?”

            A crooked smile. “In my head. Better hope I wake up from surgery, or they die with me.”

            And then the money would be divided and put into trust. He had killed Ephraim in part to keep from having to share that money with anyone. Unless he could find another way, he’d still be sharing it. Despite being bruised and bloody and frail from his fall, Pastor looked smug.

            It took every ounce of DJ’s self-control not to ball his hands into fists and beat the fucker into a bloody pulp. Instead DJ breathed until he could be sure his voice was steady. “Is that why you want Coleen to come with us? To make sure I don’t do anything—”

            “Evil?” Pastor interrupted with a laugh that sounded more like a geriatric bark. “I don’t need to give you any reason, but if you must have one, then yes, that is why. When do we leave?”

            DJ gritted his teeth. “As soon as you’re ready. I’ll ask some of the men to carry you down to the truck. I need to make arrangements for a hospital.”

            Pastor closed his eyes. “Good boy.”

            Not a damn boy. Not anymore. He had been once, before Pastor had given him to Edward McPhearson. DJ had been his apprentice. Edward had been a brutal master. Once Edward was dead, McPhearson no longer owned him. But Pastor still did. Not sexually, but DJ was owned.

            And he still owns me.

            Because Pastor knew that the lure of fifty million dollars was too strong for anyone to ignore.

            DJ turned to go. “I’ll be waiting at the truck.”




ROCKLIN, CALIFORNIA

            THURSDAY, MAY 25, 1:15 A.M.

            Finding Sergio Iglesias didn’t take as long as Liza had thought it would, at least compared to the hours Daisy had spent identifying him to begin with. A week after the Feds visited his old studio, fifteen of Iglesias’s photos had appeared on Instagram under the account of Sal Ibarra, the new name allowing Iglesias to continue using his initials as his signature.

            According to his profile, Sal Iberra was an artist, located in Monterey. His last location had been San Jose, so he hadn’t gone all that far. At least he hadn’t skipped the state. Which made her wonder why.

            She found her answer in one of the screenshots that Daisy had made of Iglesias’s old Instagram account. The photo showed a woman in profile, hands cupping her pregnant stomach. The photo was captioned, My beautiful wife, Felicidad. It was originally uploaded six years ago.

            “Yes,” Liza whispered aloud. Sergio Iglesias had a good reason for staying close by.