Say Goodbye (Sacramento Series, The Book 3)
Say Goodbye: Chapter 23

Well, I kind of figured that out a long time ago,” Dana said. “Your feelings for Tom have never really been a secret.”

Liza should have realized as much. Her Chicago “big sister,” the woman who’d taken her in after Lindsay’s murder, was insightful. This was one of the reasons she’d finally broken down and called her upon returning to her new apartment from Mercy’s birthday party.

Dana Dupinsky Buchanan had known Liza for seven years and Tom for twenty—ever since he and his mother had escaped his abusive biological father. Dana’s best friend was Tom’s mother, and Dana’s husband was Tom’s hacking mentor.

Dana had both history and perspective, and Liza figured that she’d be able to give her good advice on keeping her relationship with Tom in the friend zone.

Right now Tom needed a friend and Liza was determined to be that for him, even if it hurt her that he didn’t want more. “I’m not sure why I thought I’d be able to keep it from any of you,” she said wearily.

“I’m completely confused by that myself. But it does explain Tom’s behavior lately. He called his mom on Wednesday night and she said he seemed off. Caroline figured it had something to do with you.”

Liza didn’t have the energy to be annoyed. “You’ve been talking about us?”

“Duh.” Dana paused, then asked warmly, “What do you need from me, Liza?”

“I wanted to come clean with you, I guess.” About Tom. About Fritz. But the Fritz news, she held back. Learning that she’d kept that secret would hurt Dana the most. I didn’t even invite her to my wedding. “And to ask for advice. Tom’s in the middle of a really difficult case.”

“We know. Ethan has alerts set up for news stories with his name. We saw him at the crime scene with the two dead police officers. There’s more to it, I know, but we won’t ask.”

“I, um, offered to be here if he needed to talk. Any recommendations for keeping it in the friend zone? We share a lot of friends here. It’s going to be hard for me to avoid him.”

“That sucks, kiddo. I’ve never been in your shoes, but I have been in Tom’s.”

Liza was surprised at that. “Who?”

“I don’t want to name names, because all that’s in the past. Suffice it to say, someone I interacted with daily was in love with me for years and I never clued in. Everyone else knew.”

“What happened?”

“I met Ethan and fell head over heels. Told this other guy all about Ethan, not even suspecting that I was basically stabbing him in the heart.”

“I know how that feels. Tom told me about Tory the day he met her.”

“Ouch.” Dana’s wince was audible. “That super sucks. What did you do?”

“Buried my hurt and asked him to tell me about her. What happened with this other guy?”

“After I met Ethan, he moved to another state. Met the sister of one of our friends at a wedding and they hit it off. Been married for years and they have a little boy.”

“So he completely separated himself.”

“For a while. Once he met his wife, he realized that he hadn’t really loved me at all. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone in nursing school or while standing in a supermarket line. But you will meet someone.” She hesitated. “What else is wrong, honey? I can hear it in your voice. Don’t make me get on a plane to see you face-to-face,” she added teasingly.

Liza wasn’t so sure Dana was teasing and suddenly didn’t want her to be. Maybe when she was no longer needed at Sunnyside Oaks, she could get a cheap flight to Chicago. For a hug.

Drawing a deep breath, she told Dana about Fritz. Dana didn’t say a word until she was finished, and then the older woman sighed.

“I’m not going to say I’m not hurt, because I am. But only a little. I get why you avoided telling me. I’m mostly sad that you lost your Fritz. He sounds like he was amazing.”

“He was. He deserved better than me.”

“Do not say that,” Dana said sharply. “He loved you and you cared for him. Would you have cheated on him?”

“Never.” Liza was shocked at the question. “You know I wouldn’t have.”

“Yes, I do know. Another question: If he’d lived and if Tom miraculously had fallen in love with you once you and Fritz had come home, would you have left Fritz?”

Liza considered carefully. “No,” she said, relieved that she believed it with all of her heart. “We would have settled down and had a family. I loved him, even if it wasn’t the way he loved me. I was . . . you know, attracted.” Her face heated. “We would have been happy.”

