Mason: The Sinner Saints #4 (11 page)

“Well,” she said. “That sounded like news.”

He nodded, but didn’t look at her.

“Charlie, finally tracked down our mystery thief,” he said. “She was able to pinpoint the apartment building he went into off Mission Street.”

“Does she know if he’s still there?” That was the real question.

“Charlie saw video of him entering the building just a few hours ago.”

Sara’s heart pounded for reasons that had nothing to do with the memory of Mason’s touch. She couldn’t believe Charlie found him. It didn’t seem possible. That guy should be long gone. Charlie’s news was nothing short of miraculous.

“Oh my God, that’s great,” she said. “Just let me go get my…I mean
your
coat, and we can—”

Mason’s hand wrapped around her arm stopping her short. His gaze clashed with hers.

“Don’t get cocky, Sara. We don’t know who this man is.” His voice was firm enough to syphon some of her excitement away. “We don’t know who he’s working for, or how dangerous he is. All we know is that the last few people we’ve come in contact with have tried to kill you.”

Sara’s brows pulled together.

“Are you saying you don’t want me to go?”

“No, of course I don’t. Especially not now.” His eyes lit up with brilliant blue fire as his gaze traced her body. “But I’ve also learned enough about you to know that there’s no way that you’d stay away.”

True.

“Besides, I agreed to let you run this op,” he added.

“Another good reason.” A slow smile spread across her lips as she traced her pointer finger up the buttons of his now wrinkled shirt. “But you’re forgetting the most important one.”

His mouth flattened. “And that is?”

“You need me,” she said simply. “Your brute strength and training might get you into his building, but that doesn’t mean this guy is going to hand over the Evening Star to you. And if he doesn’t, you’re going to need me there to steal it back.”

Mason cocked his chin to the side. “But you’re not a thief.”

“Maybe not,” Sara said, her smile widening. “But I can fake it
real
good.”

Chapter Nine

The traffic on busy Mission Street didn’t slow down at night. If anything, it grew more chaotic as the sunlight faded, and was replaced by the glow of yellow-tinted street lights and brightly-colored neon signs. Cars still sped by on the blacktop, pedestrians still filled nearly every inch of sidewalk, and bicyclists still precariously wove in and out between them.

Mason did his best to keep track of their surroundings as Sara stared at the three-story building Charlie had sent them to, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He’d given up any pretense of keeping a low profile. The entire way here he’d stared openly at people waiting in parked cars or lingering on street corners, assessing the threat level.

So far, he hadn’t found any overt dangers, but that could change at any moment. It would only take a second for mayhem to break out if someone decided to fire another round of
warning shots
into a crowd like this.

The sooner he got Sara off the streets, the better it would be for everyone.

“Can you tell which apartment is his?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch as she concentrated on the four sets of residential windows on the two upper floors. She pursed her lips as she screwed her mouth to the side.

“That one.” She pointed up to the top right corner.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Nope,” she admitted. “But it’s my best guess. The rest have some sort of ornamentation—flower pots, stickers, candles. That one has nothing that draws attention, just sheer curtains so the owner can see out but no one can see in. If I was going to hide out in one of these apartments, it would be that one.”

Mason nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”

He tightened his grip around her waist, and ushered her toward the door offset from the storefront. He tried the handle, but it didn’t budge.

“It’s locked,” he said.

“Let me try,” she said, angling herself in front of him. Mason turned around to check for prying eyes. He didn’t know what she did, but by the time he turned back around she was opening the door.

As he held the door for her, Mason pressed a finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet. Sara nodded, and carefully tiptoed up the steep flight of stained carpeted stairs. Mason stayed close, and gestured toward the correct apartment when they reached the third level. His hand instinctively crept toward his holstered weapon.

To Mason’s surprise, Sara didn’t even touch the knob. Instead, she leaned close to the door frame, running her gaze down the entire length until she was all the way down on her knees. Once there, she just as diligently checked under the runner.

A second later, she rose to her feet. Her expression was flat with concentration, but she held up her open palm and flashed him four fingers, then five.

Forty-five seconds,
she mouthed and pointed to his watch.

Mason quickly shook his head.

