Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) - Karen Rose Page 0,122

to use for their retirement, and I’ll use the rest for living expenses and tuition not covered by my GI benefits and financial aid. I’ll be fine.”

Karl’s smile was both proud and sad. “Do his parents know about the trust?”

“No. I thought I’d tell them . . . later. Their grief is still too fresh.”

“You are a good girl, Liza.” Irina took Liza’s cheeks in her palms and brought their foreheads together. “Your mother would be so proud of the woman you’ve become.”

Liza had to clear her throat. “Stop making me cry, Irina.”

Karl tugged at Irina’s sleeve. “Come on, my love. Let her get some rest.”

Irina had called her as she, Gideon, and Daisy were driving back from Monterey to tell her that they’d found her a place and had moved her boxes and her car. Gideon had stopped first at the Sokolovs’ house so that Daisy could get her car, then the two of them had escorted her up to the apartment, where they’d helped unpack Liza’s things. With so many hands working, her boxes had been unpacked before she could blink.

“I’ll be by tomorrow to read with Abigail,” Liza assured Irina. “Thank you again.”

Everyone hugged her a final time, then left.

And the silence was . . . awful.

Liza hadn’t realized how much noise there’d been at her old place. Tom always had either a TV on or his opera music blaring. Pebbles was always barking at something.

But this place was quiet. Too quiet.

“Buck up, soldier,” she murmured. “You’re blessed. Be grateful.”

And she was. She really was. She had everything she’d ever wanted.

Except for the one thing she couldn’t have. Exhausted, but too wired to sleep, she sat down at the mahogany desk and opened her laptop.

Step one: Post an ad for someone to sublet my side of the duplex. She wasn’t poor, but she wasn’t going to waste Fritz’s money on rent for a place she wasn’t using. She e-mailed Tom to let him know she’d placed the ad, because he’d ultimately have to approve the new renter.

Step two: Sift through the want ads and apply for a temporary job. Irina had pointed her toward a temp service that hired out nursing assistants, so she’d go there.

Step three: Run on the treadmill in the gym in the apartment building’s basement until I’m too tired not to sleep.

Step four: Do not dream.

That last one would be far easier said than done, but if she did dream of the sniper attack, at least she wouldn’t be hit with the guilt of keeping Fritz a secret. She leaned back in the desk chair and winced. Her tattoo was gorgeous and she loved it, but it was sore. Sergio had outdone himself, thanking her for allowing him to create such a moving memorial. Liza would need to go back in a few weeks to get the shading done, but even without that, the memorial was all she’d envisioned.

She’d completed steps one and two and was trying to remember where she’d put her running shoes when her phone rang. She almost let it go to voice mail but then saw the caller.

It was Mr. Tolliver, her old next-door neighbor. Something had to be wrong. Mr. Tolliver never called this late.

“Hi, Mr. T, what’s wrong?”

“I’m glad you answered. Your dog has escaped.”

“Pebbles? Oh my God. How do you know? Did you see her running by?”

“No, I see her on my front stoop, playing with Sweetie-Pie.”

Liza exhaled, relieved. “Oh good. At least she’s all right.”

“Can you come and get her? It’s after my bedtime. I’m an old man, y’know.”

“Of course I’d come over to get her, but . . . I don’t live there anymore.”

“I figured that. I saw you moving this morning. Did that man throw you out?”

“No. Of course not. I left because . . . I just needed to leave.”

“What are we going to do about your dog, then?”

“Did you call Tom?”

“Don’t have his number,” Mr. Tolliver said tartly. “Just yours.”

Liza wasn’t giving out Tom’s number without his permission. Nor was she calling him herself. He’d ask her to come back and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to say no. “Can you knock on the front door?”

“As if I haven’t done that already! If he’s there, he’s not answering, because he’s killing his hearing by playing that music so loud. It’s not rock, either. That I could take. It’s . . . opera.”

Liza had to chuckle because he’d said opera like it was dog doo. “Fine. I’ll be over to