Mason: The Sinner Saints #4 (3 page)

“N-no, don’t,” she sputtered desperately into the phone. “Someone else got to the necklace before I could get inside. He was the reason I took off. I was following him.”

A slight pause, while the other person spoke. She turned her back to Mason, but didn’t bother dropping her voice. “I
can
get it back. I
will
. I just need a little more time to find the guy who took it.”

She might not be scared of him or of the law, but she was obviously terrified of whoever was on the phone. Her voice was so desperate it almost hurt to listen to her. Her shoulders were shaking. Mason might not be able to see her face, but he was willing to bet that there were tears welling up in her eyes.

But at least she was talking, and if she kept it up for just a little while longer, he might be able to fill in a few more gaps.

He’d already learned more about Sara Baumgartner in the last twenty seconds than he had in the last twelve hours. She was working for someone…someone who had near-total control over her. But who? And how?

Mason had spent the afternoon scouring the web for information about Sara, but there wasn’t much to find. As far as he could tell, she didn’t owe anyone money, she wasn’t in trouble with the law, and she didn’t have many connections beyond her immediate family, who were already known criminals—none of the usual blackmail fodder.

“Just don’t hurt them. Please. I’ll do anything, just let them go.”

Mason froze.

Shit
.

He should have known. He’d spent the last hour watching her face. Sure, he’d caught the tension and fear, but he’d dismissed it as superficial. Just nerves, nothing more. There was no excuse for his mistake. He was too experienced not to see past that adorable pert little nose and those wide brown eyes to the churning panic underneath.

Someone wasn’t twisting her arm. They were holding a gun to the head of someone she loved. This wasn’t simple extortion. It was a kidnapping.

Don’t hurt them
.

More than
someone
. Two people.

It wasn’t a big leap to guess who they were. Sara wasn’t associated with many people. No spouse. No kids. That didn’t leave a lot of other choices.

Just her parents.

Mason knew that Sara had fought against his help before, but this changed everything. Two people’s lives were in danger—three, if he counted Sara’s. The choice was no longer hers to make.

Mason took a step forward and placed his hand on her shoulder. Sara twisted her head around and pierced him with a glare.

“Him?” she said, her voice shaking even harder. “He’s no one. Just a pain in the ass. I can shake him.”

In any other situation, Mason would have chuckled at her description of him—and she was talking about him, there was no doubt of that—but her words only made his blood run colder. If someone was asking questions it meant they had eyes close by.

Eyes, and God only knew what else.

“Give me the phone, Sara,” he demanded.

She gave a terse shake of her head before turning back around and scurrying down the street. She only made it a few steps before Mason caught up with her.

This time he didn’t ask for permission. He simply darted his hand over her shoulder and snatched the phone. She spun around, her expression frantic. In an instant, she turned wild on him, flailing and clawing at his chest and arms. Not that it did her much good. She was slight enough that Mason only needed to use a single arm to keep her at bay as he lifted the phone to his ear.

“Sara is right. There’s no need to harm Mr. and Mrs. Baumgartner,” he said, using a controlled tone that he’d practiced in the field dozens of times. “I’m sure that we can come to an arrangement.”

A long pause stretched on the other end, but at least there wasn’t dead silence. Mason could still make out the faint rise and fall of breath, the subtle sound of shuffling steps. He may have caught the kidnapper off guard, but he hadn’t rattled him. He was still there, listening.

“Who is this?” The man’s voice was calm and measured, but also biting. He wasn’t asking a question. He was issuing a demand. And, by the sound of it, he wasn’t used to having his orders refused.

So, he was dealing with a man that valued power and control. That was good to know. Useful.

Mason didn’t mind bowing his head for a negotiation, but he wasn’t about to fall to his knees.

“I’m an associate of Sara’s,” he said.

“An
associate
,” the voice said. “I believe that she described you as a pain in the ass.”

“And I am,” Mason said smoothly. “But a necessary one if you don’t want to lose the Evening Star.”

