Admit One (13 page)

But before she could formulate the appropriate set down, Will’s laser-like gaze switched to Mason.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Ah…” Mason took another noticeable step back, and Allie rolled her eyes. But then, Will
was
carrying his sidearm. And Mason had just spent the night in jail. She guessed she couldn’t blame him for treading carefully. “Of course.”

But then Mason looked at Allie, and spoke without regard to Will’s presence. “I have little doubt regarding your ability to make the right decision, but I do sometimes struggle with my own.”

With that, he turned on his heel and headed toward the door. “I’ll meet you outside,” he said to Will in passing. When he’d gone, Will turned a look on Allie.

“That was quite the exit line.”

“What did you expect? He’s an actor.”

“Actually,” Will said thoughtfully “I suspect he’s quite a bit more.”

Allie stared at her brother in surprise, but then found herself sighing in agreement. “I know.”

And that’s what she was afraid of.

CHAPTER TEN

MASON
leaned against one of the monstrous columns on the Hawbaker’s front porch – verandah, he corrected himself. He was fairly certain that was the local term. A warm breeze blew, carrying the heady scent of the blooming vine which crawled up the columns, ruffling his overlong hair. His skin seemed to itch, feeling too tight to contain the various emotions churning about inside it. For every step forward he took with Allison, it seemed they moved the proverbial two steps back. He tried not to resent her mistrust, her questioning of his motives, because he knew he at least partly deserved it. Or mostly deserved it, to be honest. He
had
been a cad most of his life, and he’d started down that familiar path with her when he’d last been in Sweetwater.

Initially, at least. But he’d found himself off the path, wandering in foreign surroundings, deeply confused but charmed silly nonetheless.

And he knew – for it was easy to see, even before he’d gotten to know her – that Allison had had a rough way to go, emotionally speaking. She’d endured a number of family catastrophes – starting with abandonment by her mother, apparently – and had been left virtually at the altar by her long-time lover and fiancé. That she had trust issues was only to be expected.

That he so badly wanted to be the man she trusted was unprecedented.

The door opened behind him, and Mason turned. Will Hawbaker, dressed in uniform of black polo shirt and khaki pants – complete with holstered firearm, of course – crossed the painted floorboards with a deceptively easygoing amble. The man was like an alligator he’d once watched, sunning itself on a bank, looking rather slow and easily avoided. Until an unsuspecting water bird had strayed too close and found itself the alligator’s dinner. 

Hawbaker carried a travel mug of coffee in one hand, making Mason’s mouth water. That was enough of a reason to feel testy. No one should have to face the armed brother of the woman in whom you were enamored without an adequate infusion of caffeine.

The look the man gave him was wry. “You can relax. I’m not going to shoot you.”

“Imagine my relief.”

“You’re a smartass, Armitage, but I like that about you. It’s usually the people who are polite to your face that you have to watch out for.”

“Since no one in your family yet meets that description, I guess I’ll consider myself safe.”

Hawbaker grinned. “Just don’t get too comfortable.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Now that we’ve got the obligatory veiled threats and insults out of the way.” He handed Mason the mug. “Don’t look so surprised. If Josie heard that I’d turned a guest away without at least a beverage, she’d tan my hide.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not entirely joking?”

“You’ve met Josie. Would
you
want to cross her?”

“Not if I desired to remain in one piece.”

“Well, there you go.” Will made a gesture with his hand, and Mason followed his cue by preceding him down the stairs. Apparently he wished to have this conversation out of earshot of his siblings.

They strolled down the tabby walkway, closer to the massive oaks that shaded the drive. Spanish moss swayed lazily in the desultory breeze, and a plump squirrel stopped his industrious foraging in the soft ground beneath the closest tree to stare suspiciously at the newcomers.

“The charges have been dropped.”

“Excuse me?”

“Wesley Norbert has had an apparent change of heart. He’s no longer willing to press charges.”

Mason narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“He used a lot of legal jargon that reminded me why I gave up law school after one semester, but I think his motives may have been a little more along the lines of… let’s call it self-preservation.”

“You threatened him.”

“Well, no. That would be what we refer to as an abuse of authority. Not that I wasn’t
tempted
to threaten him, mind you. But that’s one apple I’ve so far managed to avoid.” His mouth tightened briefly, as if he was recalling something extremely unpleasant, but then he brought the conversation back on point.

“I think,” Hawbaker continued “that he realized that pressing charges would put him in a precarious position with regards to Allie.”

“Because it would likely come out that he’d manhandled her.”

“That too.” The look Hawbaker gave him was considering. “You don’t happen to know what it was that she said to him to set him off?”

“No.” Mason sipped the coffee. It was bracingly strong and just a little sweet. The fact that Allison recalled how he liked it cheered him. “Although even if I did, I likely wouldn’t tell you, since Allison clearly hasn’t informed you herself.”

Hawbaker’s hard blue gaze held him pinned for several moments, and Mason refused to look away. If this was some sort of test of willpower or integrity or what have you, the man could get stuffed.

Then he surprised Mason again by grinning. “You’re a lot less decorative than you look.”

“I can’t tell you how much your good opinion means.”

“Speaking of good opinions, you, uh, may have some damage control to do with your adoring public.” He scratched behind his ear. “I’m afraid there’s a video of your arrest floating around Youtube.”

Mason grimaced. He’d had a host of messages and texts from his publicist when his phone was returned to him this morning. “Yes, I’m aware.”

Hawbaker glanced toward the house. “Look, I’m going to cut to the chase. I don’t know what exactly went down last night between my sister and Norbert – and it may well be none of my business – but it goes without saying that I don’t like the fact that the man seems to be sniffing around her again.”

