Combustion: Ensenada Heat Book Two

by Tess Summers

  “What are you doing here?” he asked as he carefully sank down next to Jacob.

  “I was in the neighborhood taking care of business when you called. Thought we could ride back together, and you could fill me in about where you’ve been the last two and a half months. Thought for sure I was going to be able to marry your girl after all.”

  Mason laughed, even though it still hurt to, and it turned into a hacking cough.

  He took the water bottle Jacob offered and gulped, choking out, “That’s not funny, fucker,” between swallows.

  Jacob lifted his shoulders in response. “Who says I was trying to be?”

  Mason screwed the cap on the bottle and narrowed his eyes.

  “Have you seen her? How is she?”

  “About as good as you’d expect her to be. Last time I checked, she was still holding out hope you’re alive.”

  That helped settle him down. His imagination had been fucking with him lately.

  “So, she’s not shacked up with some guy spending all my money?”

  Jacob gave a wry smile. “She won’t take it—she’s been avoiding your brother, refusing to take his calls or give him her information so he can transfer it.”

  He wished he could say he was surprised.

  “Stubborn woman,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Yeah. She’s going to be over the moon to see you. Just in time for Christmas.”

  Mason shook his head with a sad smile. “I think it’s best for everyone if I stay dead.”

  Jake shook his head in disgust. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re just going to let her go—just like that?”

  “It’s for the best.”

  “Whatever, man. Then you won’t mind years from now when you find out she’s married to some asshole who doesn’t give a damn about her. Knowing she’s miserable when you could have made her happy,” the dark-haired man spat out.

  Suddenly it was clear: Jacob wasn’t just talking about Mason and Reagan.

  “You checked in on Taren,” he said quietly.

  “Yeah,” he scoffed. “I did some digging. Almost wish I hadn’t—thanks a lot for the suggestion, asshole.”

  Mason shrugged. “So fix it.”

  Jacob tipped his chin at him. “Remember you said that.”

  “It wouldn’t be safe for Reagan if I showed up, and you know it. And what about Bella? That wouldn’t be a neon sign or anything that she was alive. The team leader shacking up with the sister of the woman he was sent in to terminate and whose body was conveniently lost at sea.”

  “All I’m saying is, as far as the agency is concerned, you’re dead. Keep a low enough profile for a few years and there’ll be enough turnover that anyone who would even remember you to begin with will all be retired or moved on. The question is—do you keep the low profile with the woman you love, or let someone else do it so when the time comes to be with her, you’ve been replaced.”

  “She loves me—she’s not going to move on so easily,” Mason said confidently. More confidently than he really felt.

  “She thinks you’re fucking dead, dumbass.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Reagan

  A night out with girls was just what she needed. It felt good to laugh and let loose for a while—to actually talk with other three-dimensional people who weren’t her students. Talking to a dead man through a camera in her kitchen was just sad. More than sad—pathetic.

  The women were in the middle of their first game of bowling, with Reagan strutting back to the group after having bowled a spare, when she noticed a new group had sat down to occupy the lane next to theirs. It was none other than some of Fargo’s finest, including Ric Casper.

  “Hey, Reagan. Nice to see you again,” he called over from the table where he sat putting his rented shoes on.

  “Hey, Ric. Good to see you as well,” she said with a wave.

  He got up and left in search of a ball, and Amy not-so-subtly elbowed her in the side.

  “Oh my god, he was totally checking you out when you were bowling.”

  Reagan shrugged with a smile. “We went to high school together.”

  “He’s hot. You should go for it.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, sitting down at the little round laminate table and picking up the double-sided menu displayed in an acrylic stand.

  Amy sat down next to her, mouth agape.

  “You don’t think so? Why the hell not? He’s handsome, has a job that assures you he doesn’t have an arrest record, and he’s obviously interested. Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t go out with him.”

  “I’d be interested to know the answer to that, too,” a deep voice interjected. She looked up to find Ric standing there with a smile, eyes twinkling.

  Because I’m mourning a man I can’t even tell anyone I lost.

  “I just don’t know if I’m ready—”

  Their other friend Caitlynn joined the conversation after finishing her turn and picked up her drink off the table. “Ready for what?”

  “To go on a date,” Amy helpfully provided.

  “Why wouldn’t you be ready?” Caitlynn asked with her lips around the skinny red straw.

  “You should go.” Denise, who had been listening from the bench, came forward. “It’s time for you to get out there and have fun.”

  Reagan had thought that was what she was doing tonight with her girlfriends. Now, instead, she was feeling ambushed.

  She gave Ric a smile that was far brighter than she was feeling, hoping he’d take the hint and drop it. Which, thankfully, he did.

  He smiled and gave her a wink. “When you’re ready, you know where to find me,” he said, then rejoined his group.

  Her friends descended on her like the plague.

  “You’re a fool. Look at him. He’s hot.”

  “I’ve known Ric since we were kids. He’s a really good guy.”

  “Why aren’t you interested?”

  “Oh my god, are you dating someone?”

  “Wait—are you gay? My cousin’s gay, maybe I could set you up.”

