Mason: The Sinner Saints #4 (9 page)

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know where this sudden change had come from. She shifted her gaze to the people moving on the street below.

“You know what I really want?” she said, after a few seconds had ticked by. “The only thing I’ve ever really wanted?”

“What’s that?”

“To be normal,” she said.

“Normal?” There was a note of surprise in his voice. “And who’s normal?”

“They are,” she said, waving her hand in front of the window. “All the people out there, going about their lives, ready to start another day.”

“You do know that San Francisco probably isn’t the best city to hold up as the bastion of normalcy,” he said with a soft laugh.

“I don’t know. They seem to be doing all right,” she said. “The truth is I envy them. I always have, with their nine to five work days. Maybe catch a drink after. Maybe just go home and catch a sitcom with the family. Get up the next day, and do it all again.”

“Sounds boring.”

A brief smile flickered across Sara’s lips. “My parents used to say the same thing when I was growing up.”

Among other things.

You don’t know what you’re saying, Sara
, they’d say.
You don’t want to live the life of a mark. Those people go to their graves never even knowing what it feels like to live
.

But even as her parents and their friends had dismissed the life of an everyday person as banal and unremarkable, Sara had yearned for the safety those people knew, the security.

“And what’s so appealing about the life of the everyday person?” Mason asked.

“It’s silly,” she said, feeling herself close off at the laughter in his voice. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“So, explain it to me,” Mason said. He inched closer. “I’m listening.”

Sara drew in a deep breath. Why not? It wasn’t as if she had any more secrets to keep. It seemed he knew them all.

“It’s the little things,” she said. “The way they don’t have to clear bank vault blueprints off the dinner table before they can set it. Or how they go to bed every night not fearing that the police are going to pound on their door at three o’clock in the morning. Or not knowing that sick feeling that fills up your stomach every time one of your
uncles
picks you up from school because mom and dad got pulled in for questioning again.”

“Why do I get the feeling that we’re no longer speaking in the abstract?”

Sara shrugged. “My childhood might have been a little different than yours.”

“Not as much as you think,” he said. “My parents weren’t thieves. I guess you could say they were on the opposite end of the spectrum. Very pious. Very severe. Very strict.”

“Really?” Sara lifted her gaze to his. The honesty she found there captured her instantly. “It’s hard to imagine you being happy in a situation like that.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “When I was a kid, I used to sit in my room, staring out the window, and dream of adventure and excitement.”

“Is that why you joined the Army?” she asked.

“Actually, that was my father’s decree,” he said, cocking his head to the side, as a wide contagious smile spread across his face. “But what I did with my life once I was in, that was all me.”

“I take it you’re no longer close to them?”

His gaze shifted away from hers and out to the city.

“Actually, I am,” he said, letting out a long breath. “Our relationship is better now than it’s ever been. I love them for who they are, and they’ve come to accept me…in their own way.”

“Wait,” Sara said, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Is this your not-so-subtle way of trying to convince me that you know me?”

Mason shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Just that I understand why you’re willing to risk your life to save your parents even though you’re nothing like them. I wish you’d see that there’s another way, but I understand. That’s all.”

His voice had turned soft—a gentle whisper against her ear. The intimacy of the moment stirred something deep inside her. She turned and met his gaze.

“That’s the terrible thing, Mason,” she said, her voice low. “I’m not different. I’m just like them. That’s why, no matter how much I’ve talked about wanting a normal life, I’ve failed at it time and time again.”

“You’re not like them.”

“Yeah. I am,” she said. “How do you think I knew how to break into this office today? How do you think I was going to be able to pull off stealing the Evening Star? My grandmother might have taught me how to pick a lock when I was five, but I was the one who kept it up. I was the one who spent nights and weekends practicing, poring over manuals, learning new skills. And you know why? Because it was fun. Because of the thrill I got every time I beat something they said couldn’t be broken. Because of the joy I felt every time that something new opened for me.”

The admission poured out of her.

“So, how can I say that I’m not like them?” she went on, her words growing more and more frantic. “Tell me, how can I stand here and pretend that normal was ever an option for someone like me?”

“Stop it, Sara,” Mason said, clasping his hands around her shoulders.

But she couldn’t. Now that she’d started, she didn’t think she could stop if she tried. She’d never said any of this out loud before. Not to anyone. Hell, most days she wouldn’t even admit it to herself.

“How can I believe even for a second that I’m not getting exactly what I deserve?”

“Stop.”

He pulled her in tight, nestling her against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, strong and steady. He didn’t let go. Not until the worst of the fire had burned through her and her breathing had slowed.

Only then did he loosen his hold.

The second he did, embarrassment flooded her. She tucked her head down, desperate to hide her face.