Mason wasn’t crazy about it either. But he considered what Allison said. “Being as it isn’t your business – nor mine – perhaps we should butt out and allow your sister to handle it.”

Hawbaker looked like he was tempted to revise his good opinion. “Aren’t you the one who said
I don’t trust him
and
I’d prefer if she wasn’t alone tonight?”

“Yes, but…” Mason scowled. To hell with it. “I’m trying to respect her independence and ability to take care of herself.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Not very well.”

Hawbaker clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to my world. So. Do we have an understanding?”

Mason eyed the other man. Although he hadn’t said it in so many words, clearly he expected Mason to be vigilant on Allison’s behalf.  Knowing that Mason was likely going to do so anyway – for his own, purely selfish reasons. Yet by enlisting his aid, Hawbaker somehow managed to change it into something… noble. The King asking the trusted knight to help protect the princess from the dragon. And of course, that meant his sense of honor was at stake, so bedding the princess at the first available opportunity was – theoretically, at least – less likely.

“You’re diabolical.”

“I’m flattered that you noticed.”

Mason shook his head. “Just call me Sir Galahad,” he muttered. Then he glanced at the sky, noting the position of the sun above the trees. “As charming as this conversation has been, I’m afraid I must be going. There’s a matinee performance this afternoon, and I need to wash the jail stink off beforehand.”

“Now, now. Let’s not insult the custodial efficiency of my staff. You gave a fine performance last night, by the way.”

Mason waved a hand, dismissing the compliment. “It’s a good cast and crew with which to work.” And it had felt good to be back on a stage. Theater would always be his first love, though there were certain benefits to film.

Certain drawbacks, also. And some of those were major.

Shoving those concerns aside, he returned his attention to Hawbaker. “I better enjoy it while it lasts. I believe Tommy will be sufficiently restored to resume his role within the next day or so.”

“Glad to hear it. Tommy’s a…” the most unusual look passed over Hawbaker’s face.

“Problem?” Mason asked.

“No. Yes.
Shit,”
the other man said under his breath. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll catch you later.”

With that, he trotted off toward his police vehicle, which was parked in the circular drive. He started the car abruptly, sending bits of oyster shells flying as he accelerated past Mason. He drove with his phone pressed between ear and shoulder, knuckles white where he gripped the wheel.

Mason sipped his coffee, and raised an eyebrow at the squirrel, which had jumped onto the tree, twitching his tail in annoyance at Hawbaker’s abrupt departure. “I wonder if it was something I said.” 

WILL
rapped his fist on the front door of Jimmy Owen’s apartment. “Police!” he called out. “Open up.”

This elicited no response, which Will didn’t find surprising. Even if Jimmy was home – and Will wasn’t expecting that to be the case, considering he was pretty sure the man was dead – he wasn’t exactly the type to greet them at the door with a plate of cookies. But on the off chance that he wasn’t, or that he hadn’t, despite all evidence to the contrary, lived alone, they had to announce their presence.

When the door to the adjacent apartment opened, Officer Tolliver whirled around, hand on the butt of his firearm, but Will held up a cautioning hand. The lady who poked her head out was eighty if she was a day.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said. “I’m Chief Hawbaker and this is Officer Tolliver with the Sweetwater Police Department. We just have a couple questions for your neighbor here. No need to be alarmed.”

“He’s not home,” she said succinctly, gnarled fingers gripping her cane as she leaned out further. “Hasn’t been here for days. I know because I haven’t heard that infernal motorcycle of his pulling in and out of here at all hours of the day and night.”

Recognizing a willing source of information when he saw one, Will strolled over, offered a congenial smile. “Can you remember the last time you heard his ‘infernal motorcycle,’ Ms…?”

“Imogene Bushnell. And of course I can. I may be old, but I’m not senile. Twas last Monday at two-forty in the morning. Then he left again thirty-seven minutes later, at three-seventeen.”

“That’s pretty specific,” Will said, trying not to let suspicion color his voice. In his line of work, he’d learned to look the gift horse in the mouth, because if you didn’t, it would likely bite you on the ass as soon as you turned your back.

“I’ve been keeping a record,” she explained, somehow managing to look at him down her nose, despite the fact that she was at least a full foot shorter. “For when I lodge my noise complaint to the management.”

“That seems sensible,” Will agreed, thinking the management was probably going to be relieved that they’d dodged that particular bullet. “And how long have you been having a noise problem?”

“Ever since that boy got that infernal motorcycle, three months back. Swaggering around like he was king of the hill, covered in all those tattoos. Just a punk, if you ask me. And if it wasn’t the motorcycle it was the TV blaring half the night, and these walls thin as paper.” Her lips pressed together and then she leaned closer.
“Porn,”
she whispered. “Sounded like I was living next door to a bawdy house after a ship full of sailors got their shore leave.”  

Tolliver coughed behind him.

“I can see how that wouldn’t be conducive to getting twenty winks,” Will allowed, and Imogene narrowed her eyes, seemingly unsure as to whether he was sassing her. He thanked God that he’d grown up with Josie and learned to control his facial expression at an early age.

Seemingly satisfied, Imogene gave one sharp nod.

“Do you think we could have a look at your record of Mr. Owen’s comings and goings, ma’am? Just so we can corroborate some information.”

She gave him the fish eye again, and Will tried to look earnest. His job was much more pleasant when he didn’t have to compel possible evidence from people. “I suppose so,” she finally agreed. “I’ve got it written down in my notebook. Of course, people don’t just take your word for things these days, being as most people’s word isn’t worth diddly. That’s why I also took videos on my iPhone.”