“Not exactly,” Sara admitted. “I didn’t really expect to come home tonight.”
“Because you thought you’d be in jail,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but Sara felt compelled to explain anyway.
Sara shrugged as she folded her legs underneath her. She reached over and grabbed her plate. “The accommodations may be lousy, but you have to admit the place does cut down on your grocery bill.”
Mason narrowed his eyes. “Not that you would know anything about that.”
“I’ve heard enough to know.” She took a swig of beer. It was decent, but now seeing that it might be one of her last ones, she suddenly wished she would have sprung for the good stuff. “Trust me.”
“So, you’re really not a thief,” he said.
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Actually, it is.”
Sara bobbled her head as she pulled together her first taco. He wasn’t the first to make the assumption. He wouldn’t be the last.
“For you and everybody else it seems,” she said. “Too bad it happens to be the truth.”
Mason’s brows rose slightly. He leaned away from the table and closer to her. “Including this Malcolm guy?”
“Yeah, including Malcolm.”
“So, if you’re not a thief, what do you do for a living?”
“I work in a cafe.”
He arched a brow. “Not as a cook, I’m guessing.”
“I make coffee,” Sara said with a soft laugh. For someone that made his living seducing secrets out of people, Mason was ridiculously easy to see through. “And I know what you’re doing. We have a bet. So, quit stalling and try your carnitas.”
He made a show of letting his face fall, but he couldn’t quite seem to scrub away his smile. “That obvious?”
“Yeah,” she said, grinning right along with him.
He reached over and started peeling back the foil from his paper plate. He glanced down at piles of meat, cheese, and fresh salsa, before raising a skeptical brow.
“I’m scared,” he said jokingly, picking one up. “Hold my hand?”
“Coward.” Sara held her breath as he finally closed his eyes and raised one of the soft corn tortillas to his mouth. “Well? And don’t you dare lie.”
His jaw stopped moving. His eyes popped open. “These are the best damned tacos I have ever tasted.”
Sara threw her hands straight up in victory. “Told you.”
Mason grabbed the cold glass bottle at his side. His brow crinkled as he took a sip. “And that is a seriously mediocre beer.”
Sara couldn’t hold back the giggle that bubbled up in her throat. “But we didn’t place any wagers on the beer.”
“Fair enough,” he said, already stuffing another bite into his mouth.
“So, you’ll stop pumping me for information?”
“Hell no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll just go a different route. One you can’t resist.”
Sara cocked her head to the side. “Oh, really?”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. Already know you’re a gambler, and you were kind enough to show me what you care about,” he said, lifting his plate. “So, I guess now it’s my turn to bet you.”
His tone was playful, but Sara guessed his intentions were anything but. So, why couldn’t she stop her silly grin? “Go on.”
“I’ll answer a question from you, then you’ll answer one of mine. We’ll go back and forth. The first to balk forfeits their last taco.”
Sara’s brows shot up. “You want to play taco chicken?”
“I guess I do.” Little crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes as he gazed into hers. “Do we have a deal?”
“I don’t know,” Sara said. “How can I be sure you’re telling the truth?”
“I’m not the one who uses a fake name.”
“It’s not fake,” she said. “Hope is my middle name. I use it in lots of situations where people might judge me for being a Baumgartner.”
“Nice of your parents to give you such an easy alias.”
“They didn’t mean to,” she said before chomping down on a chip. “They named me after the Hope Diamond—the only jewel my parents were unsuccessful in stealing.”
“Not the Evening Star?” Mason asked, his brows arching.
“They never made an attempt on that one. It was always locked up tight in a private collection,” she answered. “Okay. My turn.”
“Wait. That wasn’t my first question.”
“Then you shouldn’t have asked it,” she said, putting the rest of her dinner back down on the table. “Why did you help me escape from the police?”
“Because I know I can help you get your mom and dad back better than they can.”
Sara shook her head. “Now who’s the liar?”
“It’s true,” he said. “I’ve had years of experience in hostage situations.”
“I don’t doubt that.” He exuded the kind of calm control that was vital in a negotiator. “It’s the bit where you expect me to believe that you care what happens to a couple of criminals.”
“I care about what happens to your parents.”
“Why?”
“Technically, that’s your third question.”
“Answer anyway.”
His eyes took on that same steady intensity they’d had back in the alley. “Because where I come from we don’t leave people behind. No matter who they are.”
Sara straightened at his answer. She knew better than to trust a slick-talking Face Man, but damn if that didn’t sound like the truth.
Or maybe she just wanted it to be.
Either way, he didn’t waste any time before asking his own question.
“Why did you try to throw the Russian off my scent back in the alley?”
Sara shrugged her shoulders. Wasn’t it obvious?
“I was worried that he might hurt you,” she said. “Of course, that was before I found out you could take care of yourself. Where did you learn to fight like that anyway?”
“Army Special Forces.”
“Oh.” Sara’s lips pulled together. “That’s…terrifying.”
