Page 18 of Mason

“I met him in prison,” I admit, watching as the pieces start clicking into place for her.

A week. That’s how long I’ve known Clay, and yet I’m helping him. People don’t do things for free, and Shelby’s smart enough to see it. Her thoughts must be racing, trying to untangle the real reason behind my involvement.

So before she can ask the wrong questions, I redirect.

“Why aren’t you surprised that Clay is in jail?”

Her fingers tighten around her cup again. A slight tremor runs through her, but she hides it well.

She shakes her head, glancing down at her tea, then finally takes another sip.

“Because we’re used to the law not being on our side.”

I waitfor her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. Just sits there, staring down at the cup between her hands like the answer is floating somewhere in the steam.

“Mind explaining that?” I prompt, watching her closely.

She sighs, slow and measured, before setting the cup down with a softclinkagainst the table. “Clay’s always been… different.”

I tilt my head, waiting. “Different how?”

She chews the inside of her cheek, considering. “He’s brilliant. Too smart for his own good. Always had this way of seeing things the rest of us don’t.” Her lips press together briefly before she continues. “But he’s also reckless. He doesn’t know when to walk away.”

I don’t miss the sadness laced in her voice.

“Reckless enough to get himself charged with murder?” I ask, testing the waters.

She exhales sharply, running a hand through that autumn-colored hair, her frustration bleeding through. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

I lean forward, bracing my elbows against the table. “You don’t think he did it.”

It’s not a question.

Her eyes flash as they meet mine. “No. I don’t.”

“Then who do you think did?”

Her fingers drum against the table, a nervous tick. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

I smirk. “Try me.”

She studies me for a long moment, weighing her options. Deciding whether or not to let me in.

And then, finally, she speaks.

“I think Clay was framed. And I think it has something to do with David.”

The air in the room shifts. Heavy. The ex-husband.

I settle back in my chair, nodding slowly.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

8

SHELBY

Iused to believe that monsters wore masks. That you could spot them lurking in the shadows, their eyes gleaming with wicked intent.

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