“This is a really bad idea,” the voice on the other end replied, speaking what we were both thinking.
“Letting him get away is worse,” I said.
A shaky exhale crackled through the speaker. “How do you think you’re going to get out of that house unnoticed? They’re not going to fall for one of your tricks again.”
Obviously. “I’ve got it covered. The less you know, the better this plan works. You stick to what you need to do.”
“This is going to get messy, isn’t it?”
“We just need to detain him long enough for the cops to arrive,” I murmured. “The important thing is we get him alone. Isolated.”
“We can’t trust him,” he stated, which at this point was common knowledge.
“I have to go,” I whispered, cutting him off as a faint shuffle echoed somewhere above me, sounding eerily like footsteps or floorboards settling. “I’ll call when it’s time. Be ready.”
“Kay—”
I hung up before he could say anything else and immediately deleted the call log, covering my tracks. My heartbeat thudded as I stood in the cramped darkness, surrounded by zinfandels, merlots, pinot grigios, chardonnays, and rosés, many stamped with years before I was born, and listened.
What the hell am I doing?
The quicker I got out of here, the less likely someone would find me looking guilty as hell. Shaking out my hair, I opened the cellar door, the hinges squeaking. I winced and stepped into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind me with a loud clank.
Could I be any more inconspicuous?
I had no future in espionage. Zero. Negative zero.
“What are you doing, my little kitten?”
I jumped at the sudden voice so violently my phone shot out of my hand, clattering across the marble floor. “Jesus!” I gasped, whirling on instinct, adrenaline spiking.
Fucking Mason.
He lounged against the wall, arms folded loosely, dimples flashing as if scaring me out of my skin was the highlight of his evening. Dressed in a cream sweater with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of baggy jeans, he eyed me with a devilish twinkle.
“You scared me,” I snapped, pressing a hand to my chest, willing my heart not to leap straight out of my throat.
“A bit on edge, are you?” he teased, pushing off the wall. He crouched to pick up my phone, where it had skidded closer to him. For a terrifying heartbeat, I thought he’d check the screen. What if I got a message? Or a text?
He didn’t. He held it out to me, brows lifting like he already knew I was up to shit.
“Can you blame me?” I muttered. God. Why hadn’t I grabbed a bottle of wine? Any bottle to justify being down there like a normal human instead of a panicked soon-to-be-felon?
“No, not really,” Mason said lightly. “I’ve never had anyone hunt me with such reverence as Rusty has for you, but I imagine it’s taxing, to say the least.”
“Taxing,” I repeated, deadpan. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”
“Don’t worry,” he added, grin widening. “Kreed’s nearly got him pinned to the wall.”
My breath froze. “Really? How do you know?”
“You’re not getting any information from me, kitten.” He made a zipper movement across his lips. “My mouth is Fort Knox.”
I snorted. “Your mouth is a lot of things, but Fort Knox is not one of them. Just ask any girl at school.”
He gasped theatrically. “That’s rude. Also accurate. But I’m still not telling you shit.”
Shifting to one foot, I shot him a look. “What happened to no more secrets?”
