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He listened. What else could he do? The molehill he had allowed to linger all these years had grown into a mountain. There was no easy way out at this point. Not for him.
“I’m outside. We need to talk.”
The sound of her voice still had the power to unsettle him. It shouldn’t. Nothing about her should do anything except fill him with fury ... and yetsheprofoundly disturbed him on every level.
Rather than respond to what was clearly an order, he severed the connection and placed his phone back on the table next to him.
He picked up his glass and swallowed a slug of scotch.
He stood and walked over to the window. He didn’t know why he bothered. It was too dark to enjoy his view. Moonlight flickered on the water. He’d loved this place the moment he’d laid eyes on it nearly forty years ago. He’d barely been able to afford to buy the land at the time. Even forty years ago waterfront property was outrageous. Sadie had been a toddler before he’d been able to have the house built.
Mary Ellen had loved it. The lake. The woods. The house. She’d been so happy. Those next ten years had been like heaven on earth. Then they’d found the cancer, and everything had gone to hell.
His beautiful wife had died for almost two years. Six hundred ninety-eight days. He’d watched her waste away. Had watched the light fade from her incredible gray eyes—the same eyes as Sadie’s.
He knocked back the rest of his drink. Sadie was the utter reflection of her mother. He could hardly bear to look at her. He’d withdrawn from her after Mary Ellen was gone. It was a mistake. He recognized that now. At the time he hadn’t been able to see beyond his own pain.
The trouble had begun then.
Another of his mistakes.
Nothing he could do to change that now.
But he intended to make amends before he took his last breath.
Better late than never.
He sighed, walked to the front door, and exited the house. He could make her wait, but he couldn’t avoid her. The result of a long-ago mistake—one that would haunt him the rest of his days.
The black sedan idled at the curb in front of his house.Was pulling into the driveway too much trouble?The driver stood at attention next to it. Mason gritted his teeth and followed the stone path to the street. Without a word, the man opened the rear driver’s-side door for Mason. He settled into the leather seat and the door closed solidly next to him. The driver remained outside the vehicle.
What else could she possibly want? The investigation was his now. He could do what needed to be done. His gaze met hers, and for a single moment he couldn’t breathe. She was so beautiful ... even after all these years.
The moment disintegrated, and reality snatched him back to the present. “What would your husband say if he knew we were meeting like this?”
She smiled, but it was not an expression of amusement. “I need to impress upon you once more how very delicate this situation is,” she said as if he didn’t fully understand the circumstances.
“I am aware.”
“Asher’s father is very, very upset, as you might imagine. He wants justice. Whoever did this must be found.Youmust find that person and the proper evidence to assuage his grief.”
Mason wondered if she thought this late-night rendezvous would in any way change the steps he would take. He understood exactly what he had to do. Certain choices had stopped being his own long ago.
“I’ve already assured you that I will handle this investigation personally. Mr.Walsh may rest assured that a shooter will be found, as will the person suspected of having given the order. Both discoveries will be supported by the appropriate evidence.”
“Forty-eight hours,” she warned. “I want this business completed. None of us want this tragedy to play out in the media like a bad movie.”
“Forty-eight hours,” he echoed. “I’ll do all within my power to meet your deadline.”
She stared at him, the dim interior lighting more than sufficient for him to see how her perfect, refined features hardened. “I don’t want your assurance, Mason. I want your guarantee.”
He gave a single curt nod, and then he exited the car.
There was nothing else to say. He would take care of it.
Even that might not be enough. Asher Walsh had been a fool. He’d gotten in way over his head. He’d left a hell of a mess, and Mason was supposed to clean it up.
In forty-eight hours, no less.
