Page 27 of Man of Lies

What a weird place to live.

I killed the engine at the end of the driveway, not wanting to break the uneasy atmosphere with twin exhaust pipes and bad intentions. The place didn’t exactly invite company. The silence here had texture. Ancient branches creaked in the magnolia-scented breeze, night birds called from the leaves, and somewhere nearby, a bullfrog croaked. Sounds over sounds, layered so thick the property seemed to be murmuring.

Maybe that was why Mason didn’t stay here much. He was always at his office or slouched at my bar with that glassy look in his eyes. That man had way too much noise in his head to sit still and listen to the ghosts.

It made tonight an anomaly. He’d told me he was working from home and too buried in deadlines to meet up, but that didn’t stop me from needling him by text. Why would it? Watching him dodge my questions was half the fun. I could practically hear his irritation in every three-dot pause.

“You’re ignoring me, counselor.”

His response had been one word:“Working.”

“At this time of night? In Devil’s Garden? Not safe, sweetheart.”That was bait, but it didn’t land how I’d hoped.

“Home,”he’d replied. Still one word. If he kept that up, it might just hurt my feelings.

“Thought you hated that place,”I fished, though I wasn’t sure it was entirely accurate.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t use the desk.”

“Bet you’re not using the bed, though. Need me to come teach you how to relax?”

I could picture him, hunched over some tiny desk from his high school years, typing away on a laptop while those pretty blue eyes turned bloodshot behind his fancy glasses.

“Good night, Silas.”

“We both know you’re not sleeping.”

That was the last thing I sent. His end stayed silent…but he didn’t tell me to leave him alone.

That was the thing about Mason—he built walls like a pro, but he always left the gate cracked just enough to let someone slip through if they dared. Might as well be me.

I caught myself grinning as I swung off the bike and peeled off my jacket. Mason was going to hate this. He’d accuse me of being reckless and selfish—and he’d be right. But he wouldn’t send me away.

I wheeled the bike into a patch of deep shadow where it wouldn’t be visible. No fence or guard dogs. That was something. Still, I wouldn’t bet against security cameras on a property like this.

I kept to the tree line, boots sinking into the moist earth, and stopped shy of the porch. My gaze swept the mansion as I tugged off my gloves, one finger at a time. My hands were steady, breath even, but every inch of me was on high alert. I wasn’t here to make a scene, especially not with the foster program I knew they ran in the back wing. This wasn’t that kind of visit.

I just couldn’t stay away.

I paused in the shadow of a live oak, tilting my head to get a better view of the house. Midnight had come and gone, and the house had clearly settled for the night. Most of the windows were pitch black, except for two small squares of light at opposite ends of the upper floor. Access to the front window would be bannister to trellis to window ledge. The rear window was one swift climb up the branches arching like a cathedral ceiling overhead.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I leaned against the trunk and thumbed through my contacts until I landed on Mason’s name. I didn’t expect him to pick up. Hell, I’d have bet money on it. But to my surprise, he answered on the second ring.

“What?”

“You got an oak tree outside your window?” I asked casually, eyeballing my footholds in the knotted bark.

“What?”The irritation in his tone wasn’t posturing this time. He sounded like I’d just asked what color underwear he was wearing. That would have probably been better received, all things considered, but damned if that sexy fatigue-rasp didn’t wind me up.

“You heard me,” I said, letting my smile spill out across the phone. “An oak tree. Outside your window?”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by an exhausted sigh and the faint rustle of papers. “Silas, this is the most ridiculous?—”

“Don’t overthink it, sweetheart. Just answer the question.” I lowered my voice a little, twisting it into that smooth, commanding tone he responded to every time. “Do you have an oak tree outside your window?”

He was quiet for so long I was sure he was about to hang up, but then I heard it—an unexpected chuckle.

“Yeah,” he said wryly. “I have an oak tree.”

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