I hold my left wrist. “He saw the barcode last night.”
The silence that follows is heavy enough to crush bone.
“He doesn't know about Mandy,” I clarify, needing to fill the space, hating the look on Wes’s face. “He doesn't know that I’m in Iron Ridge to find the men who took us and killed her. He just knows—” I stop. What does Mason know? That I'm damaged? That I'm unhinged? He doesn’t even know that I want him in ways I haven't wanted anyone—ever. “I only suspect that he knows what the barcode means. I don’t know for sure.”
Not true. I remember the look in Mason’s eyes. He definitely knows what the barcode was.
“How do you know he’s not part of the trafficking operation?”
“No,” I say firmly, shaking my head. “He’s not. I’m positive.”
Wes studies me. Then he sighs and runs a hand over his head again. “Lily, he’s former special forces. Men like that see a woman with a trafficking mark and go into protection mode. They want to fix things, but their mode of fixing usually involves a big body count left in their wake.”
I try to smile. “Would that be so bad?”
“It would if you were caught in the crossfire,” he replies seriously. “Tell me honestly. Are you compromised?”
The question lands like a punch. “No.”
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly. “Because if your feelings for this guy are clouding your judgment?—”
“They're not.” Meeting his eyes, I force steel into my voice. “I've been searching for these bastards for years, Wes. I'm not going to let some man derail me from ending this, not when I’m finally so close.”
Even if that man makes me feel things I thought I’d never feel.
Even if his hands look like they could break me or hold me together, and I can't decide which terrifies me more.
Wes studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Okay. I'll run the description on the foreman, see if we can get an ID. In the meantime, you stay low. This guy isn’t in Iron Ridge on vacation. Don’t go anywhere alone. And definitely don’t talk to him.”
“I know.”
“And, Lily?” He reaches out, squeezes my shoulder once. It's the most physical contact we've had in years. “Be careful. Not just with the investigation. With Rivera. He’s a dangerous man. He may have been on the side of the law, but he’s a sniper. He hunted and killed for a living. That doesn’t just go away.”
I hug myself tighter. “I understand.”
“Do you?” He takes a step back. “Because he’s the kind of man who will do whatever it takes to complete a mission, and if he decidesyou’rethe mission, you won’t be able to put that bullet back in the chamber.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I shake my head. “He doesn’t think that.”
“No?” Wes cocks his brow.
The truth is, I don't know what Mason thinks. I only know how he looked at me last night—like I was something precious and dangerous in equal measure. Like he wanted to wrap me up and lock me away somewhere safe.
Like he wanted to devour me whole.
I shift my weight to my other foot, feeling the telltale tingle between my legs just thinking about it. Truthfully? The way I feel, I don’t think I’d stop him.
23
MASON
The mare watches me like I'm the threat.
She's a three-year-old bay Emma brought over from the Circle H over a month ago—one of the horses her father neglected in the years before his death. Skittish doesn't begin to cover it. She flinches at sudden movements, shies from raised voices, and keeps her distance from anything male. Emma said her father's ranch hands weren't gentle. I believe it. She doesn’t even have a name.
I stand ten feet back from the fence line, one hand extended, palm up. Empty. Non-threatening. The mare's ears flick forward, then pin back. She takes two steps closer, then retreats.
Patience.