Mason wasn’t having any of that though. He caressed his fingers down the side of her cheek to her chin. Gently, he lifted her head back up.

“Let’s get something clear,” he said. “No one deserves what’s happening. Not your mom and dad, and not you. Got it?”

“But—”

“No
buts
, Sara,” he said. “There is a wide chasm between justice and savagery. I’ve spent most of my adult life fighting the tyrants that don’t know the difference between the two. Everyone here has.”

“And you think you can bring down Malcolm?”

“No.” His eyes didn’t leave hers as he slowly shook his head. “But I know you can.”

Sara’s brows knit together. Those were the last words she expected to come out of his mouth. “What?”

“You might have just spouted a whole lot of bullshit, but you were right about one thing, Sara,” he said. “You’re not normal. You’re never going to be. You might want to be like your little silver hairpin, plain and unnoticed, but you’re not. You’re the shimmering diamond that no one can take their eyes off of.”

Sara’s lips parted. No one had ever talked about her that way. No one. For the first time, his words didn’t sound slick or calculated. They sounded…real. True. She didn’t know how to respond. Except with more truth.

“You know that’s not necessarily a good quality for a thief.”

“That’s okay.” He smiled, leaning in closer. “You’re not actually a thief.”

“I’m not a fighter either,” she said.

“Liar,” he teased. He raised a hand to push back her hair. “I could tell you were fighting the first moment I laid eyes on you. And you’re still fighting now.”

“I must not be a very good one, if you’re still around,” she shot back.

His eyes sparkled with laughter…and something a little deeper. “I know that’s because you don’t really want to be rid of me. We’ve been over this.”

“You’re sure?” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“I am,” he said, leaning closer, his lips dangerously close to her own.

“Not about
that.
”
Sara rolled her eyes. It seemed the man never missed an opportunity to make a move, not even when they were busy baring their souls. “Do you really think that I can go head to head with Malcolm and win?”

Mason looked her straight in the eye. “I don’t know anyone else who can. It’s like you said, no one knows him like you do. No one has more on the line. You have everything—the opportunity, the knowledge, the skills…” He trailed off. He was leaving something out, waiting for her to say it. Wanting her to be the one to make the call.

Sara met Mason’s eyes.

“I’d need is a crew to back me up.”

“I think I might be able to round up a few guys,” he said, the corner of his lips quirking up.

Sara pushed back, out of his embrace. She pointed her finger at the center of his chest.

“But here’s the deal, you would have to listen to me,” she said.

“Sounds fair.”

“All of you. Even Carter,” she said. “I mean it. I would be the one calling the shots. No matter what.”

“No matter what,” he agreed with a nod.

She narrowed her eyes. “And everyone is just going to go along with my plan, even if it sounds crazy?”

“Whatever you come up with, I can assure you we’ve heard crazier.”

“You’re certain?”

Mason let out a small sigh then turned and walked over to Carter’s desk. He made a show of pulling out the chair and swiveling it toward her.

Sara narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“This is the boss’ chair,” he said. “It’s yours now.”

She raised a brow. “You’re sure?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Sara,” he said with a laugh. “Just sit in the damn chair already.”

Sucking in a deep breath, she moved away from the window and sat. Mason spun her back around so she faced the desk.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

“Good,” she admitted. “Cushier than I figured Carter would like.”

“He’s always been a secret softie,” Mason said. He walked around to the front of the desk, and pulled a chair in close. “So, now, what do we need?”

“First things first, we need to find the necklace. Malcolm can’t believe for even a second that we’ve taken our eyes off the prize.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “Then?”

Sara pressed her lips together tight and screwed them to the side as she thought.

“After that, things might get a little complicated.”

Chapter Eight

“We should go home.”

Sara blinked several times before looking up from the computer in front of her. “Excuse me?”

A slight smile lifted his lips when her gaze finally met his. He’d been sitting across from her most of the day, staying by her side as members of his team had filtered in and out of the office. He’d said it was because he didn’t want to stop working to track down where Malcolm was holding her parents, not even for a minute, but Sara had a feeling the real reason was slightly more complex.

While Mason might trust her ability to take on the head of a major crime syndicate, it was obvious that his friends did not.

But they did trust Mason. That much was crystal clear. Having him literally stand behind her gave her a credibility she wouldn’t have had otherwise.

And, though she’d never admit it out loud, her own courage was shored up knowing he had her back. There was something magical about his confidence. It seemed to rub off on whoever was around, and she was no exception.

Of course, that wasn’t the only feeling he inspired.

She hadn’t forgotten the heat that had kindled inside her when he held her tight, or pushed back her hair, or looked her deep in the eyes.

Just like he was right now.

“It’s time to call it a day,” he said again. “It’s getting dark out.”

