Page 31 of Silent Sins

“You think?”

She grinned, but her eyes were serious. “I’m not into dealing with feelings, either. But maybe … maybe Paul felt shoved into the role of rebel.”

“Can’t imagine how.”

“Go with me a sec. Was there ever anything you weren’t good at as a kid?”

Mason thought about it. He’d been a decent student, a hard worker. A leader and a star athlete. “Probably not, no.”

“So think about how hard of an act that would have been to follow,” Avery pointed out gently.

Mason felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “You’re saying I didn’t leave any room for Paul to excel.”

Avery shrugged. “It’s just something to think about. But I’m an only child, so I’m not exactly an expert.”

“You sound pretty expert to me,” Mason said, impressed despite himself. “That’s a lot of shrink-speak.”

“Impressed?”

“That’s one word for it,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t quite keep the smile from his face.

Avery laughed, the sound warm and rich, and Mason felt something in his chest loosen. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked like this with anyone, the last time he’d let someone see beneath the surface.

But as much as he wanted to stay in this moment, duty called. He tucked the sniper rifle back into his backpack and reached for the door handle.

“Go time,” he said, his voice brisk. “I’ll text when I’m ready to be picked up.”

Avery nodded, her expression sobering. “Be careful out there.”

Mason flashed her a grin, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest. “Always am.”

He slipped out of the car and into the misty morning, the weight of his backpack a familiar comfort against his shoulders. As he jogged up the hill to take up his position, he pushed aside the thought of leaving, of walking away from Avery and the unexpected connection they’d forged.

For now, he had a job to do. He just hoped this little mission would get Avery the evidence she needed. The rest … well, the rest could wait.

18

Avery grippedthe steering wheel of Mason’s rental car, her knuckles turning white as she followed his directions through the earpiece. He was a mile down the road, waiting for her to pick him up like some sort of secret agent. The streets were empty, and the misty morning made the suburban neighborhood feel like the set of a horror movie.

As she turned the corner, she spotted him emerging from the side of a picture-perfect house, looking like he’d just stepped out of a Tom Cruise action flick. Black tech clothing, a black backpack slung over his shoulder—the whole nine yards. She had to admit, the man knew how to make an entrance.

Mason strode toward the car, his movements so fluid she half expected him to break into a choreographed dance number. Her heart started doing its own little tango as he approached, a mix of excitement and dread coursing through her veins.

He rapped on the window. “Out,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

She bit back a snarky comment about his lack of manners. So much for Mr. Sensitive. But hey, she didn’t need a soft guy. She needed a dangerous one, and Mason fit the bill. She slid out of the car, the damp air sending a shiver down her spine, and moved to the passenger side.

Mason got behind the wheel and handed her a small device with a screen that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie. “Tracker,” he explained, his tone clipped. “It’s reading the RFID tag on the delivery van.”

She studied the screen, trying to make sense of the blinking dot. “Fancy. How’d you get your hands on this kind of tech? Raid a NASA surplus store?”

Mason shrugged, his eyes fixed on the road. “Perks of our new business.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Right. And what exactly is this new business of yours? Spy Gadgets R Us?”

He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was getting herself into something way over her head. The high-end tracking equipment, the black ops getup—it all screamed trouble. She glanced over at Mason, taking in his chiseled profile and the way his hands gripped the steering wheel like he was ready to take on the world.

Part of her wanted to demand answers, to know just what kind of “perks” his new gig provided. But another part of her was afraid to ask. Her stomach churned, and she regretted the greasy breakfast sandwich she’d scarfed down earlier.

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