Page 46 of Mason

The question sounds rhetorical, so I don’t bother answering. My heart hammers against my ribs. We’re in the middle of the sidewalk blocking traffic—people have to step out of the way to pass. But for some reason, I’m paralyzed, as if we’re the only two people in the city. The hair on the back of my neck stands at alert.

“I like you, so I’ll give you some unsolicited advice,” the grizzled reporter says. “Be careful.” I open my mouth to protest, but Buck cuts me off. “Mason and his partners are hiding something about that school shooting. In my experience,” he says. “It’s always safest to assume that there’s more to the story than meets the eye. Especially in this case.”

I shiver runs up and down my spine. “I appreciate your concern,” I say. “But there’s no need.”

Buck smiles thinly. “I hope, for your sake, that’s true.”

“I have no doubt.”

The words come easily, but the tremor in my voice that betrays the lie. I’ve suspected Mason hasn’t told me everything about that tragic day—but hearing my suspicion confirmed from another source makes me quiver with unease.

What if everything I’ve thought about that day—about Mason—is wrong?

Chapter 26

There is nothing on TV.

I flip back and forth through our only three channels, curling my lip with more disgust at each pause. It’s either a praise Jesus sermon, Casablanca, or golf. I go for option four and flick off the remote.

Renee’s fashion magazines fan out on the coffee table. I scoop one off the top and move over to the polka dot couch, sinking into the well-worn cushions. Gwen Stefani stares at me from the cover of People, posing for the cameras in a sleek black gown that slits all the way to the top of her thigh.

It looks like something Renee would design—though with more color.

I glance over at the row of mannequins lined up by the window, each in a new Renee original. It must be weird when people look up at our suite, seeing the same girls in the same positions day after day.

At least they’re not in the closet anymore. One nightmare too many, as far as I’m concerned.

My cell rings, causing me to startle.

I look at the caller ID and smile. “Hi Mom,” I say by way of greeting.

“Olivia?” Her warm voice worms through the line and tugs at my heartstrings, immediately making me long for home. Since Renee moved in, I haven’t called much. Maybe she’d be fine with her living here—she claims to have no grudge against my sister—but it’s not a topic I’m itching to tackle. Nor is the subject of Mason.

“Why do you always ask?” I say, grinning. “The odds of it being anyone else are staggeringly low.”

She laughs, making me miss her even more. For the first few years after Dad left, Mom didn’t smile often. Laughter, as it turns out, isn’t always the best medicine. Especially when the patient is unwilling to give it a chance.

I get it. Dad was the love of her life.

But he’s gone now, and eventually that has to sink in.

“Someone else could have possibly answered,” she says.

“Like who? The maid?”

Her voice perks up. “Olivia! You can afford a housekeeper?”

Trust Mom to believe the most ridiculous things. People prey on that kind of naivety, she should know. Dad was the worst vulture in the bunch.

I survey the dusty shelves and unwashed dishes in the sink. “If I’m paying one, she isn’t doing a great job.”

Despite the unkempt state of my apartment, I’d never spend money on someone to clean it. I make a great salary at Daylight Holdings, but I know better than to spend without thought. I’m building a nest egg. Enough money to pay for five months of bills should Mason choose to terminate my contract for any reason. I learned that from Dad, who felt a person should always have six months’ worth of living expenses in the bank at all times. A rainy day fund.

Or in his case, an “I have to support my family” fund.

Because that’s exactly what he took from the joint account when he walked out on me and Mom. I shake loose the bitterness. “Anyway, I was being sarcastic.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard from you, I’d forgotten what you sound like.”