Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) - Karen Rose Page 0,140

went up. “Liza couldn’t? Did she buy the house with you?”

“No. But we’d agreed that she’d rent from me, and she stipulated that it be a place she could afford. She spent hours while we were driving down from Chicago researching neighborhoods and rent values. She found the duplex online.”

And he hadn’t argued. He’d been so damn grateful to know that she was on the other side of the wall that he’d made an offer on the duplex the day after they’d arrived in Sacramento.

“But don’t you want security?”

He shrugged. Hiding his address behind layers of corporations was good security, in his book. “I’m not that recognizable. That guy yesterday in Yuba City wasn’t rare, per se, but it doesn’t happen that often. And fans aren’t exactly a threat, except to my privacy.”

Croft shook her head fondly. “You already signed something for that cop’s kid, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Liza had—” His words stumbled to a halt and he felt his cheeks heat at Croft’s too-insightful gaze.

“Liza had?” Croft prompted.

“She bought some basketballs when we first moved in. For some of the kids I met at a charity event. They were raising money to help kids who’d come from abusive homes. Liza asked if I’d offer up some signed gear and told me that she’d found a sale on basketballs at the local sporting goods store. She bought four dozen.”

“Four dozen basketballs?” Croft laughed. “Where did she put them?”

“In my spare bedroom closet,” he said wryly. “Half of them are still there, and I’m terrified to open the door. It’s like snakes in a can.” He spread his hands like an explosion. “Boing. They rain down on my head and she laughs.”

Laughed. She laughed. Because she’d left and wasn’t laughing anymore.

Croft, having pulled to a stop in the circular driveway near the front door, turned in her seat to give him her full attention, so he forged on.

“Anyway, she donated the basketballs and the organization auctioned some of them off. The others they gave to kids as prizes for selling the most raffle tickets, that kind of thing.”

Croft tilted her head, studying him. “Did she buy the basketballs herself?”

He nodded, remembering that argument all too well. “I told her to use my credit card, but she’s stubborn. Said she had money saved and wanted to do some good.” His throat closed. “She said that she wished there’d been an organization like that to help me when I was a kid.”

“She knows about your bio-father, then?”

“Yes. She knows my whole family.”

She is my family.

I need more than that.

He cleared his throat again. “Let’s talk about Angelina Ward. You want to take the lead?”

“Nah. She might like the looks of you better. I’ll be bad cop this morning.”

“Only this morning?” Tom teased.

“Shut your pie hole,” she said, but with obvious affection. “You’re growing on me, kid.”

“Let’s do this. I assume she won’t want to let us in, but I’ll bat my eyelashes or something.”

“She’s not going to tell us anything, and if she lets us in, I’ll be shocked. But if she does let us in, be on the lookout for anything we can use to track her husband. Sometimes it’s as simple as a hotel brochure they’ve set aside or a Post-it Note on a fridge.”

A maid answered their knock. “We don’t accept solicitors.” She started to close the door.

Producing her badge, Croft rested her hand on the door, halting its progress. “Special Agents Croft and Hunter, here to see Mr. Ward.”

The maid’s eyes widened. “He’s—”

“That will be all, Carmela.” The words were delivered in a clipped staccato by a woman with waist-length black hair who wore a spotless white pantsuit. “Please return to your duties.” When the maid was gone, Angelina Ward glared at them with unveiled malice. “Get off my property.”

Tom smiled. “Ma’am, we’d just like to talk to your husband. That’s all.”

Angelina’s chin lifted. “He’s at work.”

“No, he’s actually not,” Tom said. “We’ve just come from there.”

“Well, he isn’t here. Leave, or I’ll report you for trespassing and harassment.”

Tom wanted to roll his eyes, but he held his smile. “We’re merely trying to get information on one of his business associates. Maybe you know him? Roland Kowalski?”

The woman’s nostrils flared and her jaw tightened. “Leave. Immediately.”

“Mommy?” a little boy’s voice asked uncertainly.

Angelina instantly changed from vicious to warmly maternal as she turned to the child who was hidden behind the door. “It’s all fine. These people are salesmen and are leaving.”

“I’ll make them leave,” the boy said, and Tom could