Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) - Karen Rose Page 0,27

have chosen. They were . . . “Wow,” Liza managed. “They’re about as far from military-issue specs as I could possibly get.”

Abigail bounced on her toes while Mercy visibly struggled to swallow a grin. “Try them, Liza!” Abigail urged.

“Yes, Liza,” Mercy said, her lips curving. “Try them.”

Biting back a wince, Liza slid them on, then stared at her reflection, barely recognizing the woman staring back. She liked the frames. She actually loved them. “They really are perfect.” She hugged Abigail to her side. “You are a genius, Shrimpkin.”

Abigail preened. “Agent Tom will like them, too.”

Liza stiffened. Agent Tom couldn’t care less what she wore or how she looked. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re friends,” Abigail said simply.

Liza’s throat tightened and she barely managed to smile. “Yes, we are.” And that’s all we are. All we will ever be.

It was high time to move on. Time to stop pining for what and who she couldn’t have.

Mercy tapped Abigail’s nose. “Now me. Pick a pair for me. I’ve worn the same style since college. I’m ready for something different.”

Still wearing the rhinestone frames, Liza turned away, needing to process the sudden swell of grief that had solidified in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She closed her eyes, telling herself that she’d get over Tom Hunter. She’d done it before.

Which was a lie. She’d never gotten over him. She’d simply found an . . . adequate replacement. The memory of Fritz had another wave of grief hitting harder than the last. She pressed the heel of her hand against her breastbone, trying to give herself room to draw a breath.

One breath. Then another.

I am not a nice person. A nice person wouldn’t have allowed Fritz to fall in love with her. A nice person wouldn’t have convinced herself that she loved him back.

A nice person wouldn’t have married him in front of his family.

But Tom had been with Tory at the time. Engaged. Taken forever.

Tory was gone now. So was Fritz.

Tom still grieved his lost love and had no room in his heart for anyone else.

Liza grieved Fritz, but mostly the fact that, while she’d loved him, it hadn’t been as he’d loved her. She could only hope that he hadn’t known the truth.

Time to move on. Mike, the nurse from the VA facility, was a nice guy, and they’d had a good time at dinner the night before. Hell, Tom had even liked him. Liza had felt guilty, though, the entire time. Like she was using Mike.

Because you are. Like you used Fritz. But she had to do something. Sitting around crying about Tom Hunter was not going to be her life. Maybe she needed a new hobby. Maybe another part-time job until she started nursing school. She’d planned this gap between her job and school, foolishly thinking she might take a vacation.

The idea of a vacation itself hadn’t been so foolish. That she’d daydreamed about taking it with Tom had been colossally stupid, and there was no way she was taking one alone. Not now.

So a new job it would be. She’d start looking tonight.

Opening her eyes, she lowered the hot pink frames so that her vision wasn’t obscured by the display lenses. She scanned the buildings across the street through the plate glass wall of windows, an act more habit than intentional. She’d learned the hard way to scan rooftops, searching for the enemy in Afghanistan.

But there was nothing up there. Just rooftops and a few pigeons. Nothing . . . nothing . . .

Something. She froze, recognizing the flash of light on a visceral, instinctive level. She’d seen it before.

A scope. Of a rifle. In her mind she heard the sharp crack of gunfire, the screams of the women and children in the marketplace. The shouts of the men. The bleating of the animals who knew something was wrong but didn’t know what. She smelled the blood.

And saw the lifeless eyes staring up at her from what was left of her husband’s face.

Go. Run. Those had been his last words, and they echoed in her memory.

Go. Run.

Abruptly she turned to the sisters, who were giggling over the pair of glasses Abigail had chosen for Mercy. Get them out of here. Without scaring Abigail.

“Abigail,” Liza said, hoping the tension in her voice wasn’t obvious to the seven-year-old, “we need to be going now. Do you need to go to the bathroom before we leave?”

Abigail blinked, then tilted her head, evaluating. “Yes, I do.”

Mercy’s eyes narrowed, but she