You’re Caroline Lewis?”
She stood to take his hand, and forced himself to look directly into his eyes, no matter how they made her shiver. “Just like the nametag says,” she said, and managed a small smile. “I haven’t seen you here before, Mr. Randall. Are you here for personal finance, or business?”
“Oh, a little of everything,” he said, sitting down in the chair across from her desk. He reached into his pocket, and her whole body tightened; when he pulled out his badge, her heart almost stopped. “And, I should have said. Detective Mike Randall. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about a missing person.”
She tried to keep breathing. She was sure she could do it if she tried.
“Do you know who I’m here to ask about, Ms. Lewis?”
Her heart was absolutely throbbing. She shuffled papers around on her desk, realized she was fidgeting, and made herself stop. “I don’t--my social circle isn’t very wide, Detective, and everyone I know is where they should be.”
“Go ahead and think hard,” he said, and his lizard eyes were gleaming with anticipation.
She wasn’t sure what snapped in her, but it went with a rubber-band pop. “I’m sorry, but I’m really bad at guessing games. If you have questions--about finances, or about whatever you came here about, please ask them. Otherwise, I have work to do.” Her voice didn’t quaver, and she didn’t flinch away from his eyes.
A small expression bent his lips, but she wouldn’t have called it a smile. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He opened it up, and she saw a color copy of one of the pages from the logbooks that Mason had brought her, back when this mess began. A name was circled, again and again, on the page. She hadn’t circled it. She’d known that Mason was going to need to have these books back, untouched, like they’d never left the garage, so she’d kept separate notes. But looking at the books brought back all the memories.
The feel of her hands, tightly bound against the chair behind her. The whisper of Mason’s voice in her ear, the feeling of his fingers brushing against her hand as he tried to pass her a message, a message that she hadn’t understood at all. The top of her head was too light, she was going to float away, fly away, vanish, disappear. She couldn’t breathe.
And the detective was still watching her with that cold expression, that soft, fake, predatory smile, and breathing was not a thing that she could do. Stars danced in her vision, and she wondered what would happen to her if she fainted, if she passed out right now.
“Tell me,” he said, and his voice came from far away, echoing through the tunnel as she fell. “Who is Anna Bressette?”
“She was my sister.” Mason’s voice was so cold and clear that it felt like a dream, but she let it be a line to pull her back to reality from the nightmare where she was drowning. “Baby, is everything okay here?”
“Detective Randall had some questions. About--a missing person, I guess?” Fuck, she’d nearly said Declan’s name. That would have been convenient, wouldn’t it? Fuck.
Mason stood at his full height, broadening his shoulders, crossing his arms, and planting his feet. Moments like this, she knew damn well that he’d been in the military for a long time, that he wouldn’t ever really be out. “If you have questions, Detective, I suspect that they’re really for me.”
Randall stood, matching Mason’s stance with one just as balanced, just as casually aware of the violence that could break free at any moment. “Mr. Butler, I would love for us to talk. But somehow, for an outlaw, you’re shockingly well connected within the legal system.”
Mason stayed silent, watching Randall, but Caroline could see his pale knuckles whitening further, and she was sure Randall could as well. She breathed in a prayer that Mason wasn’t stubborn
She stood to take his hand, and forced himself to look directly into his eyes, no matter how they made her shiver. “Just like the nametag says,” she said, and managed a small smile. “I haven’t seen you here before, Mr. Randall. Are you here for personal finance, or business?”
“Oh, a little of everything,” he said, sitting down in the chair across from her desk. He reached into his pocket, and her whole body tightened; when he pulled out his badge, her heart almost stopped. “And, I should have said. Detective Mike Randall. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about a missing person.”
She tried to keep breathing. She was sure she could do it if she tried.
“Do you know who I’m here to ask about, Ms. Lewis?”
Her heart was absolutely throbbing. She shuffled papers around on her desk, realized she was fidgeting, and made herself stop. “I don’t--my social circle isn’t very wide, Detective, and everyone I know is where they should be.”
“Go ahead and think hard,” he said, and his lizard eyes were gleaming with anticipation.
She wasn’t sure what snapped in her, but it went with a rubber-band pop. “I’m sorry, but I’m really bad at guessing games. If you have questions--about finances, or about whatever you came here about, please ask them. Otherwise, I have work to do.” Her voice didn’t quaver, and she didn’t flinch away from his eyes.
A small expression bent his lips, but she wouldn’t have called it a smile. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He opened it up, and she saw a color copy of one of the pages from the logbooks that Mason had brought her, back when this mess began. A name was circled, again and again, on the page. She hadn’t circled it. She’d known that Mason was going to need to have these books back, untouched, like they’d never left the garage, so she’d kept separate notes. But looking at the books brought back all the memories.
The feel of her hands, tightly bound against the chair behind her. The whisper of Mason’s voice in her ear, the feeling of his fingers brushing against her hand as he tried to pass her a message, a message that she hadn’t understood at all. The top of her head was too light, she was going to float away, fly away, vanish, disappear. She couldn’t breathe.
And the detective was still watching her with that cold expression, that soft, fake, predatory smile, and breathing was not a thing that she could do. Stars danced in her vision, and she wondered what would happen to her if she fainted, if she passed out right now.
“Tell me,” he said, and his voice came from far away, echoing through the tunnel as she fell. “Who is Anna Bressette?”
“She was my sister.” Mason’s voice was so cold and clear that it felt like a dream, but she let it be a line to pull her back to reality from the nightmare where she was drowning. “Baby, is everything okay here?”
“Detective Randall had some questions. About--a missing person, I guess?” Fuck, she’d nearly said Declan’s name. That would have been convenient, wouldn’t it? Fuck.
Mason stood at his full height, broadening his shoulders, crossing his arms, and planting his feet. Moments like this, she knew damn well that he’d been in the military for a long time, that he wouldn’t ever really be out. “If you have questions, Detective, I suspect that they’re really for me.”
Randall stood, matching Mason’s stance with one just as balanced, just as casually aware of the violence that could break free at any moment. “Mr. Butler, I would love for us to talk. But somehow, for an outlaw, you’re shockingly well connected within the legal system.”
Mason stayed silent, watching Randall, but Caroline could see his pale knuckles whitening further, and she was sure Randall could as well. She breathed in a prayer that Mason wasn’t stubborn
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