“Then you have nothing to be ashamed about,” Dana said softly. “Stop punishing yourself. Were the months you had with Fritz happy ones?”

“Yes. They were. I mean, we were in a war zone, so it was a different kind of happy. But he made me feel special. And safe.”

“Okay, last question. If Tom sees the light, will you believe him?”

Liza frowned. “What, are you asking if I’ll believe he’s serious?”

“That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“Then figure it out. Just in case.”

Liza wasn’t sure how to process those words. “In other words, don’t give up hope?”

“Maybe. At least give him time to figure stuff out. He does care about you, of that I’m sure.”

“Are you still friends with the man who thought he loved you?”

“Yes. He’s one of the best men I know. If nothing else, I hope you’ll have that with Tom.”

Liza hadn’t realized how much she’d needed that hope. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“I do. I also know that we are going to visit Fritz’s family together, so I can meet them.”

This time it was shame that heated Liza’s cheeks. Not only had she denied Dana the opportunity to meet Fritz, she’d denied Fritz’s family the opportunity to know hers. “They’d love that.” Call waiting beeped in her ear. “I need to go. That’s the security guard downstairs.”

“Put me on hold. I need to know everything is okay. Especially because I know you’re mixed up in this thing that’s got Tom so worried.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Liza hit the hold button and answered the guard. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Miss Barkley, there’s a visitor for you here in the lobby. Says his name is Tom Hunter. He’s got ID that says he’s FBI.” The guard lowered his voice to a whisper. “But he looks like a guy who used to play basketball.”

Liza surged to her feet, the blood draining from her head making her dizzy. “Please send him up. Thank you.” She hung up on the guard and said to Dana, “It’s fine. It’s Tom. I thought he’d call, but he’s on his way up.”

“Call me later. I want the details. Love you, Liza.”

“Love you, too.” Ending the call, Liza smoothed her clothing and dashed to the mirror to check her face. She’d cried when she’d first starting talking to Dana, but her eyes didn’t look too bad. The knock at her door wasn’t nearly as loud as the pounding in her ears.

Damn. He looked good even through the weird distortion of the peephole in her door.

Bracing herself, she opened the door. He stood there filling the space with his big body as he always did, but his head was lowered, his shoulders hunched. When he looked up, all she could see was utter exhaustion.

“Come on in. You look like shit,” she said, stepping out of the way.

He laughed, a fraction of his weariness seeming to fade. “Thank you.”

“Food?”

He winced. “Hell, no. Irina made me take a cooler full of food.”

“Me too.” It felt awkward between them, and she hated that. “Sit with me?”

He nodded gratefully, each of them taking the opposite end of the sofa in the living room. “This is a really nice place.”

“It really is.” She drew a breath. “Have you slept?”

He met her gaze. Held it. “Honestly? Not since you left.”

She gaped for a moment. “Tom, no. You can’t do that. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Croft said the same thing.”

“Then listen to her.” She started to rise. “I’ll get the spare room ready for you.”

He reached over and gently gripped her arm. “No. Please. I need to talk to you.”

Slowly she sank back down to the sofa. That didn’t sound positive, she thought, belatedly realizing that she’d allowed Dana’s parting words to give her hope. Serves me right. “Okay.”

He released her arm. “DJ Belmont has killed five people that we know of—a nurse, an elderly woman, a young woman whose car he stole, and two cops.”

The tiny sliver of hope that remained circled the drain. This was only a continuation of the argument they’d had in Rafe’s garage. “I know.”

“That doesn’t count the five federal agents he killed a month ago. And the owner of the truck he was driving last night, who he killed the same day as the agents. So all together, he’s murdered eleven people in cold blood.”

Liza’s jaw tightened as she ground her teeth together. “I know. I can count, Tom.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant that he’s dangerous. You could come into contact with him at Sunnyside. If you are able to talk to Pastor and DJ replaces out, or he replaces you planting bugs . . . he’ll kill you without a second thought.”

