Page 115 of Fixed Asset

Thankfully, Tom had something to tell me about my friend.

“She’s in Upstate New York with a friend of mine who’s taking care of her.”

Thank God for that.

“And the charges against me? Where are you with that?”

“We’re not done discussing your current situation.”

We were.

I wasn’t calling Saint.

“Tell me what you’re doing to clear my name?”

“They have your DNA, Calli.”

I knew they did. I’d stupidly broken a window.

“Don’t feed me some line of bullshit. The rich and powerful have been getting away with murder since the beginning of time. The Agency cannot expect to send me out to do their dirty work but turn it off when I’m stateside. He was raping her, Tom. What did they expect me to do? Stand outside and call nine-one-one? Wait for the police to arrive while she endured more? Then watch him get off on some bullshit technicality because he’s rich and powerful, which means he gets a free pass? I call bullshit on that. I saved the taxpayers money on a trial, and if by some miracle he was convicted, I saved them money housing and feeding that monster. They owe me a thank-you, not murder charges.”

“I don’t disagree, but . . .”

I stopped listening. My attention was pulled to the street below and the silver Maybach rolling to a stop at the valet stand. I would’ve preferred a sea-view room at the Park Hyatt, however, the room I was in with the view of the parking area was tactically the better option.

“I have to go. Amir is here.”

“Twenty-four-hour check-ins,” he demanded. “No excuses.”

I swallowed my snarky retort.

I had work to do.

“Bye, Tom.”

I disconnected.

Checked my hair on the way past the mirror and left my hotel room.

I did this wondering what Mason was doing, and if I called him to ask for his help, if I could keep my hands to myself.

Probably not.

I’d be begging him for a quick and dirty romp before the first twenty-four hours was up.

Damn.

Mason Hughes

Four weeks home from Mexico

Downrange Ranch

“I think you’re cheating,” Ryan groused as he handed over three ten-dollar bills to Cat.

“Loser!” Fallon called out from the chair next to me.

I took a swig from my beer and for once kept my mouth shut. I was enjoying the show too much to interject.