Mason senses my stillness and releases me, turning me to face him. “What is it? Did I say something wrong?”
Emotion strangles me and I shake my head. “I think part of me must have known back when I first talked to you after your surgery. Deep down, I think I knew it could be this good. God, I wish . . .”
He shushes me with a finger to my lips and pulls me close again. “Me too, Callie. Me too.”
I stare up into those steel-gray depths, eyes that truly see me in a way no man ever has. “I want to ask what happens after this weekend, but . . .”
He flinches. “I can’t make you any promises right now. All I can say is that if it goes well, I’ll find you. I know exactly where to look. I hope that’s enough.”
“It is for now,” I say, closing the distance and kissing him.
We order takeout and sit in front of the gas fireplace, not speaking for a while as we both fill our bellies. Eventually I sit back with a fresh glass of wine and relax while he continues working his way through the enormous pile of seasoned fries that came with our burgers.
“Do you have a photo of Zoe?” I ask.
He slows his chewing and nods, grabbing a napkin to wipe the grease off his fingers. He reaches for his phone where he left it sitting on the end table and swipes the screen then presses his thumbprint to the sensor. The screen lights up and he holds it out to me.
Taking it from him, I look down to a scrunched-up face beneath a thick mop of jet-black hair. She can’t be more than a few hours old in this photo, her face still purple and pissed off, which is how most babies look immediately after leaving the warmth of their mothers’ wombs. I can’t help but smile at the defiance in that tiny face.
“She’s beautiful. Is this the only photo you have?”
“That’s the only one I took myself, right after she was born. There are others . . .”
He goes quiet, his brow creased as he reaches for the phone again. When he hands it back to me, I’m looking at a dark-haired Mexican woman with a stern face holding an older Zoe for the photo. She isn’t cradling her, but holds her beneath the arms, brandishing her for the camera. The baby’s old enough to hold her head up—maybe eight or nine months old—and looks unharmed. She’s wearing a clean jumper, but is clearly distraught by the callous handling. My throat tightens at the clear resemblance I see between her and her father. She has his eyes.
“Proof of life,” Mason says curtly.
“Oh god. Poor thing. They wouldn’t hurt her, would they?”
He shakes his head, but grimaces too. “Zavala’s a heartless fucker. As long as he thinks she’s valuable, he’ll take care of her, but the second she isn’t . . .” He bares his teeth and flexes both fists until his knuckles crack.
I reach out and squeeze his forearm. He relaxes a little, then sighs and swipes his hands over his face. “I’ve been at the mercy of someone else’s whims most of my life—my dad, then the military, now the DEA and this fucking cartel leader. I’m just so fucking done with it. I hate that she’s part of it, but getting her away from him isn’t enough. I keep asking myself, what the hell am I bringing her home to? There’s a fucking price on my head from the man we’re trying to take down. Until that’s gone, I don’t even have a life. How the fuck am I going to give her one?”
His desperate tone wrenches at me and I set down my wine, scooting over to him on my knees and slipping my arms around his neck to look down into his eyes. “One thing at a time, okay? You have to fix the most critical issue first. Getting her out and safe is paramount. You said your brother knows you’re alive—maybe he can help. Once she’s taken care of, you can focus on what comes next.”
He curls his arms around me and presses his face into my chest. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’d have done if I hadn’t found you. Probably spent this next week out of my mind over being so goddamn helpless. You’ve given me something to look forward to. A few moments to think about something else so I can clear my head.”
He pulls me into his lap and kisses me, his hand automatically slipping under my shirt. Fresh desire surges and I groan, forcing myself to pull back and extract his hand from its slow trek up my belly.
“We can take a break from that for a little while. I appreciate the need for distraction, but I want this weekend to be about more than sex.”
He sighs in resignation but relaxes, looking me in the eye. “I guess I want to try to squeeze as much lovemaking as possible into the next two days, since what comes after isn’t exactly something I can predict. What if you get back to LA and meet someone else?”
I huff a laugh and shake my head. “I like you, Mason. I liked you from the first second we spoke. Even though you were high on morphine at the time, you were still coherent enough to ask me for a date. That might have been the thing that impressed me most. I liked you when we met again, even though I didn’t realize it was you. I’m pretty sure I’m still going to like you once you’re finally ready to come back to LA. I was in the same
