Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) - Karen Rose Page 0,26

shoulders. And, apparently, so could Abigail, because the child flinched. “I mean back there, Mercy. Home is here. With Papa and you and Rafe and Miss Irina and Mr. Karl.” She lowered her eyes, studying the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Mercy’s sigh was quiet as she tilted Abigail’s chin up, cupping the child’s cheek in her palm. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m just so very glad you’re here with me, and that your papa is here, too. I hate to think about the people you left behind, that’s all.”

“But you’ll find them, right?” She glanced over at Liza. “Right?”

“Agent Hunter will,” Liza said confidently. She’d given up hope on her own relationship with Tom, but when it came to his single-minded focus in finding Eden, she had no doubts. “Come on. Let’s pick out some kicka—um, kickbutt glasses. I need your fashion sense, Shrimpkin.”

Abigail snickered. “You can say ‘kickass’ around me, Liza. I’m seven.”

“I think I can’t.” Liza chuckled. “Miss Irina would send me to bed without dessert.”

Abigail exaggerated a shudder. “That would be awful! We’ll get kickbutt glasses.” She returned to her study of the kids’ frames.

Liza followed, looking over her shoulder to the optometrist’s glass door. The Fed who’d been assigned to protect Mercy was standing guard outside. Rodriguez was armed and experienced and took his duty very seriously.

He’d chosen this optometrist because it wasn’t in the mall, which offered too many points of egress to cover adequately. This office had only two doors—the front door and one in the back, which was locked and alarmed. Liza wasn’t crazy about the wall of plate glass windows in the front, but it was covered by promotional displays, so that would have to be good enough.

“Molina says that Rodriguez is a good agent,” Mercy murmured.

“I know. She told me.” Liza trusted Special Agent in Charge Molina more than she trusted most people, which still wasn’t a lot.

Mercy’s lips twitched. “I forgot you two were besties now.”

Liza rolled her eyes. “We are far from besties. I just looked in on her a few times when she was on disability.”

“You cooked her meals, changed her dressings, and did her laundry,” Mercy said. “She told me that you did, so no use trying to deny it. Molina doesn’t warm up to just anyone, you know.”

Liza shrugged uncomfortably. “She doesn’t have any family in the area. Her daughter lives out east and had to go back to work, so she was alone. I was glad to help her.”

“Which makes you a nice person. I wish I’d visited her more while she was laid up.”

Liza patted Mercy’s shoulder. “You were a little busy taking care of Amos.”

Abigail’s father still had a ways to go before he fully recovered, but he was improving daily, and Mercy’s care during his recovery in the hospital was one of the reasons.

Abigail turned at the mention of her father’s name. “I helped!”

“And he’s getting better faster because you did,” Mercy agreed.

Abigail beamed, choosing a pair of purple frames, sliding them onto her face. “I like these.”

Mercy leaned down until their faces were side by side in the mirror. “I like them, too. They make you look smart and very pretty.”

Abigail shifted and bit her lip, but nodded.

“It’s okay to look smart and pretty,” Liza said gently. The slump of Abigail’s shoulders told her that she’d guessed right. “It’s also okay to want to look smart and pretty. There is nothing wrong or sinful about that.”

“It’s vanity,” Abigail whispered.

Mercy shot Liza a grateful glance in the mirror. “Maybe,” she allowed. “But as long as you understand that it’s not the most important thing in life, a little vanity is okay. I’m a little vain.”

Abigail’s eyes widened. “You are?”

“I am,” Mercy said, her eyes twinkling now. “I like to look good for Rafe.”

Abigail’s sigh was wistful. “You’re beautiful.”

Mercy kissed the child’s temple. “So are you. And these glasses make you even more so. I say we get them.”

“Now me,” Liza said. “I think that purple will clash with my hair, though.”

“I like your hair,” Abigail insisted. “It’s brown and red together.”

“I like it, too. But it’s got a little too much red to go with that purple. What color do you think I should go for?”

For the next ten minutes, Abigail considered the choices before picking out a pair of hot pink glasses in a retro cat-eye style. The corners were covered in rhinestones, sparkling in the overhead lights.

“These,” Abigail announced. “They’re perfect.”

“Perfect” might not have been the word Liza would