“Only if you’re my enemy.”
“That’s the thing,” Sara said. “I’m not exactly sure where I stand.”
He leaned forward a few inches. “I would never hurt you, Sara.”
“But what if things had gone to plan, and I had been the one who’d stolen l’étoile tonight? Would I have been your enemy then?”
“No.” He slowly shook his head. “The second you walked into the museum this morning, I could see that something was wrong.”
“How?”
“It was written all over your face. Your body. The tension in your jaw. The line of your shoulders. The stiffness in your hips as you walked.” Awareness swept through Sara as Mason’s gaze lingered on the parts he described. “You didn’t want to be there.”
Sara cleared her throat. “You’re very observant.”
“I just see what’s in front of me,” he said. “So, tell me about Malcolm.”
“He’s a scary son of a bitch.”
“People have said the same thing about me.”
After seeing him take down the Russian, Sara didn’t doubt it. If Mason really did have a Special Forces background, she had a feeling that she’d only seen a fraction of what he was capable of. Still, it was a hell of a long way from shattering the nose of one nameless hitman to taking down Malcolm Van Zandt.
Mason must have sensed her doubt because he leaned closer and covered her hand with his. There was nothing overtly flirtatious in his touch. She didn’t feel anything but comfort, didn’t see anything but sympathy in his eyes. So, why did her skin practically sizzle with heat?
“Sara, I can’t help you if I don’t know who we’re up against. You said so yourself.”
“Fine,” she said and let out a long sigh. He was right. He was better off knowing the truth. Maybe then he’d finally see the futility of this fight for himself. “Malcolm r
uns the West Coast art black market.”
“Sounds impressive,” Mason said. “But hardly untouchable.”
“That’s because you don’t know the man,” she said. “Other people build operations. Malcolm’s built a damned empire, one that moves hundreds of millions of dollars in illegal goods every year. He’s successfully evaded every federal and international agency that’s come knocking on his door over the last two decades.”
“Because he blackmails victims into taking the fall for his crimes?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “Everyone knows how merciless he is. That’s why no one turns on him. That’s why hardly anyone has the guts to say no to him.”
“Hardly anyone.” Mason’s eyes narrowed. “But your parents said no, didn’t they? Why?”
Sara shrugged. Somewhere deep inside, she wanted to believe it was because they were finally reforming, but she knew better.
“Could have been anything. It was too high-profile a target. The security too tight. The cut too low. Could be that my father is just a stubborn pain in the ass.” Her voice broke at the end, but she kept going. “It didn’t help that Malcolm, like everyone else, believed that I was just like them, that I was a thief.”
“Could you have pulled off the heist?”
“I wouldn’t have gotten away with it, not without a crew or more time to plan,” she said. “But I came up with a way to get the necklace out of the museum and all the way to the drop site. That was all that mattered.”
“And you could do all that, and you still say you’re not a thief.”
“Just because I have the skills doesn’t mean that I use them,” she said, starting to feel desperate for a change in the conversation. “Could you have killed that man in the alley tonight?”
“Yes.”
Sara sucked in a breath and waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “Just yes?”
“Yes. Easily.”
She pressed her spine into the cushions behind her. “So, why didn’t you?”
“Because I needed him to bring a message back to the people he works with.”
“That’s it?” she asked. “If you didn’t need to warn his boss, then the poor guy would be dead now?”
“The poor guy?” Mason gripped her hand a little tighter. “The man wanted to kill you, Sara. He would have done it in a heartbeat. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
“Why?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It’s my turn. What’s the Kelham job?”
Sara’s heart sank in an instant. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Sara—”
“It’s the truth, Mason,” she said. “I don’t want you to think that I’m not grateful for everything you’ve done for me tonight. I am. But deep down I still don’t believe we have any chance of beating Malcolm. Which means that I have to accept his terms. And that you need to walk away before you get pulled in any deeper.”
Sara squared her shoulders as Mason’s lips tightened. The intense look in his eyes sharpened, and for a moment it felt less like he was staring at her as much as seeing right inside her.
“All right,” he finally said with a slow nod. “But not tonight. After that attack, I want to make sure that no one is coming through your door.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She shook her head.
“So am I,” he said, his tone firm. “Because I’m going to stay while you get some sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” she protested.
“Yes, you are. Judging by the dark circles under your eyes, you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in at least a couple of days,” he said.
Three, actually. Not that Sara was going to admit to it.
“And what’s worse, you’ll be going to bed hungry,” he continued. “Because by not answering that last question you have officially forfeited your last taco.”
The corners of his lips lifted as he reached over and grabbed the last one off her plate…but this time the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Chapter Five
Creak.
Mason shifted against the cushions. He’d dozed for the last quarter hour, so he only had a few more minutes left for this session. Resting for no more than twenty minutes at a time meant that he stayed sharp, but didn’t dip down far enough into the sleep cycle to become unaware of what was happening around him.
