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“I think she needs time before she figures out what she really wants,” he decides. “She’s still too fucked up over what happened.”
He’s right. Now isn’t the time to figure things out. We have to stay focused on doing the right thing by her.
I doubt she’ll think the right thing is leaving her behind while we go upstairs for a meeting, but it’s unavoidable. Mason doesn’t want her involved with what happens moving forward, and not only because he doesn’t trust her. Deep down inside, he has to understand what she went through back there. The past couple of weeks have given him enough time to get over the worst of his anger and betrayal. I doubt he would give her a big hug if she showed up in front of him right now, but he can appreciate that she was tortured after witnessing her mother’s murder.
Still, that’s not enough to invite her to the meeting he called tonight. He gave us explicit instructions to wait until she was asleep, and if she wasn’t by the time the meeting was scheduled to begin, it could wait. This must be serious if he’s willing to leave her on her own, but then she is using those pills to help her sleep now, too. It could be he figures she’ll be out cold, and not a threat.
Teagan meets us in the kitchen when we arrive. She turns away from the cup of tea she was fixing, biting her lip anxiously. “How is she?”
“You know, it seems like she’s getting better,” I tell her. “Just a little, but one step at a time.” I sure as hell never expected her to come so close to me in bed after spending weeks acting like we’re both carrying some contagious, deadly disease. It’s a far cry from the up-for-anything Natalie who managed to convince Dallas and me to sleep with her at the same time, but it’s a positive development.
“He’s waiting in the conference room,” Teagan explains, and we head in that direction with her following us. Mason and Trent are engaged in quiet conversation at the table, but it ends when Dallas and I enter.
“Careful,” I warn with a smirk. “Some people take it personally when the talk goes silent as soon as they show up.”
“Don’t worry,” Trent tells me while we take our seats. “If I wanted to talk shit about you, I would do it to your face.”
“I have no doubt.” I nod to Mason, who clears his throat as he looks around the table. Teagan sits at the end opposite him. I’m sure he’s already filled her in on everything we’re about to discuss, but there’s no deciphering the look they exchange.
“It’s becoming clear the Russian government is somehow involved in the shit that’s been going down here,” he explains.
“And how have we come to this conclusion?” I ask.
“It’s based first on Nat’s description of the team leader who took that knife to her. Since her return, we’ve run the prints of the prick who blew his own brains out rather than be questioned in the garage, and he was a longtime Russian asset.”
The weight of this settles over all of us, and the room remains silent for several moments before Mason continues. “Along with that, there’s the connection to Jonathan.” His voice cracks a bit on the name, and his brows pull together like he’s in pain. “He died in Russia. It only makes sense that the people who’ve worked their asses off to get back at me were from Russia.”
He leans back in his chair, blowing out a sigh as he stares at the ceiling. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to forget about it,” he admits. “But I can’t. It’s impossible.”
“You can’t do that to yourself.” Dallas’s voice is quiet and firm, but clearly disregarded. Mason only blows out a snort before shaking his head. A glance at Teagan reveals her pain as she witnesses this.
“Beverly was wrong when she accused me of murdering my brother. Murder denotes premeditation, and there was none of that. But it was still my fucking fault. I fucked up and somebody out there knows it. Somebody who was involved. A Russian. Maybe a family member of someone we were ordered to kill. Someone looking for vengeance. They knew they could get it through my family.”
He blows out another sigh and goes silent for a long time. There’s nothing for us to say, nothing that could make it better. Everything he says makes sense—though he doesn’t deserve all this guilt he’s heaping on himself. I know he doesn’t believe that. Considering the lengths somebody is willing to go to get back at him, they don’t believe it, either.
Once he has a hold of himself, Mason continues, sitting up straight again. “That’s not all.” He looks at Dallas. “Over the past few days, I’ve tried to reach out to the other members of the SEAL team.”