  Reagan buried her head in her hands. They were right. Ric was hot—and a good guy. Mason was never coming back; maybe she should go out with the Fargo police officer.

  “Oh my god, if I say I’ll go on a date with him, will you all stop talking about this?”

  “Yes!” they cried in unison.

  “Fine. I’ll go on a date with him.”

  They stood there grimacing.

  “What? I said I would go out with him.”

  Amy raised her eyebrows and motioned with her head in Ric’s direction.

  She whirled around, expecting him to be standing there listening. Instead, he was chatting with a cute brunette at his table.

  “Oh. Well, then there you go. Can we please bowl now?”

  Reagan wasn’t necessarily jealous, but she did wonder if she had blown it by not taking Ric up on his offer to go on a date. It wasn’t like Fargo’s streets were lined with single, handsome, good men over the age of thirty.

  Fortunately, before the night was over, she was given another chance. She was putting on her boots when he sat down next to her.

  “Look, I know you’re not ready to necessarily go on a date, but maybe we could meet for coffee or lunch sometime. We don’t have to call it a date, just two friends getting food or having a hot beverage.”

  His eyes were really pretty. And kind. But he wasn’t Mason. Yet, that was the point, wasn’t it? He was alive and sitting next to her, and offering to be her friend.

  “I would love to have lunch with you. Are you available tomorrow? Is that too soon?”

  A smile spread across from face.

  “Yeah, I’m available. Let me give you my phone number.”

  She pulled out her phone and programmed it in, sending him a text immediately so he’d have her information.

  Looking forward to lunch.

  “I’ll text you in the morning, and we can figure out where
to meet,” she said as she put her phone in her purse.

  “That sounds great.” He put his hand on his knee like he was going to stand up, then paused and chuckled. “You know, it’s funny. I wasn’t going to come tonight, but changed my mind at the last minute.” He gave her a poignant smile. “I’m glad I did,” he said, then gestured to his phone. “I’m looking forward to lunch, too.”

  “Me too.” He knows—you already said that, doofus.

  As she watched him walk away, she realized: She meant it.

  ****

  Mason

  Reagan’s camera streams were still online. He wasn’t sure if they would be; they were battery-powered, and he’d never monitored one in the same place for that long, so he hadn’t been sure about the battery life.

  They were out of frame though—especially the one at the front door. Probably because that was the one she used to take to her bedroom with her.

  He closed his eyes at the memory of her ivory skin against the sheets, her auburn hair spread out on the pillow in beautiful contrast to it.

  “I just want to make sure she’s okay,” he told himself before checking the video feed. Part of him was nervous about what he was going to find.

  Her house was empty and dark, except for the light she always left on above the stove at night. The streetlamps from the street streamed in the windows at the top of her front door, bathing the camera in the entryway in yellow light.

  He had no idea if she was even home or out, and let out a long breath as he sat down at the kitchenette table of his cabin in northern Michigan. The plane Jacob chartered had touched down in New Orleans last night, and Mason had declined the fixer’s offer to stay at his house—although he was curious to see the man’s place.

  Just as Jacob said, Reagan hadn’t touched his money, so he was able to access a small sum to buy a plane ticket to Grand Rapids, rent a car, and buy supplies. Jacob provided him with secure electronics. Funny thing about being in the spy business; you had that kind of shit stockpiled.

  He turned on the television and found that his favorite movie, Warning Track, was on one of the stations he could get with the antennae. The movie was almost over when his phone alerted him to movement on the camera facing Reagan’s garage.

  Mason’s breath caught when he saw her, dressed in dark jeans tucked into black knee-high boots and a simple black cowl neck sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders. That was the face that had kept him going these last few months.

  His heart was urging him to get in the car, drive to the airport and hop another plane to Fargo so he could be holding her by morning. His cock was screaming, What are you waiting for? But his brain told him he needed to stay away. Watching her on camera was as close as he could get.

  He smiled as she moved about the kitchen, putting water in the tea kettle and pulling out a hot chocolate packet she emptied into a mug. Then she rummaged around the pantry and triumphantly produced a bag of marshmallows.

  Her victorious hip shimmy as she sauntered her way back to the table with her mug was all it took for his brain to be overruled, and he was gathering his things to go to Fargo.

  Except hopping a plane from Grand Rapids, Michigan to Fargo, North Dakota wasn’t quite as easy as catching a plane from Boston to D.C.— there wasn’t exactly a flight available every hour. By the time he reached the airport, the only flight he could get out of Michigan was either to Atlanta, Houston, or Chicago. He boarded the Chicago plane and slept in the airport to catch the first flight out in morning. That was going to get him into Fargo around nine; she’d already be at work by then. He’d have to settle for holding her by tomorrow night.

  Chapter Forty

  Reagan

  Lunch with Ric was nice. He was funny, and nervous, and sweet. Best of all, he didn’t put any pressure on her for a ‘date.’

  “So, I’m thinking about getting a dog,” he confided as she took a bite of her tater tot hotdish in a corner booth at Cracked Pepper.

  “Oh yeah? When?”

  “Maybe after work today.”

