“I don’t know, Shee. Ever think maybe someone is watching you? Following you?”
She sat glaring at him, struck speechless.
Shit. The kid.
There was someone following her—Logan Sandoval. Maybe he was better at his job than she’d thought. Maybe he’d discovered she was headed to Minneapolis. Made a call. Warned someone.
Damn.
“Why do you have a scalpel?” She spat the words to distract him, and herself, from her failings.
His attention snapped to her as if she’d poked him in the side of the face. “How—?”
Someone honked behind them and Mason glanced at the rearview. With a huff he put them in drive and they rolled forward as he continued, “Look, you don’t have to tell me all your secrets but if you don’t even trust that I had nothing to do with killing your father, tell me now.”
“I—it’s just weird—”
“If you think for a second I could ever...”
He faded off even as Shee let the air run out of her own lungs. Everything in her gut told her he had nothing to do with it. She just wasn’t sure if her gut could be trusted when it came to Mason.
On the other hand...
He has a point.
It didn’t have to be him who sent a killer to Viggo’s. Logan could have ratted her out. Or it could have been a coincidence. And Mason did seem to believe Mick was dead. If he was involved, there’d be no reason for him to show up at the hotel. His job would have been done, had he been involved, as far as he was concerned.
“Fine,” she said.
“Fine?”
“Fine. I trust you.”
He looked at her. “You do? You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.” She lifted her phone. “I’m going to call the airline and see if we can get out of here any earlier.”
He sighed. “Fine. I’m going to make one more sweep.”
“Fine.”
Mason drove around the block again, his jaw clenched. Shee had no luck finding a flight earlier than their redeye. She lowered the phone and tried to think of ways she could make it back to Florida without him peppering her with an endless stream of questions she didn’t know how to answer.
I could stuff something in his mouth...
“We’ve got six hours to kill. Let’s grab a steak,” she suggested.
“A steak?”
“Isn’t that what people eat in the Midwest?”
He shrugged. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
She did a quick search for a spot and directed him downtown.
She regretted the decision once they walked into the restaurant. Scanning the other diners, she felt underdressed in her jeans. The place felt a little celebratory for how they’d spent the day.
“I’m not sure my appetite is up to the challenge,” she said.
Hearing no response, she glanced at Mason to find his gaze tracking the path of a sizzling steak on a waiter’s tray as it navigated through the restaurant.
He didn’t seem to share her misgivings.
She gave in and followed the maître d’ to a small, white-clothed table. Mason sat and stared at her.
“What?” she asked.
He took a sip of his water. “You’re tense.”
“You think? I can’t imagine why.”
“We did everything we could.”
She frowned. “Did we? What if—”
He slid a hand forward to rest his fingers on hers. “No one followed us to Viggo’s. Calling it in won’t bring him back to life. It would only get us wrapped into the investigation.” He sighed. “We should agree not to talk shop during dinner.”
Five minutes previous she would have been thrilled to hear him say that. Now all she wanted to do was go over everything that had happened at Viggo’s again and again.
She closed her eyes and tilted back her head. “I want a drink. A really, really big drink.”
“That’s your best idea yet.” Mason pulled his napkin to his lap and winked at her. “Not that you’re not always full of good ideas.”
“Shut up,” she mumbled, smirking. Drumming her fingers on the table, she craned her neck, searching for the server. “What’s a girl have to do to get a drink around here?”
Mason leaned forward and peered at her from beneath a lowered brow. “Am I allowed to offer suggestions?”
Shee felt herself blush. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“You know what you’re doing. You’re giving me the look.”
Mason sniffed. “Ah’m sure ah don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And cut the southern accent. You know I love that.”
“Cut the—? Why, Miss Jelly, ah’ll have you know ah grew up in the great state of South Carolina—”
She giggled. “You’re the worst.”
She refused to look at him.
The server, a tall skinny twenty-something arrived and introduced himself as Chaz.
Shee smiled. “Great. Hi, Chaz. Do you have a wine menu?”
“Sure.” Chaz bolted from the table before she could say another word.
Shee looked at Mason, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to chase him off. I don’t even know if you like wine.”
He smiled, the table’s candlelight dancing in and out of the depths of his dimples. “I’m more of a bourbon kind of man. I’m surprised you’re a wine drinker. Last time I saw you it was strictly wine coolers.”
Shee snorted a laugh and covered her mouth with her hand, shocked by the noise. “Oh God, I forgot about those horrible things.”
“I guess my girl’s all growed up now.”
“Don’t bet on it,” she murmured. “This is a special occasion. I’m celebrating the complete unraveling of my entire life.”
She looked at him, only to find him peering at her through those piercing blue eyes.
“Miss, do ah make you nervous?”
She froze, momentarily mesmerized.
My God. That face. How I loved that face.
Shee thrust herself forward, until her nose almost touched his. “I don’t know. It’s kind of dark in here. Who are you?”
They laughed and she
