Page 3 of Silent Sins

His watch buzzed again. Mason gritted his teeth. When Paul wanted something, it had to be now.

Tai Kaholo, his teammate, and the only man in the gym who could outlift him, eyed him over a hefty barbell. “You gonna get that?”

Mason tensed his abs, hefting his own weights higher. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Tai shot him an odd look but stayed silent. Good man. Mason didn’t want to talk about his failure of a brother right now. Or ever.

Paul was the one sore spot in his life, a constant disappointment. This new job could be the start of a new life for Paul, but only time would tell.

Mason finished his workout, pointedly ignoring the phone. Four calls. Then five. He toweled off sweat at the back of the open gym when Graham, their mentor and latest teammate, strode over and shoved the phone into his hands.

“Call your brother,” the older man insisted, expression brooking no argument. Before Mason could respond, Graham walked away, pausing at the door to mime “call now” before disappearing.

Mason stared down at the phone, anger simmering. He was a trained operative, a battle-tested SEAL. So why did the thought of calling his loser brother tie his guts in knots?

Whatever the reason, Paul was not going to go away. Not the guy’s style.

He lifted a quick prayer, asking his Savior for patience, and jabbed at the voicemail icon, steeling himself.

His brother’s confident drawl came over the line. “Yo, my man. You’re one hard hombre to get ahold of. Listen, I need your help. Wait. Don’t hang up. It’s not what you think. I mean yeah, I’m in trouble, but it’s not my fault. Really. I’m …” The confident voice faded, returning as a frightened whisper. “It’s my new job. There’s something really wrong going down here. I need your expertise, bro. I feel like this could get dangerous. Call me. Please?”

It was the please that did it. Paul lied and cheated and blustered. He never begged.

Mason hit redial.

His brother answered on the first ring. “Can’t talk now, Mason,” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the sound of air wrenches and clanging metal. Then Paul continued louder in hearty dude-speak, clearly intending to be overheard. “Bro! It’s been a minute. Can you make it tonight?” He paused, as if listening to Mason’s reply. “Great. We’re hanging at the Triple T. Probably around seven. Come hungry. They’ve got the best steaks in Seattle.”

Mason clenched and unclenched his fist, eyes on the jagged peaks piercing the hard blue sky. Whatever Paul was in the middle of, it was bad.

“Triple T, Seattle. Seven p.m.” Mason repeated the instructions, studying his watch. Kate or Tai would be available to fly him out. They kept the Pilatus ready to roll down the runway at a moment’s notice, and they had no current missions. A three-hour flight time, max, in their private jet. “I’ll be there,” he added. Paul was showing his tell—the empty boasting. Mr. Confidence was running scared.

“You won’t be sorry,” Paul insisted, his voice rich with fake heartiness. “Bring your A game. The way I’m running the pool table lately, you’re gonna need it.”

Alarm bells clanging in his head, Mason stared at the blank screen. The sweat dripping down his sides cooled fast in the autumn chill. He’d never heard his brother so frantic. And his final warning was exactly that: a warning. Code from when they were kids.

“Bring your A game,” meant prepare for trouble.

Back in the day, trouble meant a showdown with angry football players Paul had conned out of money. Or as Paul got older and into deeper trouble, helping him escape a confrontation with the local cops.

Whatever the issue, his brother needed help.

Mason glanced outside at the bright fall sky, resigned. Rescuing his trainwreck of a baby brother was his specialty. Even when it killed him.

He sank down on the bench in the locker area and called out to their virtual Wi-Fi assistant, asking for a Seattle weather report.

“Rain, Pilgrim,” came the reply in the deep John Wayne drawl their cyber expert, Paige, thought was so hilarious. “Then drizzle and more rain.”

Mason glanced at the blue sky visible through the open gym doors. Rain. It figured. With Paul nothing went right.

3

Somewhere behind thethick mass of dark clouds the sun would be thinking about setting. Which meant the workers in the Rain Bay warehouse on the other side of the vast parking lot would head home soon. And Avery could grab that hot shower she’d been dreaming about for the last hour.

She lay prone on the roof across the street, binoculars trained on the single parking lot exit across the way. Rain drizzled down, trickling along her arms where it slipped under the sleeves of her rain slicker. She shifted, the tarpaper digging into her elbows.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. Keeping the binoculars steadied, she awkwardly fished the device from her pocket. A text from Ryan.

U having fun yet?

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