  “What kind?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t really decided; I’m trying to leave myself open and thinking I’ll just know when I see him or her.”

  “I’m assuming you’re going to the shelter?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  A dog. She’d never had a dog, although she always wanted one when she was a kid. But she and her sister barely ate on a regular basis; adding a dog to the mix would never have worked. She nodded thoughtfully before asking, “Want some company?”

  His smile was genuine. “Really?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Maybe a dog is exactly what I need in my life.”

  Suddenly the idea of being a dog owner seemed like the best thing in the world, and she perked up in her seat. Reagan did a quick search on her phone. “They’re open until seven, so can you meet there at five?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Her mood was happy for the rest of lunch. She was going to have a four-legged companion to come home to every night. Maybe it would make it feel less lonely when she walked in the door. It wouldn’t be Mason making dinner, but there’d be someone happy to see her at the end of the day. Her new normal. What did Amy call her ninety-pound German shepherd? A fur baby. Reagan was getting a fur baby.

  ****

  Mason

  He was sitting in his rental car in the parking lot of the grocery store down the road from her house, watching his iPad screen for movement. He had slipped inside Reagan’s house and adjusted the cameras in order to have a better view of her moving about when she was home. He’d thought about just staying and waiting until she came home to find him there, but decided against it.

  He was second-guessing his showing up in Fargo at all. He had no idea how to proceed. As Jacob had so eloquently put it, She thinks you’re fucking dead, dumbass.

  How was he going to let her know he was alive without sending her into shock, or worse? Sitting at her kitchen table when she walked in from the garage after work didn’t feel right. Nor did knocking on her front door. But calling or sending a text seemed too impersonal.

  He buried his head in his hands. Fuuuuck.

  His phone beeped with an alert of movement at her front door, and he put the car in drive. She wasn’t home yet, there shouldn’t be activity at her front door. He pulled in three doors down from her house and watched.

  Reagan opened the door and was beaming. Beaming. Then she stepped aside as a floppy-eared black hound with tan ears bounded through like a bull in a china shop. She tugged on the aqua-blue leash attached to an obviously new matching collar with shiny tags as the purse over her shoulder slipped, tangling with the full Petsmart bag looped around her wrist. She unceremoniously dropped the items next to the door.

  “Hold on a second, Walter!” she giggled as she adjusted the lead, then directed her attention outside.

  Another dog walked politely through the threshold, wearing a new pink collar and leash. This pup was black and white with a long, flat coat and withers. It appeared to be a spaniel of some kind and had what looked like freckles on its nose. And attached to the other end of the leash was Ric fuckin’ Casper.

  “Why is Daisy so much calmer than Walter?” Reagan asked with a fake cry.

  Ric shrugged. “She’s a female, and she’s been spayed. Plus I think she’s older than he is. Once he goes in for the surgery, he’ll calm down a lot. I think he’s just excited to have gotten the hell out of the shelter.” He tapped Reagan’s nose. “Not to mention his new mom is a knockout. Can you blame him?”

  Her smile was polite, and she dropped to her knees to rub her dog’s floppy ears. “Thank you again for letting me go with you.”

  Ric kneeled down so he was eye level with Reagan.

  “I had a lot of fun today. I’m glad we were able to go together, and I’m even more thrilled that you adopted Daisy’s kennelmate so they’ll still be able to spend time together.”

  Okay, Romeo, let�
��s move along.

  “We definitely need to get them together again once Walter is recovered from his surgery.”

  Ric stood and offered his hand to help her up.

  “Do you need help getting the rest of the stuff out of your car?” he asked.

  “Nope, I got it. Thank you though.”

  They stood there awkwardly. Please don’t kiss him. Please don’t kiss him.

  Ric coughed into his hand. “Okay, well, let me know if you need any help with him at the vet. Otherwise I’ll just give you a call tomorrow after work?”

  She rubbed his bicep, making Mason’s fingers curl into a fist. “I appreciate the offer, but I got it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  More awkward silence as he didn’t move to walk out the door with his stupid dog. Then he leaned down and kissed her cheek, whispering, “Talk to you tomorrow,” before finally leaving.

  Reagan watched him walk to his car, then closed and locked the door, turned to her new dog, and, with her voice an octave higher than usual, cooed, “Okay, buddy. You wanna see your new home? Come on, let’s go.”

  Mason couldn’t help but chuckle as his sassy pants girl talked to the dog like it was a human and showed him around the house. He could hear her even when he couldn’t see her on camera.

  “And you’ll be sleeping in here with me. Oh, let me go get your bed out of the car.”

  She walked into the garage, leaving the hound alone in the kitchen. He watched as Walter promptly knocked over the garbage can and began digging through its contents.

  Reagan staggered through the door with a dog bed in one hand and her other arm wrapped around what looked to be a fifty-pound bag of dogfood. She really needed to learn how to make two trips.

  She set it down with a thud when she saw what the pup had done.

  “Walter, no! Bad dog!”

  With a sigh, she righted the trash can. “I guess I’ll be needing a heavier one of these with a more secure lid.” She started picking up the mess, including what looked like dead flowers.