“Because I’ve been looking for you for twenty-seven years, Shee.”
&&&
Chapter Twenty-Five
Shee stared at the back of the airplane seat in front of her, eyes locked on the blue, pill-ravaged fabric. Beside her sat Mason, muscles spilling over the invisible boundaries of their seats, his own attention captured by something at the front of the plane. She’d given him the aisle seat. It seemed cruel to make him sit next to the lady in the window seat. Cruel to the lady. At least if he couldn’t help touching Shee’s arm, they’d touched before.
My God, did we touch before.
The flight to Minneapolis had Shee longing for the awkwardness of Bracco’s Cadillac and their midnight cemetery trip. She couldn’t work out where to start. She’d barely had time to process his presence.
Croix, for as much as she appeared to resent being used as a personal assistant, had turned out to be too efficient booking her flight. She’d easily snagged a second ticket for Mason.
The timing had been so tight she’d worried getting Mason’s leg through security would make them late, but the TSA agent had taken one look at his chiseled jaw and scar-covered arms and filed him under wounded vet. The woman did everything but give him a quick back massage before letting him through.
What else could a slab of beef like Mason be but military? An accountant with a fight club addiction?
“I wonder if we’ll get pretzels,” mumbled Mason.
“Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“When we land we can go to your favorite restaurant.”
Mason’s brow knit.
She motioned to his leg. “IHOP.”
He winced. “Oh, you’re hilarious.”
Shee chuckled, pleased with her own joke. She’d been waiting for a chance to hit him with it for an hour.
They fell into another uncomfortable silence.
“Maybe we could quid-pro-quo it,” she suggested.
“Huh?”
“You ask a question, then I ask a question, until we’re out of them.”
He seemed amused. “I know what quid pro quo means. I saw Silence of the Lambs, Clarice. I’d just foolishly thought we could catch up like normal people.”
She shrugged. “Just a thought—”
“Fine. I’ll start. Have you purposely been hiding from me?”
Yikes. Right to the point.
Shee kept her eyes on the ground. “No.”
“You’re lying.”
She looked at him as he pressed his lips together, glaring.
He smells like sandalwood. He’d smelled like nutmeg and cinnamon as a young man.
“Shee?”
“Hm?”
“I said you’re lying.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I know you.”
She scoffed. “You don’t know me. You knew me.”
Ouch. That sounded harsh. She plowed on to bury that bit.
“Is that your next question? Am I lying? Oh wait, no, it’s my turn.”
He seemed to have soured on the game. “Not if you’re cheating.”
“I’m not.”
The elderly woman beside Shee grunted. She turned to find the biddy staring at her, oozing disapproval.
“I’m lying a little,” she whispered to the woman, winking.
The woman frowned and turned to the window.
Shee returned her attention to Mason. “My turn. Why are you here?”
He rested his skull on the headrest. “I told you. I heard about Mick and I wanted to come pay my respects. And yes, so you don’t have to waste another question, I was hoping to bump into you.”
“What—”
“It’s my turn.”
Shee lifted her hands and let them drop to slap her thighs. “Fine. Screw this game. Let’s talk like adults.”
“Gosh, I don’t know. Do you think we can handle it?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure.”
He rubbed his hands on his pant legs. “So tell me what happened to Mick. I still don’t know the details.”
Shee studied his expression.
Open. Honest. Curious. Concerned...
Either he’d become a top-notch liar, or he didn’t know anything about what happened to Mick. She couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but her gut shifted another step toward Team Mason when it came to his possible involvement in Mick’s assassination.
“He was visiting a friend in Minnesota. I think someone lured him there.”
“Who?”
“A guy named Viggo.”
“Viggo Nilsson?”
She gaped. “You know him?”
“I’ve met him. SEAL world is small.”
Shee hung her head.
So much for keeping things from him.
“What do you know about him?” she asked.
“Nothing really. Big guy. Gets the job done. What do you know about him?”
“All I know is Dad went to see him and didn’t come back in one piece.”
“But what did Viggo say happened?”
“Nothing.”
Mason scowled. “He doesn’t know? I don’t understand. Was he robbed—?”
“Viggo wasn’t available for comment.”
“How is that possible?”
Shee grimaced. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could dance around the odd way Angelina had been able to retrieve Mick. Certainly, not without admitting he was still alive.
“I don’t know. Honestly. We have almost no details.”
Mason huffed. “None of this makes any sense. Where did they find his body?”
“In an Airbnb.”
“He’d been staying there?”
“I don’t know.” She barked the words and the people in the aisles around them turned to look.
“Sorry,” she said, holding up a hand.
She didn’t bother to look at the woman beside her. She already felt the weight of her glare.
Shee took a deep breath. “What about you? Don’t you have a life to get back to?”
“You’re changing the subject,” mumbled Mason.
“I am. Because I’ve told you everything I know. Why else would I be headed to Minneapolis? I’m looking for answers, too.”
“Fine.” Mason shifted in his undersized seat. “As for me, my schedule’s pretty open. I’m retired, because I don’t have any interest in a desk or teaching job, and they don’t let you get wet with one leg.”
Shee made a wave motion with her hand. “You couldn’t just swim mermaid-style?”
He looked at her. “Would you like to get all these jokes