He cares. It was all that kept her from showing him the door. “I knew that when I applied.”

“I can’t stop you from going through with this,” he said, sounding as if he desperately wished to do exactly that.

“No, you can’t.” She rose this time, stepping back when he tried to grab her again. “Look, Tom, we’ve already danced to this song. If you want to talk about something else, I’m fine with that. But I’m not going to rehash this with you.”

“I’m hiring a bodyguard for you,” he blurted out.

Liza stared at him. “What?”

“A bodyguard. For you. If I can’t keep you out of there, I’ll make sure that you’re safe while you’re inside.”

She sat back down, keeping to the edge of the cushion. “Your boss will have me covered.”

“From outside the gates. If you sound the alarm, they’ll have to force their way in, putting your safety and the mission in jeopardy. We don’t know where DJ is. If he’s managed to hide inside and he suspects you, then you’re in danger and we’re no closer to replaceing Eden.”

“Your boss said they might have someone on the inside.”

“Maybe. That’s dependent on some other things that might not happen.”

He wasn’t lying. “You’re afraid,” she murmured.

“Terrified,” he confessed hoarsely. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes. But no more than I was every time I went into the field, and I did that more times than I want to remember.”

Pride filled his eyes. “I know you did. I remember all of our Skype talks. You were afraid, yet you served. But this, having a bodyguard, is for me. Please.”

Dammit. He knew how to play her heartstrings. “Who will my bodyguard be?”

He closed his eyes, his expression so relieved that her heart cracked. “Rafe.”

“Wait. Rafe Sokolov?”

Opening his eyes, he narrowed them. “Just how many Rafes do you know?”

“Just the one. Okay, I’ll bite. How are you going to get him inside?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. At the very minimum, I’m going to get him into the parking lot in the back of that SUV that Karl loaned you. We’ll make a copy of the key card you get for access to the building and give it to Rafe.”

“So Rafe will essentially be sitting outside in a black SUV, roasting in the sun while I work my shift on the off chance that I’ll need him.”

“Yes. Unless you can replace a place where he can hide inside.”

“It’s not a horrible plan,” she had to admit. “But there are cameras all over the place.”

He pulled a pendant from his pocket with a grim smile. “You’ll be wearing this. I can get control of their Wi-Fi cameras. The ones hardwired to the server will have to be rerouted.”

“You want me to do that?” she asked nervously.

“No. We’ll hopefully get a network specialist in there, and that person can take care of it.”

She held out her hand for the pendant. “Can I see it?”

He moved to the middle cushion before placing it on her palm and closing her fist around it. Then he covered her fist with his hand, warm and solid, and she wished this were real.

She tugged her hand free and let the pendant dangle on its pretty silver chain. The design was delicately done, but large enough to host a camera and microphone.

It was a rose. “It looks like my tattoo.”

“I know. I was there when you got it, remember?”

“Of course I do. You were too chicken to get one yourself.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Still am.”

She gave him back the pendant, wishing he’d move back to his side of the sofa. This close she could smell his aftershave, and she wanted to press her face against his neck and breathe him in, so she got up and dragged a wingback chair closer to the sofa.

When she sat down, his expression had grown carefully blank. That was his I’m hurt face, but she wasn’t going to let him manipulate her. She’d be his friend, but on her own terms. That didn’t include having to endure his amazing scent. And warmth. Because now she was cold.

“What happened last night?” she asked, changing the subject.

“You read the news story. We don’t have a lead on the female victim. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He rubbed his palms on his thighs and she couldn’t help but follow the motion, because he had spectacular legs. Thankfully, she’d averted her gaze by the time he looked up, his gaze uncertain. “What happened to Mike?”

“Mike?”

“Your friend. The one who came to see you on Wednesday.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “And who you went out on a date with on Tuesday night.”

She shrugged. “We’re just friends.”

“He didn’t seem to think so.”

If she hadn’t already had her hopes dashed, she’d think he was jealous. But she had had her hopes dashed, and she wasn’t letting them get away from her again.

