Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) by Karen Rose

            An angel held the caduceus staff in both hands, the smaller wings of the caduceus the same shape as the larger outspread wings of the angel. Instead of snakes, a stethoscope wound around the staff. Which, on closer inspection, wasn’t a staff at all. It was a semiautomatic rifle. But the detail that grabbed his attention was the names written on the feathers of the angel’s wings, three on the left, four on the right.

            Seven names, each with a different symbol sketched below. Ted had a football. Lenny, a violin. Judy, a baby bottle. Odell, a smiling sun. Neil’s name was surrounded by the ABCs. Christie had a medal on a ribbon. And Fritz had two connected rings against a broken heart.

            His gaze lingered on the broken heart, wondering what it meant. Wondering what the rings meant. Wondering who Fritz had been. Wondering who all of the people had been.

            Had been being the operative phrase. This was clearly a memorial. A helmet hung from the top of the rifle. A pair of empty boots was positioned at its base.

            These people had meant something to Liza. And they’d died.

            Eyes stinging, he hugged Liza harder, and the question just slipped out. “Who was Fritz?”





ELEVEN



ROCKLIN, CALIFORNIA

            THURSDAY, MAY 25, 5:05 A.M.





Who was Fritz?”

            Liza went still, Tom’s softly spoken words glaringly loud in the quiet of the night. You wanted him to know. You wanted to talk about Fritz. To acknowledge him as being important.

            “My husband.”

            Tom’s shocked gasp seemed to echo off the walls. “Your . . . what?” He reared back, their gazes colliding. “You were married?”

            Liza used her sleeve to wipe her face. Dammit, her eyes hurt. Resting her head against his broad chest had felt so good while it had lasted. That comfort was gone, and although he still held her, there was confused accusation in his eyes.

            “For a little while, yes,” she murmured.

            “How long?”

            “A month.”

            “And then?”

            She inhaled deeply, then let it out. Stalling, because saying the words aloud hurt. Knowing that she should move off his lap, but unable to make her body obey the command. “He died.”

            “Oh.” The word was uttered on a huff of breath, then she felt him straightening his back and bracing his shoulders. But he still held her. Not tightly, but he hadn’t let her go. “In combat?”

            “Yes.”

            “Is that . . .” He hesitated. “Is that what you were dreaming about? You screamed.”

            “Yes.” She closed her eyes. “I see it when I’m asleep. See them all.”

            “I’m sorry.” He stroked her hair, pushing it off her face. “So sorry.”

            She nodded, new tears welling against her closed eyelids. “I miss him. Fritz.” It was true. She hadn’t loved him like he’d loved her, but she had loved him. For a long time, Fritz had been a dear friend. Kind of like Tom sees me now. Maybe this was karma, coming to exact its due.

            I deserve it. I’m sorry, Fritz. More tears welled in her throat and she harshly cleared it, carefully disengaging herself from the only place she’d ever wanted to be. Tom Hunter’s arms.

            She slid from the bed, going to stand at the window. She’d barely peeked through the blinds at the darkened street below when Tom pulled her back, his hands gentle but insistent.

            “Not in front of the window,” he murmured. “It’s too dangerous.”

            She stared at him, not understanding. Until her mind clicked. The rooftop gunman who’d been aiming for Mercy the morning before. “Right. Sorry.”

            He led her back to the bed and urged her to sit, then retrieved the small stool from under her makeup vanity. Completely dwarfing it, he sat next to the bed.

            But then he took both of her hands in his and all she could focus on were his eyes, blue as a summer sky. “Tell me about the dream,” he murmured.