Mason: The Sinner Saints #4 Read online

  Sara spun around, ready to haul ass down the street, but Mason called to her.

  “Sara.”

  She let out a groan as she turned around.

  Damn it. She didn’t have time for this. The last thing she needed was to be dragged in by the cops before she’d found the necklace, but her conscience wouldn’t allow her to let Mason walk away empty handed. It didn’t matter how upset she was right now. She couldn’t stand the thought of the Evening Star being hidden away for another hundred years.

  “Rumor is there’s a wealthy buyer for l’étoile somewhere in Provence,” she said. “So, go back to the museum and do your job, Mr. Wright. Check all flights and manifests arriving in the next week for any red flags. That’ll be your best chance to recover the necklace.”

  Sara turned back around, but she only made it a couple of steps before Mason caught up to her. He didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he slipped his hand around hers and started to pull her faster down the street. Somehow she managed to keep her footing while matching his swift pace.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she asked.

  “My job,” he answered. “Just like you asked.”

  Her brows pulled together as confusion washed over her. Sure, she always liked the idea of getting away from the cops, but right now she wasn’t sure she was any better off with him. Not that he was giving her much time to think about it.

  Mason quickly tugged her around one corner, then another, until they were standing at the mouth of a narrow alleyway. There wasn’t enough room for them to walk two across. Mason took the first steps in, blocking her view.

  Sara hesitated before taking another step. Somewhere in the rush and maze of quick turns, she’d lost her bearing. She had no idea where she was, or even which direction they were heading. Sara could hear the buzz of voices just ahead, but all she could see was the wide expanse of Mason’s back. She had no way of knowing if he was leading her into the thick of an anonymous crowd, or right back into the cop-infested waters of the museum.

  Her heart started to pound. She instinctively tried to pull back, but Mason held on tight and dragged her forward.

  She breathed a sigh of relief a moment later when they emerged deep within the bustling heart of Valencia Street.

  There was a bar on either side of the alley, both of them popular enough to have crowds spilling out the front door. Not that it was a difficult feat on a Saturday night. In this part of town it seemed like all you had to do was nail a couple of salvaged metal panels to the walls and hang a sign out front that read Craft Beers and all the hipsters would come running. It might not be Sara’s scene, but she had to admit it was the perfect place to hide from the cops.

  Or for her to ditch Mason.

  Again.

  He must have realized the same thing, because he draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close as he led her toward the door on the right. He guided her through the throng of people, leading her toward the back. The air was thick and hot inside, a sharp contrast to the crisp winter wind outside. A cacophony of guitar chords and loud voices bounced off the walls.

  By some miracle, there was an empty table in the corner. Mason waited until they were right up against it before letting his arm drop away. He pulled out the tall wooden stool tucked underneath.

  “Have a seat, Sara.” His tone was light, but his gaze was anything but. She glanced behind her toward the back door. It was only a few steps away, right across from the bathrooms. “You don’t want to run. Not really.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because you’re too damn good.” He cocked his hip against the side of the table, letting his arms hang loose at his side. “If you truly wanted to give me the slip, I wouldn’t be looking at you right now.”

  Sara blinked.

  He was good. She had to give him that. She’d been expecting some BS line about how he was going to solve all her problems or how he was the only one who could protect her—and she was still sure those were coming—but he was smart to lead with a compliment…one that only she would cherish.

  “And when I decide to go?” she asked.

  “I’m not holding you hostage, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “So, you’ll just watch me walk out that door?” she asked, arching a skeptical brow.

  “I think I can convince you that would be a huge mistake.”

  “You have fifteen minutes to try.” Sara shot him a sideways glance as she slid up onto the smooth stool top.

  She was wasting her time. She knew it even before she’d settled into her seat. She should be out there looking for the necklace. But where was she supposed to start? The last place she’d seen her mystery thief was now crawling with cops. Which begged a question. “Why didn’t you hand me over to the police?” she asked.

  Mason shrugged. “Because you didn’t steal the Evening Star.”

  Sara narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t about to let him off that easy.

  “But you’re working with the museum, and I am involved.”

  “That’s true.” Mason shifted his weight, leaning in closer, as if somehow a couple of inches made the crowded space more intimate. “But technically my job was to watch you, not the diamonds.”

  “Something tells me they didn’t mean for you to help me run from the cops.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest as a lazy smile lit up his face. Dang. There was something about the low light of the bar that actually made him more attractive, if such a thing was possible.

  “That’s because you don’t know the woman who gave me my orders,” he said.

  Sara’s brows pulled together, but before she could ask him exactly what that meant, the waitress came over and plopped her tray down on the table.

  “Hey there,” she said, giving Mason a long look.

  “Hey,” he said, flashing the woman a half smile. “Two gin and tonics.”

  “You got it,” she said, twisting a strand of her long black hair around her finger. A rosy pink glow had already started to light up her cheeks. It took her an extra beat to pull her attention away from his azure gaze and pick up her tray.