On the other end, the man sucked in a long breath. Another pause that gave Mason even more insight into the person he was dealing with. He had to be greedy to send Sara after the necklace in the first place, but it was pure pride that was pushing him now. Something told Mason he wasn’t the kind of person who could live with coming in second.

“And how do I know that you weren’t the one who stole the necklace in the first place?” the voice asked.

“You don’t,” Mason answered honestly. “You’re just going to have to take my word for it. Just like I’m going to have to take your word that you didn’t double-cross Sara as a convenient excuse to rid yourself of your hostages.”

“Are you asking for proof of life?”

“You’re welcome to think of it as providing Miss Baumgartner with continued motivation to recover the diamonds if it makes you feel better.”

“Fair enough.”

Mason focused intently as a series of background sounds made their way through the phone—a long series of hard, staccato steps on concrete, sixteen to be exact, the metallic groan of turning gears, and the low creak of sliding shafts. Wherever the Baumgartners were being held, it was heavily fortified.

A moment later a whoosh of air swept past the other phone’s receiver, as though it were being tossed across a room.

“Say hello,” the voice said in the distance.

“Sara?” A woman’s breathy voice came on the line.

Mason immediately handed the phone over. Tears overflowed Sara’s eyes, spilling down her cheeks.

“M-Mom,” she sputtered. “Are you all right?”

Sara balled her hand into a fist and pressed it against the center of her chest as her mother answered.

“I’m going to get you out of there, Mom,” she said. Her voice might be shaky, but there was no denying the resolve that shone through in every word. “I swear to God. I don’t care what I have to do. I’m going to get you and Dad out. No, don’t go. Not yet.”

Mason reached over and tried to take the phone back. He had to pry it from her tight grip, but at least she didn’t fight him this time. The hysteria that had raged out of control in her eyes just a few minutes ago was nearly extinguished, leaving only the charred remains of fear and weariness behind.

But he could deal with that later…after he was finished with the matter at hand.

“Satisfied?” the man asked as Mason pressed the phone to his ear.

“For now.”

“Good,” the man’s voice grew colder. “Then we can move on to my demands.”

Mason straightened his shoulders. He’d known this was coming. In fact, he’d counted on it. Every word the man said gave him more clues about who he was dealing with…and how Mason would eventually bring him down.

“My original arrangement with Sara was that she was not to bring any outside parties in to assist with the heist,” the voice went on. “But since she has disregarded our agreement, I have no choice but to do the same. Before, I was perfectly content to allow her to serve out her sentence for this single crime, but now I’m afraid that arrangement will no longer be sufficient.”

Mason’s teeth ground together. So, that’s why Sara had said that she wasn’t trying to get away with anything this morning. She knew all along that she would be taking the fall for the theft. It was all part of the plan.

“What are you proposing?” Mason asked.

A long low laugh sounded in his ear. “I’m not
proposing
anything. This isn’t a negotiation. It’s a simple ultimatum, and one that I’m not certain Miss Baumgartner deserves after breaking her part of the bargain.”

Mason’s attention snapped to Sara as she tugged on his jacket. She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. The tip of her nose was bright pink, both from the wind and her tears. She looked battered and worn down, but not defeated. Not yet anyway.

“What does he want?” she asked.

“Go on,” Mason said through tight lips.

“Now she will have to confess to the Kelham job as well,” the man said.

Mason had no idea what the man meant, but the razor-sharp glee in his voice made Mason’s stomach churn. Whatever he was asking for, it couldn’t be good.

“He wants you to take responsibility for the Kelham job,” he repeated.

Mason’s fears were confirmed the moment that all the color drained from Sara’s face. He opened his mouth to tell the bastard no deal, but Sara stopped him before a single word came out.

“Tell him I’ll do it,” she said.

Mason narrowed his eyes. He pressed his lips together tight. She was in no condition to agree to anything.

Sara must have sensed his hesitation because she leaned forward and practically shouted into the mouthpiece.

“I’ll do it.”

Mason puffed out his chest as he slid back a step.

