Page 97 of End Game

“Done. Where’d you park?”

He raised their clasped hands and kissed her knuckles, then he folded his other hand over the area as if to seal it in place.

Kayla’s conflict meter triggered. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something I need to tell you. Something upsetting.”

She threw up her mental shields and locked in each vertebra. “I’m ready.”

“The police got a match to the blood spatter left at the scene.”

“Someone I know?”

“Mason Wade.”

“Mason?” She could see no deception, no trickery, no personal agenda. Just a messenger with bad news.

Wrong news.

She slid her hand from between his, needing distance to think, to analyze. “There must be some mistake.”

“I’m afraid not. The DNA lab ran the sample twice.”

Kayla’s mind swirled with images of Mason. His laugh, his bad jokes, his fierce protection.

“You think he—” She couldn’t form the words.

He set a palm on her shoulder. Evidently needing to provide comfort as much as she needed the space in order to process such devastating news.

“Let’s take this one step at a time. See where the evidence leads.”

Strategize.

Plan.

Results.

This she could follow, absorb, act upon.

“Have the police taken Mason into custody?”

“Not yet. He wasn’t at his residence. Can you think of where he might be?”

Kayla worked through what she knew about Mason. He had a teenage daughter named Jozi and—. Stunned, she couldn’t recall another family member’s name, nor a friend’s. She couldn’t with any measure of confidence recount what he did for fun or what he liked for dinner.

“I have no idea,” she admitted.

“None?”

“I’m only just realizing how little I know about him.”

“You told me once that he wasn’t available on the weekends. Do you know why?”

“He does personal security contract work a few weekends per month, and one weekend he goes to some camp in the Piedmont.”

“Camp?”

“A place where he gets range time and can keep his tactical skillset up-to-date.”

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