In the end, the man Darrell had been working with was the man who shot him, though he was now in custody and wasn’t talking. The hope was that Darrell had come to his senses in that dark hour, when they’d been surrounded, that he’d tried convincing William they should turn themselves in. It was a conversation that could’ve happened after Shelby had been shot. Ballistics matched the bullet in her lung to the gun found in William’s possession. But that theory was just that—wishful thinking. William had lawyered up right away. Even if he had been the one to shoot her, any attorney worth a dime would pin it on Darrell. Yeah, Shelby and her team didn’t know what really happened in Darrell’s final moments, and they probably never would.
Shelby hadn’t gone to her mentor’s funeral. She’d still been in the hospital when he’d been laid to rest, but she still mourned him. No matter what kind of man he’d turned out to be, she still wept for him, for the loss of a friendship. A loss that would’ve happened whether he’d lived or died.
The fact that Carl O’Brian was alive made things easier. She was grateful he hadn’t been killed and beyond relieved that Mason hadn’t been behind any ill dealings surrounding the man.
“Mason Showalter is the whistleblower.”
That revelation had stunned her. It explained why her teammates hadn’t tackled him to the ground when he’d rushed toward her the day she’d been shot. But the knowledge made her feel even guiltier over using him on the case. She’d had a job to do. One she’d been thrust into without proper understanding, but she’d known full well she would be lying to the man. No matter how relieved she was at his innocence, it didn’t erase the fact that she’d played him.
She had been played, too. Darrell had monopolized her friendship for financial gain. The FBI had used her and her relationship with her mentor to take him out.
Shelby couldn’t put Mason in that same category, though, as those who’d played her. He’d had no idea of her true identity, so he’d had no need to inform her about anything. She’d been a stranger to him—at first. No man would relay that kind of information to someone he was just getting to know. He’d been a private man, not easily accepting of others, but she believed he would’ve told her about working with the SEC in his own time.
Because he had trusted her. She knew he had, but that acceptance had been built on a foundation of lies. It was a false connection, never real, and she couldn’t fault him his anger. One day, he might learn to forgive her, but the damage was done. Regardless of what happened between them, one thing bothered her that she couldn’t ignore. Something maybe her brother could help her with. It would be a long shot, and it wouldn’t change anything, but—
“You should frame that,” Viola said from behind her, drawing her out of her thoughts. Shelby looked over her shoulder at the woman. Her eyes were still haunted, her skin pale, her body thinner than it had been before she’d learned the truth about her husband. Things Shelby didn’t point out. She knew Viola was aware, but she also knew her friend would bounce back. She was going through a different type of mourning—the death of her marriage—and when she reached that stage of grief where she learned to accept what was happening in her life, she’d grab it by the balls again and steer it in the direction she wanted. That was how Viola was.
Shelby looked at the get-well card she’d gotten while in the hospital. It had come with the roses Mason had sent her.
She still had those, too, couldn’t bring herself to throw them out. They were over a month old, dead and brittle, a metaphor of their relationship. Still he’d given them to her. The card attached had simply stated, “Get well soon. Love, Mason.” She’d traced over the L-word so many times the card was browning in that spot. It was a common salutation among people who were close. She knew better than to read anything into it. But logic didn’t always dictate one’s actions.
“Maybe I will,” she said, tossing it onto the kitchen table. The flowers were in her room, hiding like she’d been doing.
Viola sat at the chair across from her. “I found an apartment.”
Shelby sighed. “You know there’s no rush. I might not show it very well, but I like the company.”
She nodded. “I know, but it’s time. The divorce papers were filed two weeks ago, and he’s already filed his response, not contesting anything. He’s agreed to refinance the house in his name and use the equity to pay off our bills.”
“Are you sure you want to give up your house?”
“Yeah. Too many memories. I need a fresh start. Besides, the apartment doesn’t allow pets, which will keep me from adopting a bunch of cats. I’ve been finding them too adorable lately, and if I kept the house, it’d be filled with them.”
Shelby chuckled. “I wouldn’t let you turn into a cat lady. I’d make you draw the line at two.”
“A true friend.” Viola’s smile was short-lived, but it was a start.
She hadn’t told Viola she liked her being here. She didn’t want her to feel obligated to hang around longer than she wanted, but Shelby did like the company. After everything that happened, she felt confused, lost, and having someone around helped her from drowning in her sorrow. Okay, she’d been dog paddling in it for weeks, but she’d stayed afloat because Viola had been here.
“You know. You’re my best friend,” Shelby told her. Viola’s eyes twinkled as she smiled again.
“Is that because your brother doesn’t count?” she asked with a smile, and Shelby noticed