Like the groan of rusted hinges opening just outside the window.
His eyes popped open, and he slid off the couch. He pressed against the wall as he pulled the blinds back. The first light of dawn was just starting to filter over the hills, bathing everything in a faint golden light.
From this angle, he couldn’t see a soul in the narrow walkway that ran between Sara’s building and the next. But he could hear someone.
Two distinct heavy footsteps sounded on the hard pavement. Whoever was down there didn’t seem overly concerned with stealth. The reason came a moment later when the unmistakable clatter of garbage cans being moved echoed off the walls.
Mason let his shoulders fall.
So, he was jumping at garbage men now.
He doubted anyone would blame him. Not after everything that had happened last night. Sara Baumgartner knew how to land herself in some serious trouble, even if she wasn’t a thief.
And Mason was certain that she wasn’t. Any doubt had disappeared within a few minutes of stepping foot in her apartment.
It wasn’t just that the place was small, it was that everything inside was so clearly hers. The books in the case were all time-worn paperbacks with deeply creased spines. The framed posters and pictures on the wall were obviously personal—family photos, keepsakes from concerts, snapshots from her travels, no place far. Even the trinkets decorating the corners were worn and inexpensive, feeling more sentimental than valuable. Nothing in the apartment felt out of place, everything was Sara.
She wasn’t someone who stole for a living. He could tell just by looking in her eyes that she was the kind of woman that had earned every last thing she had. Which admittedly wasn’t much.
He didn’t fully understand why yet. With her skills and knowledge she could be living in a place much nicer than this. So, why wasn’t she? What had made her forsake the family business? Of course, he’d have to wait until she woke up to figure that one out.
Not that he was in any rush. She needed the sleep, and he was still holding out hope that it had been exhaustion talking last night when she’d tried to get rid of him again. After all, it had taken her forty whole minutes to give up the fight and fall asleep on the couch. She’d barely stirred when he’d slipped his arms underneath her and carried her to bed. Maybe a few hours of solid sleep would help clear her head, help her listen to reason.
Because Mason had a feeling if this Malcolm Van Zandt was half as dangerous as she believed, then Sara was going to need the full force of Macmillan Security behind her if she and her parents had any chance of surviving.
He had already texted Charlie with leads he needed researched. He’d wait until the daylight grew a little stronger before calling Carter with updates. Something told him, the Captain wasn’t going to be too happy about this turn of events.
What else was new?
Then Mason caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He froze, straining to listen to the sounds outside…but there was nothing to hear.
No footsteps. No rolling wheels. No metal hinges. Nothing at all.
That wasn’t exactly true. He could make out a faint scratching noise, except it wasn’t coming from the walkway outside. It was coming from Sara’s front door.
Mason snapped his head just in time to see the door knob jiggle.
Damn it. The pair had split up. Now he was facing a double-pronged attack. Suddenly, he was grateful that Sara’s place was so small. Closer quarters gave him an advantage. Not a huge one, but he’d take what he could get.
Taking care not to make a sound, Mason stepped from his position by the wall and en
tered her kitchen area. He wrapped a hand around the largest knife on her counter and slowly slid it out of the block.
She must eat a lot of take out, because the thing looked practically unused and factory sharp. Perfect.
Keeping his back to the wall, he moved into the center of the room, readying himself for whichever side made their move first—window or door.
He thought about warning Sara, but quickly discarded the idea. She was safer where she was—flat on her mattress. Any sudden movements would only tip off the man on the other side of the window and make her a bigger target.
Besides, Mason had a feeling she’d be receiving a pretty rude wake-up call any moment now. He wasn’t wrong.
The scratching at the door stopped. The knob slowly and silently turned. He tightened his grip on the knife handle, drew in a deep breath, and waited for the inevitable.
A second later, the door crashed open and a tall, lanky man rushed in, weapon at the ready. Mason’s patience paid off. He didn’t have to make a move. Three running steps and the intruder practically came to him.
All Mason had to do was use the blade as an extension of his hand as he stepped away from the wall. In one smooth motion, he sliced the cutting edge along the man’s forearm, from wrist to elbow, moved behind him, and kicked the door closed.
The attacker let out a scream as his Glock fell from his blood-soaked grip.
Sara shot up on the bed. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open, but nothing came out.
“Sara, get down,” Mason shouted.
She blinked, but didn’t move. Hell, she wasn’t fully awake. She was probably still half caught in a dream, unable to move even if she wanted to. It would take her brain another couple of seconds to catch up with reality.
Too bad she didn’t have that luxury.
Mason reacted for her. He shoved the man hard in the center of his back, propelling him forward. He stumbled into the center of the room just as a loud crack sounded and the window above the sofa shattered.
The guy Mason had been fighting jerked hard, before collapsing to the floor. More blood poured from his shoulder.
“O-oh my God,” Sara sputtered, her eyes clear and lucid now. “He’s been shot.”
Mason: The Sinner Saints #4 Page 6