Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            Liza knew she had to tell someone what she’d found, but she didn’t want the man to feel like he needed to run again. He had a family. Sending him running again seemed cruel.

            She’d contact him first. If he had no relevant information, she’d let it go. If he could tell them who had gotten the Eden tattoo, she’d pass that information on to Tom.

            On finding the tattoo parlor’s website, she was pleased to see that they had an online appointment tool. “Sal Ibarra” had openings the next afternoon. According to Google, Monterey was about a three-hour drive from Sacramento. She requested a three o’clock session.

            She could leave after giving Abigail the reading lesson she’d promised and be back before dinnertime. Hopefully with information.

            And maybe a new tattoo. She had an idea now of what she’d like.

            She cleaned up her dinner dishes, then took her laptop and a spiral notebook up to her bedroom. Pulling on her pj’s, she stared at the place on the bed where Tom had so carefully perched that afternoon.

            It hadn’t been the first time he’d come to her room. He’d brought her chocolate once when she’d had cramps so bad that she couldn’t get out of bed. Another time he’d brought her some of Irina’s chicken soup when she’d had a cold. And more than once he’d come crashing through her door when he’d heard her scream while having a nightmare.

            The nightmare. The one where all of her friends bled out while she fruitlessly tried to save them. She’d woken those nights to find herself in Tom’s strong arms, his murmurs in her ear. He’d asked her to talk to him about the nightmares, but she hadn’t wanted to and he hadn’t pushed. At the time she’d been relieved.

            Now she wished he’d pushed. She could have told him about Fritz. About how she’d married him. About how she hadn’t loved him like she should have. How Fritz had been a substitute.

            At the time she’d worried that it might make Tom think less of her, that maybe he wouldn’t want her. Now she wanted him to know. It was wrong for her to keep Fritz a secret. He’d deserved so much more than that.

            She crawled under the blankets, able to hear Tom working. His home office was adjacent to her bedroom. Muted strains of Pavarotti made her smile sadly. Pavarotti was his “thinking music.” She’d mentioned once that she could hear it and he’d immediately offered to turn his music down. She’d told him that was ridiculous, that the music soothed her.

            Not so much tonight.

            She put in earbuds, turned up her Garth Brooks playlist, and opened the spiral notebook to a fresh page. She was no artist, but she had a few ideas about the tattoo she’d like. Sergio did good work, and having left the studio where he’d already built a clientele, he probably needed the money. If he turned her away after learning who she was and what she wanted to know about the Eden tattoo, she’d find another tattooist.

            It was time to lay her friends to rest, once and for all.




MCARTHUR, CALIFORNIA

            THURSDAY, MAY 25, 1:35 A.M.

            DJ scowled at his sat phone, knowing he’d put off calling Kowalski as long as he could. The man would be meeting with customers and suppliers soon. Most of their work was done in the wee hours when most people were asleep.

            He hated having to call Kowalski. Hated having to owe the man anything.

            Hated having Kowalski know where Pastor was, because he would if they used the doctor he recommended. He did not want Kowalski meeting Pastor and asking him questions, especially now, when the old man wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

            Gritting his teeth, he dialed Kowalski’s number, swallowing a snarl when the man answered, his tone smug. “Changed your mind about the doctor, huh?”

            “Yes. My father was hurt worse than I’d been led to believe.”

            “That’s too bad,” Kowalski said, his words dripping with mock concern. “The doctor’s name is Ralph Arnold. I’ll text you his number. Wait a few minutes before calling. I’ll have to let him know to expect you. He doesn’t take calls from just anyone. He runs a very private hospital.”

            “Thank you.” He swallowed the snarl that was crawling out of his throat. “I appreciate this.”

            “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be able to return the favor at some point in the future.”