  Sara couldn’t blame the poor girl. She doubted there were too many women that managed to walk away unaffected by Mason Wright. Heaven knew, she hadn’t.

  She blamed those sapphire eyes of his. Or maybe it was the perfect symmetry of his face. Either way, she was having trouble controlling her reaction. Her heart was beating too fast, her breath coming too hard. And she couldn’t pretend it was from running from the cops.

  Sara gave herself a mental slap. She didn’t need to be mooning over a pretty face. If she was smart, she’d be trying to figure out how the hell she was going to find the necklace.

  “You shouldn’t have bothered,” Sara said the moment the waitress was far enough away. “I’m not planning on drinking.”

  Not now, at least. Not while she still needed to stay sharp. But when she was back home, safe and away from Mason…well, that was another story.

  “Neither am I,” he said. “But it would be conspicuous if we didn’t order something.”

  Sara cradled her head in one hand as she slowly shook it. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked, his brows arching slightly.

  “We gave up all chance of blending in the second you flashed those baby blues at the waitress,” she said. “You know as well as I do that she’s behind the bar right now, telling half the staff about you.”

  One corner of his mouth curled up in a wicked smile. “Is that your way of saying that you like my eyes?”

  Sara rolled her eyes toward the ceiling in a desperate attempt to hide her blush. Damn it. Why did she let this guy keep getting to her? Sure, he was smoking hot, but she knew better than anyone else that was just a shell. He was a Face Man for a private security company—nothing more than a glorified con man. That alon
e should’ve been enough to throw a cold bucket of water on those smoldering embers.

  But obviously it wasn’t.

  Well, if pretending wasn’t working, maybe confronting the awkwardness head on would.

  “What do you want to hear?” she asked. “That you’re attractive? Fine. You’re crazy hot. Any other day, I’m sure I’d be dreaming about climbing all over you like a grown-up jungle gym. Happy now?”

  He inched closer, his arm brushing against hers. An electric sizzle raced up the length of her spine as his gaze locked with hers. “More like intrigued.”

  “Yeah, right.” Sara couldn’t hold back the absurd laugh that bubbled up in her throat.

  He cocked his chin to the side. “What’s so funny?”

  “You are,” she said. “You know you don’t have to try so hard with me. Hell, it would be easier if you just cut the whole act.”

  His brows arched up. “The act?”

  “The whole seductive savior thing,” she said. “I’ve seen it before. You forget, I grew up around the best con men in the world. Jessie Hammond and Rodney Schmidt used to sit at my kitchen table every Wednesday night and play poker with my dad.”

  “That must have been a hell of a game,” Mason said, sounding impressed.

  “You have no idea.” A genuine smile spread across Sara’s face as memories from a happier time flashed in her mind. “But the point is, I was taught from a young age to spot a smooth-talking con from a mile away.”

  “And you think that I’m playing you?”

  Just then the waitress came back with their drinks.

  “Here you go,” she said, placing their glasses down on the table. “These are for you.”

  Her gaze stayed steady on Mason’s as he reached into his jacket for his wallet and pulled out a bill. He held it up in between two fingers. “And this is for you,” he said.

  The waitress wrapped her hand around his, letting her fingers linger over his for a second before taking the cash. There was a little extra sway in her hips as she walked away.

  Sara tilted her head to the side as Mason looked back at her. “Let’s just say I think you’ve had a lot of practice making people feel exactly the way you want them to.”

  Mason shrugged off the comment, but Sara didn’t miss the line of tension that crept into his jawline.

  She’d hit her mark.

  “Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

  “Not necessarily,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m just letting you know that your moves won’t work on me.”

  A sharp edge crept into his smile. “So, you’re saying this morning at the museum you were just pretending to find me charming?”

  Sara’s lips pulled together tight. She looked down at the table as heat began to flood her cheeks.

  “You caught me off guard. I admit it,” she said, wrapping her hands around the glass in front of her. She swiveled it back and forth, watching the clear liquid swirl and the bubbles break on the surface. “But it’s not going to happen again.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  Sara looked up from the glass. Despite her warning, the devilish twinkle in his eye shone just as bright.

  “Stop it,” she said. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “And what’s that?” he asked.

  She let out a long sigh.

  “Standing close. Maintaining eye contact. Talking in a low but confident voice. Leaning in when I do. Smiling to reinforce mine,” Sara said. “You’re trying to build my trust.”

  “Of course, I am,” Mason said without missing a beat. “Look at you. You’re scared. You’re alone. Your parents have been kidnapped, and someone is shooting at you.”

  “Technically, I think they were shooting at you.”

  Mason’s grin only grew. He slowly slid his hand across the table toward her. His fingers slipped over the sensitive skin of her wrist. She could feel the heat and the strength practically pouring out of him. She knew she should probably pull away…but she didn’t.

  “The point is you need someone you can trust.”

  Sara arched a brow. “And that’s you?”

  “You could do worse.”

  Yeah, she could. But that wasn’t the point. Unfortunately, Malcolm wasn’t grading her performance on a curve. Either she brought him l’étoile and paid the price he demanded, or…

  No. She refused to go down that path. It was better to focus on what was right in front of her.