Sara kicked her chair around so that she faced the windows.

“Damn,” she muttered. He was right. The sky had gone dark. The only light came from the buildings across from them, and the glow of the street lamps far below. “When did that happen?”

“About an hour ago,” he said, standing. He took his jacket from the chair and slipped it over his arm.

“How did I not notice?” Sara asked, taking a moment to roll out her shoulders and neck. Dang, that felt good. She wasn’t used to spending all day stuck in a chair. Her body was tied up in knots.

“You were focused on what you were doing. It happens,” he said. “You could use some rest. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

She lifted her arms above her head and arched her back. “You know I can’t go home.”

“Not yours,” he said. “Mine.”

Sara froze mid-stretch. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Oh, so many reasons. Most of them having to do with the flutter deep in her belly when he arched his brows and tilted his chin slightly to the side.

Like he did now.

Of course, she wasn’t about to tell him that. Not when she had so many other good excuses lined up.

“Because there’s still work to do,” she said, lowering her arms.

“And a whole team of people working on it,” he shot back. “People who are running on a better night’s sleep.”

“But what about safety?” she asked. “If the South Africans managed to track me to my place, they could track us to yours.”

“They won’t. I’ll borrow one of Carter’s cars tonight. One that nobody is looking for,” he said, digging into Carter’s desk and pulling out a set of keys. “And even if they find us, my building is very secure.”

“No place is impenetrable,” she countered. “What if they did manage to get inside?”

His eyes hardened. “They would regret it.”

Sara glanced away. She didn’t doubt it. He’d proven time and again that he was very good at taking care of unwanted visitors. Which meant she was fresh out of excuses.

He knew it too. A knowing smile lifted his lips. He moved around the corner of the desk. A devilish gleam shone in his eyes.

“Unless, of course, there’s some other reason you’re hesitant to spend the night in my apartment,” he said, coming to a stop in front of her.

She glared up at him without raising her head.

“None that I’m willing to admit,” she said.

He let out a little laugh as he held out his hand. “All right. If that’s how you want to play this.”

She stared at his outstretched palm before pushing up from the chair on her own. “Oh, it is.”

She turned toward the door, but Mason stopped her before she took a step. He held out his jacket. “Here, put this on.”

Sara’s brows pulled together. “Why? I already have a coat.”

“That half the city knows,” he said. “Wear mine.”

“I thought we agreed that I was the one calling the shots now.”

“You are,” he agreed. “When it comes to bringing down Malcolm. My job is to make sure that you stay safe while you do it. So, put on the damned jacket.”

Sara’s shoulders rose and fell as she took in a deep breath. It wasn’t worth fighting over.

She snatched the jacket from his hand, slipped her arms inside and immediately shot him a look. The thing was huge. She could have easily wrapped it around herself twice.

“Yeah, this is
much
better,” she said.

Humor sparkled in his cobalt eyes. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to wear it long. Just keep your head down when we get outside the office, and stay close to my side. Got it?”

“Yeah, I think I can handle walking to a car.”

He pulled up the collar, and suddenly she was surrounded by his scent, all clean and spicy and alluring. Maybe being enveloped by a giant swath of his fabric wasn’t so bad after all.

He wrapped his arm around her waist the moment they passed through the door. He tucked her in tight to his side as they moved through the corridors of the office and to the elevators.

Apparently, he hadn’t been kidding about the whole
staying close
thing. She opened her mouth, ready to argue, out of habit more than anything else, but she stopped. The man was just doing his job after all, right?

And it was a job that he was damned good at. She would have been dead twice over—three times if you asked Mason—if it wasn’t for him. So, why did she feel the impulse to fight whenever he got too close?

Maybe that was the problem. As good as he was at saving her life, he was twice as good at getting close to her.

It wasn’t the physical closeness she was worried about. After all, she’d played around with plenty of guys but none of them got anywhere near her private life. But here she was, not even forty-eight hours into her relationship with Mason and he already knew more about her than anyone outside her family.

He’d been to her home, knew her favorite food, her secret dreams. She’d run the whole range of emotions by his side—anger, joy, fear, relief. She’d laughed at his jokes. Blushed at his smiles. She’d even flirted back.

But to top it all off, she’d almost broken down in his arms today. And that never happened. Not with anyone.

Not since she was in the sixth grade and Stephanie Neiman, one of the cool girls at school, claimed her makeup bag had disappeared from her locker. Of course, there had only been one person to blame.

Sara had walked out of class that day and straight into a mob of popular kids. They’d closed around her in a circle, pushing and shoving, calling her names.

Skank.

Scum.

Thief.

They didn’t stop, not even after she fell. Not until Mrs. Cortez had come running out of the office to break it up.

