Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) - Karen Rose Page 0,134

but pained expression on Liza’s face as he’d talked about Tory for hours as they’d made the drive from Chicago to Sacramento after the holidays. “Yeah. I thought she was grieving with me.”

“Maybe she was, and maybe she was grieving more than Tory. She, um, well, Gideon said that she talked about Fritz when they were helping her move in. Said you know about him.”

“Yes, I know.”

“She said it was easier to tell us because she’d already told you and—” Rafe cut himself off. “Others,” he finished lamely.

“ ‘Others.’ Like Daisy and whoever else she went with this afternoon.”

“Gotta go, Hunter. Call if you need anything else on Kowalski. I’ll do a lineup if you need me to. Night.” The line went dead.

Tom barked out a frustrated laugh. At least Liza had people who cared about her. Rafe wasn’t going to betray her confidence any more than Irina had.

He stared at his phone again, seeing the day’s ignored calls to Liza in his call log. She’d avoided him all day long. Get used to it. Because he didn’t think she was coming back.

I need more than that, she’d said, her voice breaking.

Absently, Tom pressed the heel of his hand to his heart. Did he need more?

He had no fucking idea. He only knew that he couldn’t let her go.

He picked up the phone and started a text to her. But what to say? He’d already said he was sorry. He’d told her that he wasn’t okay.

If he were a better man, he’d say goodbye. He’d let her go.

He needed to end this. He needed to let her go before he hurt her any more. He started to type. Good—

He couldn’t do it. He could not force himself to type “goodbye.” “I guess I’m not a very good man,” he whispered, his feelings too raw and torn to analyze.

His finger pecked out the rest of the phrase. —night.

Saying good night was the best he could do. He hit send, set that phone aside, then picked up his work phone and dialed Raeburn. It rang so many times that Tom didn’t think his boss would answer, but then he did.

“What have you found?” Raeburn demanded, abandoning any pretense of politeness.

“I’ve got a photo of Kowalski. I’m sending it to you right now.” He transferred the photo from his burner to his work phone and forwarded it to Raeburn. “His initials are A.W. and he has a six-year-old son.”

Raeburn whistled. “Where did you get this?”

“From one of my sources. You want me to start running facial recognition?”

“Hell, yeah.” Raeburn sounded exhausted. “This is the best news I’ve had all day. I’d just sent Croft home when Molina called about Miss Barkley. Croft was unable to get anything out of Dixie Serratt. Finally I had SacPD take her to booking for parole violation.”

Tom hadn’t thought the woman would talk. “Hopefully finding Kowalski will lead us to Belmont.” And Eden.

“Get on it. Call me with updates. I don’t care what time it is.”

“I will, sir.” The call ended and Tom got to work loading his facial recognition software. It was going to be a long night.

EIGHTEEN

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

FRIDAY, MAY 26, 8:00 A.M.

He did a good job,” Irina said as she applied moisturizer to the tattoo nestled between Liza’s shoulder blades, exposed by the tank top that dipped just enough in the back. “The artist in Monterey.”

“He really did. Thank you for doing this for me. I couldn’t reach it myself.”

A month ago, she would have asked Tom to help her. Except she knew that she wouldn’t have a month ago, because she hadn’t been ready for this tattoo then.

“I like it,” Karl said, glancing at her back as he walked to the coffeepot.

“Ooh,” Zoya said, coming over to stare. “Me too. Can I have one, Mom?”

“When you’re eighteen. Then I cannot stop you.”

“What’ll you get?” Karl asked, tugging on Zoya’s ponytail.

“I’ll think about it,” the teenager replied. “I’m not getting a tramp stamp for the hell of it.”

“Language,” Irina scolded.

“Bullshit,” Zoya coughed.

“Zoya, do not sass your mother,” Karl snapped.

Liza fought a smile. “My mom would have gotten out a sewing needle and offered to do the tattoo for me. Just like she did when I wanted to have my lip pierced.”

“But your lip isn’t pierced,” Zoya said.

“Exactly,” Liza said, and Irina chuckled.

“Your mother and I would have had a lot of long talks,” Irina said fondly.

“She would have loved you. You have so much in common, but mostly because you’ve been so good to me.”

“You are