Hell no, he wasn’t going to time her. This wasn’t some sort of game. Who knew what was waiting for them on the other side of that door?

Sara shot him an exaggerated frown and pointed at his watch again.

Mason scowled but nodded. What was the harm in pretending if it meant that they got this over with? He lifted his wrist.

Sara smiled and turned toward the door. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pick case. She went to work, beginning with the deadbolt, then moving to the mechanism on the lock.

Every one of her small moves was slow and deliberate. Mason couldn’t hide his amazement. He’d known his share of lock picks in his life, but never one that worked as silently as Sara. He was right up against her and he couldn’t hear a sound.

Not a scrape, or a click. Not even her breath was audible. If he wasn’t watching her, he would have never known she was there.

After she finished with the obvious locks, she knelt down and worked on something about a foot up from the floor, invisible on this side of the door. After a few seconds, she rose and gave a pointed look at his watch.

Damn. She was good.

He flashed her four fingers, then two.

She gave him her best “
yeah, I still got it”
smile. Her pride was contagious. Despite his best intentions he found himself grinning back.

Just for a second, though. They had work to do.

Mason glanced up and down the empty hall, making sure they didn’t have any unwanted onlookers before pulling out his weapon and nodding the signal to Sara. She pushed flat against the hallway wall then quickly twisted the knob and threw open the door.

Mason led the way with the muzzle of his pistol as he stepped into the apartment. He didn’t have to go far to find a target.

The man from the security camera photo sat on a high, hard-backed chair in the dead center of the room. Mason recognized him instantly—the dark blonde hair, the hint of a beard that dusted his cheeks, the cunning blue gaze. The man’s lips curled in a calculated smile when Mason looked him in the eye.

He’d been sitting there the whole time, Mason realized. Sitting and waiting.

He wasn’t armed. At least, he didn’t appear to be. His empty hands dangled over the carved wooden arm rests. But even though he didn’t appear to pose an immediate threat, Mason didn’t trust him to stay that way.

The man had a dangerous edge. Mason could see it in his posture, in the way he held himself, and in the directness of his gaze. This was a confident man, one who knew how to fight. How to kill if he had to…maybe even if he didn’t.

“Get down on the ground,” Mason commanded.

“I’d rather not,” the man said. He spoke with a strange accent that Mason struggled to place. Not British. Not Australian either.

“And I don’t care,” Mason said. He gestured toward the carpet with his weapon for emphasis. “Ground. Now.”

The man didn’t blink.

“Please, don’t misunderstand me,” he said, raising his open palms. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. You’re obviously the dominant force in the room right now. You’re the one in control. But you’ll have to excuse me for not falling to my knees in supplication, because truth is, you’re not the one who’s piqued my curiosity.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mason said, his whole body stiffening.

“Guns may be very effective weapons. They may even command a modicum of respect, but you have to admit they are somewhat crude.”

“Do I now?” Mason held his ground, keeping his aim squarely in the center of the strange man’s chest.

“But a woman who can get through three locks—one of which she couldn’t even see—in less than a minute without making a single sound, now, that’s interesting.”

Mason tightened the muscles of his jaw. It didn’t matter that he agreed. The way this guy called Sara
interesting
made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Mason said, tightening his grip on his pistol. “Because that
woman
is none of your concern.”

The man’s brows arched slightly. His gaze shifted, focusing on a point just beyond Mason’s shoulder. “It seems the lady disagrees with you.”

Mason turned around to see Sara had slipped inside the door. Her eyes were glued to the man.

Damn it.

“How did you know I was there if you didn’t hear me?” she asked.

“Because I sensed you the moment you entered the building.”

“Really?” Her brow crinkled. Mason couldn’t blame her for asking. There was something strange about this man, almost otherworldly. Even though the things he said were ridiculous, he had a way of making them sound almost believable.

“No.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he teased her. “I saw the pair of you staring up at my window from the sidewalk. It wasn’t hard to guess where you were headed.”

Sara nodded slowly, but she stayed close to the door. She might be intrigued by the stranger lounging casually a few feet away, but clearly she didn’t trust him anymore than Mason did.

“Then I guess you know what we’re here for,” she said.

