Page 143 of Mason

I sigh and run a palm down my face. I don’t blame him for being suspicious. Cautious. I am, after all, the man in the suit, standing on the opposite side of the fence.

“Eddy was under federal investigation. Human trafficking. Drug smuggling. Asset misappropriation. You name it, he dipped his greasy fingers into it. We had eyes on him for months. He was a key part of the case we’re building. A node in a much larger web.”

Lucky looks at me without looking too invested. He’s good at pretending. I know him well enough to know he’s hanging on to every word as the wheels turn in his head.

“The drugs from the docks?” I remind him. “That stash that went missing? All under Eddy’s watch.”

Lucky leans back, folding his arms across his chest, looking away thoughtfully.

“So, let me guess,” he says as he turns back to face me. “You’re here to ask what I know. Try to sniff out who took him off the board.”

“No,” I say honestly. “I’m here to tell you I don’t care.”

That earns me a raised brow.

“David Eddy deserved whatever the fuck happened to him,” I say, voice low. “If I’d gotten to him first, it wouldn’t have beenquick. So, if someone got to him and put him down like the animal he was?” I shrug. “That’s just good housekeeping.”

Lucky’s grin is slow and sharp. But it gives me nothing. Not even a damn verbal confirmation of what I already know.

“What’s your stake in this?” he asks, straightening to his full height. “Why the heads-up?”

“Because Shelby didn’t deserve what she got. But David did. I should have stopped him a long time ago when I could have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“My superiors weren’t content to get just his head. He’s part of a much wider net with substantially more value than a corrupt Fed.”

“I’ll tell you this,” Lucky says. “Your man was into something much bigger than even you or I could fathom.”

My jaw tightens. “I’m listening.”

He doesn’t give me anything. Just a flicker in his eyes. But it’s enough to tell me what I need to know. He doesn’t trust me yet—but he will again, pretty soon.

I start stitching it together. Building the frame around the hole I’ve left open.

“David was sniffing around Shelby’s house,” I say, talking it out like I’m testing a theory. “Someone was following him. Saw the perfect opportunity—and he met with foul play. Said someone then buried him. Clean. Quiet. Now, I’m not mentioning any names here, because I have no fucking idea who did it. But then, the same crooked people he worked with decided that Shelby knew too much. Sent two hitters after her. Though she somehow survived.”

I watch Lucky carefully. No denial. No confirmation.

Good. It means I’m close.

“That’s a neat timeline,” he murmurs.

“Convenient,” I tell him.

“Believable,” he counters.

We stare at each other for a beat, the silence thick with implication.

Then I nod. “I can work with that.”

“Can you?” Lucky asks.

“I can do more than that,” I say. “I can move the puzzle pieces to fit that version of the story.”

“Why?”

I don’t blink.

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