Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) - Karen Rose Page 0,29

“But he’ll get away. He’ll come back.”

Liza let out a careful breath. “Maybe. Probably, even. But the FBI will not let him win, Abigail. I need you to believe that. For now, I really need you to get into Agent Rodriguez’s SUV and lie down on the floor with Mercy and me.”

Abigail swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mercy put a protective arm around Abigail’s shoulders. “It’ll be all right, honey.” Her voice shook and her eyes held fear, but her jaw was firmly set. “I promise.” She looked at Liza. “Thank you.”

Liza gave her a nod, then shepherded them out. “Let’s go.”

FOLSOM, CALIFORNIA

WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 11:30 A.M.

Fucking hell. DJ scrambled to put his rifle in the guitar case he’d modified to carry it. He fumbled the buckles on the case and pulled his gloves back on, cursing that his clumsy right hand couldn’t feel the trigger with them on.

So much for Mercy Callahan letting her guard down. He’d been made. He jogged down the stairs from the roof of the office building across the street from the eye doctor.

He’d had Mercy in his sights. In my goddamn sights. Not only Mercy, but the little girl who was with her. He could have dragged Abigail Terrill back to Pastor after taking Mercy out.

He could have. If he hadn’t been made. Goddammit.

He’d taken too long to set up his shot. Goddamn bum arm. His finger had been on the trigger when the woman with Mercy had turned and . . . somehow spotted him. She had to be a Fed. The guy waiting outside certainly was.

I should have taken him out first, but that would have alerted Mercy to run. Now I’m running away. Again.

Exiting the office building, he looked both ways before calmly walking to his truck. Stowing the guitar case on the passenger-side floorboard, he drove away with no one the wiser.

Things had been going so well. It hadn’t taken much work to figure out where Mercy was hiding out. Several news stories about her in the past month had been videotaped in front of a house in Granite Bay, owned by Karl and Irina Sokolov.

DJ had started at the Sokolovs’ house, parking far enough down the street that no one would give him a hard time. He hadn’t been worried about interference. The magnetic sign on his truck identifying him as a plumber allowed him to operate under the radar. He was largely ignored wherever he went.

He was glad he’d kept an extra magnetic sign and extra license plates in his backpack. It had saved him a trip to the house he used during his time away from Eden, which was where he kept his supplies. He always had an extra rifle in his quarters in Eden. Coleen had made sure that it had been securely packed when they’d moved to the caves, which was good, because he’d lost the one he’d used the month before when he’d taken out five Feds and Ephraim Burton.

Which meant his prints were now in a federal database. That sucked.

Which also meant he had to be ultra careful now about avoiding any law enforcement of any kind. He would have done so anyway, but now the stakes were higher. Because now Mercy and Gideon were trying to find Eden. If they succeeded before he got the millions, he’d have to go to ground. No Caribbean. No white-sand beaches.

To say that he was motivated to stay under the radar was putting it mildly.

He’d gotten lucky that morning when an SUV that screamed “FED” had driven by, coming from the direction of the Sokolovs’ house while he’d been waiting. He knew how to follow a vehicle without arousing suspicion. He’d had a very good teacher.

Roland Kowalski had taught him nearly everything he knew about the outside world, specifically everything about making easy money and not getting caught. Kowalski was going to be pissed off that DJ’s prints were now on file.

He was unlikely to fire him, though. I know too much. DJ had closely watched Kowalski’s rise within their gang, listening and learning. He’ll either kill me or deal me in from the periphery. Either way, DJ’s days of enjoying favored status within the gang were probably over.

He pulled into an alley and got out, changing the plumber’s sign for an electrician’s. Then he pointed his truck toward the interstate. He’d end up back at the Sokolovs’ sooner versus later, but not today. They’d be looking for him now.

He needed to regroup and take care of some