  “And why are you so desperate to jump into this mess?” she asked. “What’s your angle?”

  “No angle,” he said.

  “Right.” Sara smirked. “There happens to be a priceless two hundred and fifty-year-old necklace floating around the city, and you just want to help me free my parents out of the goodness of your heart.”

  “Pretty much.” He nodded. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Actually, it is.”

  He was ballsy. She had to give him that. Everyone else she knew would be switching tactics right about now, desperate to find their way in. But not him. Every move he made only fascinated her more.

  “All right. I’ll bite,” she said after a long moment passed. “How exactly are you planning on helping me?”

  He moved in closer and lowered his voice. In a flash, intensity replaced the humor in his gaze.

  “We have a hell of a team at Macmillan Security,” he said. “Lots of different talents. Put us all together and there isn’t a problem that we can’t solve. If you trust us—”

  “You’re joking, right?” she cut him off. She didn’t need to hear another word.

  “No.”

  “Then you must have lost your mind.” Sara pushed back her stool, snatching her hand out from under Mason’s as she stood. “You saw what Malcolm did when you forced yourself into his game. How the hell do you think he’s going to react if you bring a whole team of people in?”

  Mason straightened to his full height. “He won’t even know they’re involved.”

  Sara closed her eyes and lifted her hands to the side of her face. She rubbed at her temples, but the pounding didn’t ease.

  “Of course, he will.” Her voice came out sharp through gritted teeth. She forced herself to open her eyes and draw in a steadying breath. “You have no idea who you’re up against, do you?”

  “So, tell me.”

  “You can’t charm Malcolm Van Zandt. You can’t con him. And you sure as hell can’t steal from him,” she said. “So, unless you’re hiding some amazing talents from me, that means we can’t win.”

  A wry smile lifted his lips. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard different versions of that speech?”

  Sara slowly shook her head. He was a cocky bastard. And a damned stupid one.

  “I don’t. And I don’t care.” She drew in a deep breath and dragged her hand through her hair, smoothing it out. “All I know is that if this goes sour, then I’m going to have more blood on my hands than I can handle. The last thing I need is to throw you and your friends on top of that.”

  She took a step back from the table.

  “Sara, wait,” Mason said, but he didn’t make a move toward her.

  “I’m sorry, Mason. Your fifteen minutes is up.”

  Sara drew in a deep breath as she spun around on her heel and headed straight for the back door. She let it out slowly when she didn’t hear his footsteps behind her. Well, at least Mason was true to his word.

  He was letting her walk away. Letting her hunt down the Evening Star by herself. Letting her take on the responsibility of facing Malcolm on her own.

  That’s how it was supposed to be.

  She pressed on the bar that ran across the middle of the door and pushed it open. The chill night air rushed in, stinging her cheeks. She welcomed the sensation as she strode into the alleyway. Every step she took echoed off the high, hard walls surrounding her.

  Maybe the cold would help her clear her head.

  It sure as hell couldn’t hurt. And God knew
she needed to think straight. Right now, she had no idea where to even start looking for the man who stole the Evening Star.

  She figured she could make some calls. See if any of her parents’ old friends had heard anything. Of course, most of them had been in their prime back when she was a kid. What she needed were some fresh leads. Maybe her name would be enough to open a few doors. Sure, it was a long shot, but right now it was the only one she had.

  A gust of wind howled down the narrow alleyway. Sara pulled her coat tighter across her chest as a trail of goosebumps suddenly sprung up along the length of her arms. An odd tingle took root on the back of her neck, causing the hairs to stand on end.

  Sara sucked in a breath and held it. She stopped cold.

  But the echoing footsteps continued behind her.

  She prayed it was only Mason, breaking his promise, but the sick churning in her gut told her otherwise. She spun around…and looked straight into the cold, malice-filled eyes of a stranger.

  Shit.

  Sara didn’t hesitate. She took off running, but being stuck in the middle of the alley, there was no way to evade the man’s grasp. His fingers bit into her arm after only a few strides. He slammed her against the cold concrete wall. The air left her lungs in a rush, and the man wedged his forearm under her chin before she could drag in another breath. He pressed his meaty body flush against hers, pinning her to the spot. A heartbeat later, she felt the unmistakable sensation of a pistol being thrust against her temple.

  “Baumgartner,” the man whispered in a thick guttural accent. “Where is the necklace?”

  Sara bit into her trembling lip.

  Crap. The Russians. She’d heard rumors they were in town. Not surprising. L’étoile was a hell of a target. It was sure to attract a lot of attention. If the Russians were here, that meant the South Africans couldn’t be too far behind.

  And apparently, they all knew that she was the one Malcolm had tapped for the job.

  Fantastic.

  Just one more complication to heap on the pile once she got out of here.

  If she got out, she amended. Because judging by the way the Russian was digging the muzzle of his weapon into her skull, he didn’t exactly seem like the understanding type.