Which was a total lie. “He said the same about you.”

“Why did you go out with him on Tuesday?”

She sighed, exasperated. “Because he asked me to. Can we not have this conversation?”

“That’s fine,” he said levelly. “But please answer the question first.”

“Then it’s not fine!” She stood up and spun to face the far wall. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” he asked, and she jumped because he was right behind her now, and she hadn’t even heard him get up. “Can’t do what?”

The timbre of his voice sent a shiver across her skin. She swore it had dropped an octave. His breath was warm on her neck, and her heart was racing faster now.

Hope sparkled in her chest and she shoved it back. “Don’t,” she whispered. “It’s not fair.”

The pressure at the base of her neck was a shock. It wasn’t his forehead, like it had been on Thursday in his house. This pressure was soft and warm and mobile.

His lips. He was kissing the base of her neck. “What can’t you do, Liza? I need to know.”

She shook her head, angry arousal bubbling around the damn hope. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to tell me that you don’t feel the same and then come in and do this. What do you want from me?”

The pressure of his mouth had disappeared with her first no. “I want you to tell me why you went out with Mike on Tuesday night.”

“Fucking hell,” she snarled. “You want me to tell you everything, but you don’t tell me anything. Why did I marry Fritz? How long have I loved you? Now you want to know why I went out with some other man who doesn’t even matter?” Guilt prickled, because Mike did matter. “He’s a nice person. He liked me. He made me feel special. And when he asked me to go out with him, I said yes, because I am not a nice person. I used him to get your attention because I am not a nice person! Is that what you wanted to know?”

She was shouting now, desperately wishing for the sweet pressure of his mouth on her skin. “I wanted you to say, ‘Hey, maybe I could ask her out. Maybe I could make her feel special.’ I wanted you to wake the hell up, maybe even be jealous, but all you did was talk basketball.” Her voice broke. “And give the man your fucking autograph. So the joke’s on me, I guess.”

“Will you see him again?” he asked quietly. So damn calmly.

She wanted to scream. “No. I told him that I wasn’t ready. I told him about Fritz.”

He drew a deep breath, but he must have taken a step back, because when he exhaled, she couldn’t feel it. For the best, she thought. He must have been toying with her after all.

Except . . . Tom isn’t like that. He wouldn’t humiliate me like that.

For a brief moment she wondered if he was doing this to make her so angry that she’d quit Sunnyside. But Tom wasn’t like that, either.

“Look,” she said wearily. “I thought I could do this. I thought I could talk to you and be your friend and help you shoulder the burden for this case. But I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“So Mike isn’t coming back?”

He was about a foot behind her now. She was tempted to take a step forward, but that felt like retreat and she wasn’t going to do that anymore, either.

“No. He’s not coming back. Why?”

“Because he had flowers sent to you.”

She stilled. “What?”

“I went home to walk Pebbles after the party and there were flowers on your doorstep. The card said they were from Mike.”

Liza rubbed her temples. “I don’t . . . I didn’t . . .” She sighed. “What did you do with them?”

“I threw them in a dumpster,” he said calmly.

Confused, she slowly turned to face him. He stood with his hands at his sides. Fists clenched. Jaw clenched. Body held ramrod straight.

He wasn’t calm. Not at all. And that goddamn hope began to sparkle again. “Why are you here, Tom? You could have called me about the bodyguard.”

His throat worked as he tried to swallow. Finally he cleared his throat. “Am I too late?”

She took a small step closer. A tiny, tentative step. “Too late for what?” she whispered, afraid for the answer, but hoping, hoping, hoping.

The small step seemed to defuse his tension. He released his fists, his eyes fixed on hers.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “I . . . I can’t.”

Okay. Not exactly what she’d wanted to hear. She dropped her chin, breaking eye contact. “You won’t lose me as a friend. You don’t have to force yourself to—”

Strong fingers gripped her chin and urged her to look up.

The breath caught in her chest and it was like all the oxygen in the room was sucked away.