“There you go,” he said with an evenness he wasn’t feeling. “You have your deal.”

“Not quite,” the man said cryptically. “We still need to arrange your end of the bargain.”

“All right.”

It didn’t matter what the kidnapper said. This wasn’t going to be any different than any other hostage situation he’d dealt with. He just needed to stick to the script—placate the kidnapper, show all signs that you’re going along with his plan, all the while secretly exploiting his weaknesses until the moment you can take him out.

Mason was already thinking ahead. The moment he was off the phone he’d assemble the team at Macmillan Security and convince Sara to fill them in on the rest of the details. They’d be able to take it from there.

“You have seventy-two hours to deliver
l’étoile du soir
,” the voice said.

“And if I need more time?”

“Don’t.”

Mason gave a curt nod. Three days. It was a generous amount of time as demands went.

“And you will receive nothing from me for your efforts but the gift of being allowed to walk away,” the man went on. “But, on the other hand, if you fail to deliver the necklace…”

Something in the man’s voice made the hairs on Mason’s neck bristle. He’d been in too many highly-charged combat situations not to recognize the subtle warning in his tone.

Mason acted on instinct, letting go of the phone and rushing forward. He wrapped his arms around Sara’s waist and pulled her down to the hard surface of the sidewalk just as three sharp cracks exploded from across the street. Shards of paint and plaster rained down on their bodies as bullets embedded in the shop wall just a few feet above their heads.

A second later, the squeal of spinning rubber filled the air. Mason turned his head just in time to catch a glimpse of the black sedan that had passed by a few minutes ago before it careened around the corner.

Once they were gone, Mason turned his attention to Sara. Her eyes were wide, and her breathing was ragged, but she appeared unharmed.

“Don’t worry,” he said, gently brushing a line of dust off her forehead. “They’re gone. You’re all right now.”

Her caramel-colored eyes narrowed as her shock dissipated. She glared daggers up at him from the cold pavement. “Get off me, you idiot.”

Chapter Three

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sara growled the moment Mason rolled off her.

“A simple thank you would’ve been fine.” In one smooth move he rose to his feet. A half second later, he offered Sara his hand.

She ignored it and scrambled to her feet, quickly sweeping the debris off her crumpled clothes. She grimaced a little when her hands came away dirty. Damn it. After everything that had happened, she probably looked a hot mess.

Not that she cared how she looked to Mason, but now that the Evening Star had been stolen, the city was probably crawling with cops and she was suspect number one. If ever there was a time to be inconspicuous, this was it.

But she would make do, just like she always did. All she needed was twenty seconds and a mirror and she could get herself back together again.

But before she could fix herself, she needed to deal with the problem right in front of her.

She drew in a steadying breath and raised her head to look Mason in the eye. He looked every bit as put together as he had that morning at the museum. He didn’t seem to have even a single wrinkle on his suit.

Of course he didn’t.

“And what
exactly
am I supposed to be thanking you for?” she asked with a sneer. “You just ruined everything.”

His brows shot up, but the corners of his lips quirked just a touch. Somehow the hint of a smile made him both more attractive and more infuriating all at once.

“Seems your plans were already in flames long before I showed up,” he said. “You need my help. Admit it.”

“Your
help
just made me lose track of the necklace.”

“I saved your life.”

Sara shook her head as she glanced at the wall behind her. The bullet holes were eight feet off the ground.

“Unless Malcolm had us confused with a pair of giraffes, those were warning shots.”

“I just bought your parents three more days.”

Sara pressed her lips together tight. Even she had to admit that three days was better than twenty minutes. And now that the trail of the thief had gone cold, she was going to need every second.

Too bad the luxury of time came at one hell of a cost.

“And bought me a one-way ticket to the gas chamber in the process,” she muttered.

All humor fled his eyes in an instant. He moved closer. “What does that mean?”

“It means I can’t afford any more of your
help
, Mr. Wright,” she said. Police sirens sounded in the distance. Someone must have already called in the gunshots.

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 alone 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.”