The kids had scattered after that, but the damage was done. She’d run home, her eyes filled with tears.

Her parents had soothed her wounded pride and cleaned her scraped knees, but their words weren’t exactly the ones that Sara had been looking for.

You’re too soft, Sara.

You need to toughen up.

Never let anyone break you.

In a way her parents were right. She’d let the wrong people get to her. She’d grown up surrounded by thieves and con men. She’d faced down the best cops and investigators in the world. And the one person she’d let break her was some rosy-cheeked, pig-tailed cheerleader.

Looking back, it made sense. Stephanie Neiman was popular, pretty, and accepted—the perfect embodiment of everything that Sara wasn’t. And everything she desperately wanted to be.

Sara tried to shake the memory as the elevator doors slid open and Mason ushered her into the lower-level garage. He led her to a slick-looking silver car.

“
This
is Carter’s car?” she said, running her hand over the low roof as Mason opened the passenger door for her.

“One of them,” he said.

She turned toward him. “Does he have anything slightly less flashy? I thought we were trying to keep a low profile.”

Mason shook his head. “For Carter, this is downright understated.”

Sara let out a long breath as she slid inside. Mason slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Sara jerked as the roar echoed off the concrete walls.

“What was I worried about?” she said. “We’ll have no trouble blending in with this thing.”

Mason’s smile only grew as he pressed the accelerator and the car raced forward. Sara slid back in her seat and grabbed onto the handle above her door for dear life as he took the first turn. She tightly clenched her eyes shut.

She wouldn’t have to worry about Malcolm finding her after all. She was obviously going to die any moment. Just as soon as Mason wrapped this beast around one of the support pillars.

Sara snuck a peek when the car straightened out. By some miracle, they’d managed to make it onto the city streets. She glanced over at Mason. His smile was wider than she’d ever seen.

“I take it your parents never invited their getaway drivers over for poker night,” he said.

“Oh, they did.” She braced herself as he whipped the car around a corner. “They just never let them pick me up from school.”

“More’s the pity.”

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” she said.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. “Carter doesn’t loan his cars out often, and I like to take advantage of every opportunity. Even if it’s for less than a mile.”

He slowed down at the entrance to one of the city’s newest luxury residential towers. Sara couldn’t swallow the laugh that bubbled up in her throat when he pulled out his passkey and opened the rolling gate that led to the garage.

“Of course, this is where you live,” she muttered.

The soaring glass skyscraper fit him perfectly. It was polished, shiny, trend-setting—a stunning work of modern architecture.

And that was just the outside.

God only knew what awaited inside.

Mason quickly parked his boss’ car and made sure she had the collar of his jacket pulled up around her face as he led her into the lobby. The collar wasn’t so high that she didn’t see the two people behind the concierge desk give him a friendly nod. They didn’t even glance her way.

Sara pressed her lips together as Mason hurried her into a waiting elevator. Once the doors closed she gave him the side-eye.

“So, is security usually that lax in the building, or is everyone just used to you ushering strange women up to your apartment?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said, leaning forward and swiping his passkey in front of the reader. A moment later the elevator started to rise. “I wouldn’t describe you as
strange
.”

Sara heard his non-answer loud and clear. Not a huge surprise. A man as hot as Mason had to have women hanging all over him. It was only natural that more than a few of them would have followed him home.

And she was willing to bet that he hadn’t been protecting all of them from international crime rings.

Not her business. What Mason did in his free time was his business. Who was she to judge? God knew, she liked to keep her own private life private.

Of course, she usually wasn’t hosting depraved wine-fueled bacchanals, or whatever the hell kind of party Mason threw on his days off, back in her place.

Not that she hadn’t had her share of hook ups. She had. More than she could count on both hands…just barely. But still it counted. Not that she was counting. That would be silly. It wasn’t a competition.

But if that was the case, why couldn’t she shake this feeling of inadequacy?

Sara nervously bit the inside of her cheek as the digital display of numbers went higher and higher. Finally, the elevator stopped on 51, and the doors slid open.

She followed as he led her down the hall to a door at the end. Another flick of his card and the door opened. He held it for her as she stepped inside.

Mason’s apartment was everything that Sara had imagined—open, clean, and spare. The outside walls were floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out on a panoramic view of the bay and the dancing lights of the bridge. The few pieces of furniture neatly arranged in the living room were ultra-modern—gray fabric and polished steel. The marble in the open kitchen was dark, balancing the pearlescent tile that lined the wall behind the stove and counter.

There were a few black and white art photos hanging on the wall, and a couple of smooth, dark wooden statues scattered around. The only color came from a single, tall green plant tucked into a far corner.

“Wow,” she said, stepping deeper into the living room. “This is…nice.”