His eyes were more intense than the bluest sky on the sunniest day. And he was close. She had to blink to bring him into focus, and then blink again as he came closer.

“Tell me to stop if this isn’t what you want,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip, sending new shivers all over her skin and rocketing her pulse into the stratosphere.

She laughed, a breathless, slightly manic sound. “I’ve wanted this for—”

She was silenced by his mouth taking hers, and it was gentle. So gentle.

Too gentle. She’d waited so long. She needed more.

He pulled away far too quickly, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. The hand that now cupped her face was trembling. This big man was trembling. For me.

The intensity in his gaze grew darker. Hotter. “I wanted to rip his hands off,” he whispered.

She blinked. “What? Who?”

“Mike.” He said the name like it was a curse. “For touching you. He touched you.”

Her knees wobbled, relief making her dizzy. That she flattened her palms against his chest might have been for balance, but it wasn’t. He felt so good. So hard. And sensitive, his muscles shifting and jumping under her touch. The fire in his eyes blazed.

He liked this. She closed her eyes, overcome. He liked this. He wanted this.

He wants me. She slid her hands higher until she could link them behind his neck, emboldened at the shudder that shook him. “I have one question,” she whispered.

When she opened her eyes, she found he’d closed his, allowing her to look her fill. Tom Hunter was the most beautiful man she’d ever known. And he was holding her, hands on her sides, their bodies separate. Sweetly awkward, like a middle school dance. She wished he’d go higher or lower, but for now this was safe. For now this was enough.

He’d tensed again, though. Leaning up on her toes, she pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, making him swallow, his hands tightening their grip.

“What changed?” she asked. “I need to know that I didn’t guilt you into this. I need to know that this is what you really want.”

He yanked at her then, pulling her flush against him. The breath rushed out of her on a moan, because he was hard everywhere. God, oh God.

Everywhere. She tightened her hold around his neck, lifting on her toes again to perfect the fit. “Yeah,” she breathed, “I guess this is what you really want.”

“It is.”

Please don’t be a dream. But she didn’t want to let him go long enough to pinch herself, so she wriggled closer, drawing a strangled groan from deep in his chest. Then his lips were on hers again, and this time there was no gentleness. Just raw want.

She could fall into this so easily. Too easily. But she pulled away, needing to know.

“What changed?” she whispered against his mouth.

“Everything and nothing. I wanted you. Wanted this.”

“Then what—”

He interrupted her with another kiss, hard and fast. Then his lips curved. She could feel his smile and it lightened her spirit. “What changed was me. Someone helped me take a good look at myself,” he murmured. “Showed me how I look at you.” His hands were on her back, roaming up and down restlessly. “Someone made me realize that I was being a fool and paying more attention to a calendar than to my own heart.”

Liza was going to bake that someone Dream Bars forever. “How do you look at me?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Indulge me. I’m . . .” Needy. Fragile. Vulnerable as hell. “I need to know.”

He pulled back far enough to meet her gaze, and in his she saw the truth laid bare. “I look at you like you’re the only thing I need to be happy. Is that enou—”

She pulled his head down and kissed him the way she’d always dreamed, hard and lush and a little indecent. Their mouths fit perfectly, their bodies aligning in just the right way.

Then his hands dipped lower, cupping her butt and lifting her off her toes like she weighed nothing at all. In three strides, he had her up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his hips.

He dropped his head to the curve of her shoulder and breathed her in. “Is this okay?”

She could feel him pulsing into her, and he was exactly how she’d fantasized. “Tell me this is real.”

He straightened, resting his forehead on hers. “It’s real. I promise.”

She took a moment to absorb the rush of emotions, the thrum of lust. “Then it’s better than okay. So much better.” And then she kissed him again.

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

SUNDAY, MAY 28, 7:05 P.M.

It really shouldn’t be this easy, DJ thought as he walked into Miss Stephanie Stack’s kitchen. She’d left her door unlocked.

