His grin dropped. “Are you okay?”
Shee realized her eyes had teared, the candlelight splintered into wavy prisms. She wiped her eyes.
“Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”
He shrugged. “Long day.”
Chaz returned to hand Shee the wine menu. She scanned it as he rattled off the specials.
“We’ll take a bottle of the house cab,” she said when he finished.
Mason held up a peace sign. “Two glasses with that and I’ll start with a bourbon, neat.”
She mimicked his gesture. “Make that two bourbons, but I’d like mine with ice.”
Chaz nodded. “Would you like the wine now or with the—”
“Now,” said Shee.
“Of course.”
She turned her attention back to Mason. He seemed amused.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she said. “You said it. It’s been a tough day.”
“I’m not laughing at you. But if you start snatching drinks off the other tables, I’m going to have to draw the line.”
“Understood. I’ll be good.”
They fell into an awkward silence. Mason watched a man walk past their table and she turned away to wipe her eyes, worried her mascara had run.
Get a hold of yourself, Shee.
Chaz returned with two bourbons, a bottle and a wine key. They waited as he opened the Cabernet and poured. He wandered off, promising a hasty return.
Mason held up his bourbon glass. “To Mick.”
She smiled and tapped his glass with her own.
“To Mick.”
They sipped. Mason set down his drink and Shee did too, worried if given the chance she’d mainline it.
A second later she raised the glass to her lips again.
Excellent restraint.
“So. Archie’s cute,” she said, figuring the dog would be safe ground.
Mason nodded. “He’s a good kid. We got to know each other on the ride from Coronado.”
“I bet. Long drive.”
“Very.”
Silence again. Shee tried not to stare at Mason, but every time he looked away she let her gaze molest every molecule of his body.
“So are you going to tell me how you ended up with him?” she asked.
“Oh. He saved my life.”
“How?”
Mason finished his bourbon. “He was at my last mission. I turned to grab him. If I hadn’t...” He popped out his fingers and made an explosion noise.
“Is that when you lost your leg?”
He nodded. “Without Archie, it would have been a lot worse.”
“He doesn’t look like a military dog. Too fluffy.”
“He’s not. He belonged to the target.”
Shee arched an eyebrow. “Were you infiltrating the suburbs?”
Mason tipped an invisible cap. “I’m afraid that’s classified, Ma’am.”
Shee rolled her eyes and finished her bourbon. When she looked up she caught Mason staring at her. His gaze dropped and he slid away his own empty tumbler to move his wine glass to a position of prominence.
“Any thoughts on that missing picture?” he asked.
“At Viggo’s?” She shook her head, not minding he’d gone back to talking shop. “No. It’s weird. If it’s the same guy who shot Dad, why does he need a picture of him?”
“For his trophy case?”
“That’s warped.”
Mason shrugged. “Do you know many well-adjusted assassins?”
Shee’s head cocked as a thought knocked it out of plumb. “Maybe he didn’t want someone seeing a picture of Viggo and Mick together and start making connections?”
“It’s a solid theory.”
Sipping on her wine, Shee scanned the menu. “Is it wrong to order New York strips in Minneapolis?”
“I hope not. Hey, what about Angelina? Do you trust her?”
“Angelina goes waaay back with Dad. Smooth as silk and tough as nails. She could con the Pope out of his pointy hat.”
Mason nodded, looking as if his mind had drifted elsewhere.
“Hey, remember that floppy blue hat you loved so much?” he asked.
“The one with the sunrise on it?”
He nodded. “I think about that hat a lot,” he said, his voice suddenly soft and low.
An image of herself wearing nothing but the floppy blue hat, her body reflected in a bureau mirror, flashed through Shee’s mind. Mason lay beside her on her twin bed, his naked hip visible behind her own—
Chaz appeared. “Can I take your order?”
Neither of them spoke. Mason’s gaze locked on Shee.
She’d seen the look before.
“Um...” Her mind had gone blank.
Chaz’s expression changed, as if he’d suddenly recognized them. “Or did you want us to send it upstairs?”
Shee straightened. “Upstairs?”
“To your room. You’re staying in the hotel?”
“There’s a hotel upstairs?” Shee looked at Mason. “There’s a hotel upstairs.”
He nodded. “I heard that.”
They fell quiet again, staring at each other.
Chaz cleared his throat. “I could take your order and then have them deliver it to—”
“I think we need it to go.” Shee’s gaze never left Mason’s. “And maybe another bottle of wine?” She swiveled her attention to Chaz as if he were Santa, about to grant her every Christmas wish.
He grimaced. “I can’t sell you an unopened bottle, but I could uncork and then recork one for you to take upstairs.”
“You’re a genius, Chaz,” said Mason. “Two New York strips? Medium rare?”
Shee nodded. “Perfect.”
Chaz pulled out a pad and pen. “No problem. And your room number?”
Mason stood, reaching for his wallet.
“I’ll tell you that as soon as I get one.”
&&&
Chapter Thirty-Two
Shee and Mason didn’t so much walk down the hall from the elevator to their hotel room as they rolled along the wall, like a pair of gravity-defying vampires, exchanging hungry nibbles.
“I think this is it,” mumbled Mason, too busy to annunciate.
He fumbled with the key card. She snatched it from his hand. On her third try, Mason moved his lips to her neck and suddenly she had a better view at what she was doing. Another attempt and the lock’s green light lit.
Victory is mine.
The door popped open and
