Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) - Karen Rose Page 0,80

that their equipment—the satellite dish that Amos had discovered at their most recent location—had been damaged.

They had taken it with them when they evacuated. Tom had checked himself, searching the perimeter of the compound Amos had described a month ago when he’d first escaped with Abigail. Tom had found evidence that a cable had been buried and then dug up. Maybe they’d damaged the cable when they’d ripped it from the earth.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. He blew out a breath and pushed away from his desk, needing . . . something. Exercise? Food? More booze?

No, definitely not more booze. He’d had more alcohol tonight than he usually consumed in a month.

His glance flitted to the wall again and he had to fight the urge to bang on it with his fists, to wake Liza up and demand that she tell him what was wrong.

You know what’s wrong. Stop being an obtuse dick.

He hung his head, suddenly too weary to ignore it any longer. “I am a dick,” he whispered.

Karl had tried to tell him, and he’d made a joke.

Rafe had tried to tell him, and he’d thrown him out.

His mother had tried to tell him multiple times as they’d talked on the phone, but each time Tom had changed the subject and his mother had allowed him to do so, albeit reluctantly.

Even Croft had tried to tell him that Liza’s wants and needs might have changed during the seven years of their friendship, but he’d pretended to be clueless.

Dammit all to hell. “I don’t want this,” he growled to Pebbles. “I don’t want to want her.” But he did want her. He could lie to himself, but his body apparently knew the truth. He wanted her friendship, her laughter, all of her smiles. And he wanted to curl up with her under those soft blankets and see what would happen. “I can’t want her.”

Huffing a groan, Pebbles rolled over to press her face against the wall, shutting him out.

“Et tu, Pebbles?” he muttered. He closed all of the browser tabs he’d been using to trace that damn e-mail and stared at the image that remained on his screen.

Tory laughed at the camera, all bubbly happiness and dancing delight as she waggled her fingers to show off the diamond he’d just put on her finger. It was the night she’d agreed to be his wife. A month later, she was gone. The diamond on her finger was gone. The smile on her face, gone. The light in her eyes . . . all gone. All stolen by the brute who’d killed her.

He drew a breath and stared hard at her face. They’d fallen hard and fast, going from dating to storing toothbrushes in each other’s bathrooms in a matter of weeks. And the only person he’d told was Liza.

He closed his eyes, remembering the night he’d told her about Tory on a Skype call. Liza had been laughing about something he’d said when he’d blurted it out. I met someone. She’s amazing. Liza’s smile had disappeared, and then hurt had flitted across her face.

I hurt her. I was clumsy and bumbling and I hurt her. He could see that now, in his memory. He’d either missed it or ignored it then. Either way, she’d schooled her features into a tight smile and had wished him all the happiness in the world. Had even asked all about Tory.

And he’d told her everything. Well, not about the sex. “Thank God for that,” he muttered.

Because now . . . now he could see what everyone else had always seen. She’d cared for him then. At least a year and a half ago. Maybe before that.

Not as friends. Not just as friends, anyway.

Goddammit.

He had no idea what to do with this epiphany. He didn’t want this epiphany.

He pushed back from his desk and paced the length of his little office. He was edgy, felt caged in. He needed to run. The ten-mile route he took around the neighborhood always cleared his head. But he wasn’t leaving her alone. Not when she’d been in a killer’s sights less than twenty-four hours before.

So, no, he wasn’t leaving her here alone to go for a run. He had a treadmill downstairs.

He’d turned to go there when his phone shrilled an alarm. He sucked in a startled breath—that was the alarm for Eden’s bank account. Dropping back into his chair, he quickly brought up the offshore account.

“Whoa,” he whispered. One hundred grand was gone. Transferred.

He clicked on the transaction and