People really should be more careful. Especially since she was now living alone. Her Facebook status was “Single,” and it was a new thing. An hour ago, she’d posted that she was planning to spend the evening “blissfully alone,” watching the TV shows that her ex had sneered at, then taking a bath with a glass of wine.

The soft sound of a laugh track floated through the air as he crept to the doorway to the living room. She was sitting on her sofa, watching TV, her back to him. On the table beside her were a half-empty package of Oreo cookies, a mostly empty glass of white wine, and a half-empty wine bottle. It appeared Miss Stephanie was getting a head start on the booze portion of the evening.

She was playing a game on her laptop. That her laptop was on would make this easier still.

He assumed that she’d have her class roster somewhere on her computer. Depending on where it was stored, he might not need her involvement at all. If it was part of a password-protected school-owned software package, he’d need to keep her around. If her list was a simple Word document on her hard drive, her assistance would not be necessary.

He’d planned for this, planned to keep her alive in case he needed her password. He had precut lengths of duct tape fixed to his jeans and his silenced pistol in his gloved hand.

A bandana obscured his face, except for his eyes. One of Smythe’s ball caps covered his newly bald head. He wasn’t giving the cops any more photos of him. The carpeted floor quieted the sound of his footsteps as he approached.

Miss Stephanie cried out once when he put the barrel of his gun to her temple, but he stifled what would have been a scream by slapping one of the pieces of tape over her mouth.

“Get up,” he said quietly.

She looked over her shoulder, eyes wide and petrified. She didn’t move, frozen in place. She was young, maybe in her midtwenties, with strawberry blond hair piled atop her head.

With his left hand, he took her laptop from her, placing it on the cushion at the end of the sofa. “Stand up. I don’t want to hurt you,” he lied. “Do what I say and I won’t.”

She finally obeyed, her body shaking like a leaf, her pleas muffled by the tape. Stowing his gun under one arm, he quickly taped her wrists behind her back, then pushed her to sit and restrained her feet.

He took a seat at the end of the sofa, gun in hand once again. Her laptop was new and shiny and weighed next to nothing as he rested it on his knees and opened her hard drive.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her start to wiggle, like she was planning an escape.

Sorry, sweetheart. It wasn’t her fault, of course. She was simply a teacher to the wrong kid. That wasn’t going to stop him from using her to get what he needed, though.

What he needed was access to Kowalski’s weapons stash, so what he needed was Kowalski’s—Excuse me, Anthony Ward’s—home address.

He pointed his gun at her face. “Don’t even think about it.”

She sagged, tears running down her cheeks and over the duct tape.

He typed roster into the laptop’s search box, but got nothing. Student yielded too much, but information gave him the file that he needed.

“Ward, Ward, Ward,” he muttered to himself. Anthony Ward Jr. was at the bottom.

Parents: Anthony (real estate developer) and Angelina (homemaker).

Allergies: None known.

Health concerns: None known.

Favorite color: Green.

Pets: Rottweiler named Lucky.

Well, that was particularly useful information. He needed to be prepared to drug the dog when he got there. Just in case.

And, finally, the pièce de résistance: Anthony Jr.’s home phone number and address.

DJ laughed, genuinely amused. “You can’t make this shit up.” He glanced at Miss Stephanie. “They live in Granite Bay, less than five miles from where I’ve been staying.”

He took a photo of her screen with his phone, then closed the document and set the computer aside. Her nostrils flared as she watched him stand, hope flickering in her eyes.

“Sorry,” he murmured. Because he really was. She hadn’t spied on him like Mrs. Ellis had, or fought him like Mr. Smythe had. Or betrayed him like Nurse Gaynor had.

Or escaped and thrived like Gideon and Mercy had.

Stephanie Stack was just a first-grade teacher, who’d begun to shake her head, her “No, no, no” muffled by the tape.

At least he could make it quick. No need to make her suffer. He fired twice, checked her pulse, then went in search of something to drug Kowalski’s guard dog. Five minutes later, he had a six-month-old bottle of oxycodone and a pound of hamburger.

Finally something had gone to plan.