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“Obviously not,” I point out, sitting up and groaning. I feel like I keep waking up to the same situation. Like that old Bill Murray movie. “Whatever her reasons, they’re important to her.”
“I hope they’re important enough for her to handle Mason washing his hands of her. Because that’s what’s going to happen next.” I wish I could brush him off, tell him he’s overreacting, but the truth is, I’m not sure he’s going overboard at all.
He’s still ranting as he shoves his feet into his shoes. “You didn’t see the way he was up in his apartment when I first got back. Fucking beside himself, wouldn’t listen to a word I had to say. Refused to talk things out with her.”
I have to laugh. “In case you forgot, I got an earful of his shit, too.” I’m not afraid of Mason. I don’t particularly feel like hearing his shit, though. I’ve been mentoring the kid for years, yet he has a way of conveniently forgetting that.
“There’s no way around it.” I get dressed quickly, feeling grim and frustrated. It’s a shame I care so much about the girl because, it’s times like this, I would love nothing more than to strangle her.
From the bathroom, he calls out, “She took some of her toiletries. She had it planned.”
“She wouldn’t go off half-cocked. That’s not her style.”
“I forgot. You know her so well.”
“Obviously not because I didn’t see this coming.” Looking back, I have no idea why not. It’s pretty fucking obvious. Whatever her mission was, the reason for running in the first place, we got in the way. Just because we brought her back doesn’t mean her mission has ended.
Why the hell can’t she tell anybody what it is? We’re supposed to be better than this. And this is why I shouldn’t have slept with her. She’s gotten into my head and stirred my priorities around. All of a sudden, it’s more important to figure out how she could cross me than how to find her.
“I must be a much deeper sleeper than I ever knew,” Griffin mutters as we finish doing a quick check of the apartment for any notes or clues she may have left. Not ten minutes have passed since I woke up, but we are already on our way upstairs. It’s barely 5:30 in the morning. I’m tired as hell and wasn’t supposed to see Natalie in the first place. All of these factors come together in the way I grit my teeth as I punch in the code to reach Mason’s floor.
How did she do it? The code she uses was deactivated. She shouldn’t have been able to operate the elevator at all. She shouldn’t have been able to leave the building.
The implications of this ring out loud and clear as we step into Mason’s apartment. It’s quiet and peaceful—for now. The prospect of waking Mason with bad news doesn’t excite me, but we head for his bedroom in silence.
I knock on the door and ease it open. “Mason?” I murmur into the dark, quiet room. “Sorry to wake you. There’s been a development.” Once I hear the movement deeper inside the room, I close the door for the sake of Teagan’s privacy, waiting with Griffin outside the door.
Mason emerges dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. “What is it?” I notice the withering look he gives me. He can’t let it go.
I exchange a glance with Griffin, who clears his throat. “She’s gone.”
“We both lost her,” I add. I’m not going to leave him swinging in the wind for this, no matter how Mason feels about it. “Some of her things are gone.”
“And you thought I should trust her?” Mason snarls at Griffin, pushing past both of us and marching to the kitchen. “I can’t trust either of you to do a goddamn thing right anymore. What the fuck has gotten into both of you? You had one job. One.”
“It’s a waste of time playing the blame game.” I watch as he brews himself a coffee in one of those single cup makers. It’s barely finished filling before he takes the mug and drinks deep of what has to be scalding hot coffee. He doesn’t register noticing it. He’s already boiling, I guess.
“Is that your informed opinion?” he asks, eyeing me rather nastily. “You know what she was doing, right? Coming on to you because she knew it would mean getting you to trust her. Congratulations. You walked right into it.”
All that keeps me from arguing is knowing it would waste time. For all I know, he’s right. She could have played us both. Fucked us, then fucked us over. It’s entirely possible.
But that’s not Natalie. She’s smart, and stubborn, but she doesn’t use people. It could be my pride demanding I believe that, but I’m not sure. I’ve never been one to shrink back from the truth of myself. I don’t go in for self delusion.