“Of course.” He nodded, but his eyes never left Sara’s. “You want the necklace.”

Mason shifted his stance, inching forward, and forcing the man’s attention back to him…and away from Sara.

“So, you don’t deny that you stole it?” Mason asked.

“Why would I?” The man gave a light laugh. “That was an intriguing night.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Sara said. “You completely bypassed one of the most sophisticated security systems I’ve ever encountered. I’ve been dying to ask. How did you manage it?”

The stranger’s smile grew. “Magic.”

Mason heard Sara let out a disappointed sigh behind him. “No, seriously.”

“Honestly, the details of the theft aren’t what made that night interesting.” The blonde man leaned slightly forward in his seat, his gaze on Sara intensifying. “It was the woman who shadowed me afterwards.”

Mason’s back teeth ground together. He lifted his chin. The man glanced over at him, and Mason thought he spied a knowing look in the man’s almost ethereally clear blue eyes.

“How did you know that was her?” he asked.

“It wasn’t hard,” he said. “Two days ago, I catch sight of a brilliant woman who has somehow followed me halfway across the city on foot without me catching on. Tonight, a woman—same height, same build—manages to get past my locked door. So, either this city is teeming with gorgeous, talented thieves, or your lady really wants that necklace.”

“I’m not
his lady
,” Sara said.

“Does he know that?” the stranger asked Sara. “Because judging by his disheveled hair, the blush that’s burning your cheeks, and the murderous glint that lights up your valiant defender’s eyes anytime I so much as glance your way, I’d bet my last penny that you two are lovers.”

“That’s none of your business,” she said curtly.

He leaned back in his seat. “I’ve been a lot of places, and that phrase is as good as a confession in every single one of them.”

“I’m also not a thief,” she added.

The stranger slowly shook his head. “If that’s true, then it’s a crying shame. You have an amazing amount of talent. With hands-on training, I could teach you to be the best damn thief this world has ever seen.”

Mason bristled at the
hands-on
part.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

The man cocked a brow. “You can’t honestly expect me to tell you that.”

“Actually,” Mason said, glancing down at his weapon. “I can.”

“A compelling argument.” The man held up his palms. “You can call me James.”

“That’s it?” Mason arched his brow. “Just James?”

“It’s more than I know about you,” the man said, shooting him a sharp look.

Mason got the feeling that whoever this
James
was, he wasn’t used to being the one at a disadvantage. One look into the man’s eyes and Mason could see that this was no common criminal. He was close to Mason’s age, and he was obviously experienced—smack in the middle of his prime.

So, what was he doing in this small apartment a couple of floors up from a corner market? Mason glanced around the place for the first time. It was close to empty—a chair, a folding table, and groceries on the counter in the kitchen. He could just make out the corner of a mattress laying on the floor through an open door to his left. If the place wasn’t so clean, he would have guessed that the thief was squatting.

“Well,
James
, now the time’s come to give us the necklace,” Mason said.

“Of course.” He wrapped his hands around the scrolled hand rests of his chair and pushed up.

“Slowly,” Mason reminded him.

“There really is no need to keep waving that thing in my face,” James said with another laugh. “If I had any intention of harming you or the lady, I would have done so already.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll keep it anyway,” Mason said, following a few defensible steps behind as James moved toward the kitchen.

“As you like.” He opened one of the empty cupboards, and pulled out a shoebox-sized silver chest. He placed it on the counter before flipping back the ornate lid.

Mason tried to glance inside. No luck. It was too deep. He couldn’t see the contents.

“Take it out,” Mason commanded. “And don’t get any ideas. I’ve taken men out at a hundred and fifty yards with this weapon.”

“I don’t doubt it.” James dipped his hand inside. When he lifted it up again, the Evening Star—or a very good forgery—dangled from his fingertip. The string of brilliant diamonds sparkled and danced in the overhead light.

“You’re really just going to hand it over?” Sara asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.

“I will, just as soon as you tell me why you want it so badly,” James said. “So far as I can tell, it’s nothing special. Just a string of sparkly rocks.”

“N-nothing special?” Sara sputtered. “That’s the most famous necklace in the whole world.”