MASON (Second Chance Novels Book 2) (14 page)

"Hello," I grumble at the unknown caller. With the investigation heating up, I can't ignore anything, especially not a phone call at three a.m.

"You need to back off," a familiar, though not angry, voice says.
 

"Hanover?" I ask, surprised to be getting a late night call from the District Attorney himself.

"Look, I'm already on this, and you're fucking up what a task force is already working on," he says. I hop up from the floor and walk directly into my room. I snap to get Dig's attention and wave her up to listen.
 

"Well then your task force sucks, or you think I'm dumb enough to believe your drug-snorting ass because of one phone call."

"I've never done coke, you asshole. I've only made a show of snorting
something
in order to party with some of the right people, so stop getting in my way. In some circles, I'm the only way in, no matter how much the task force hates using me that way. And just so you know, powdered sugar stings like a son of a bitch up the nostrils."

Dig looks at me with those sharp eyes, quickly coming out of her late-night haze. She angles the phone toward herself and speaks to him directly. "Then meet us with your intel. If you're legit with this, we can work together. If you've got nothing, then leave us alone to do what we started out to do."

"You should know better than to jeopardize your job like this, detective."

"Fuck off. So…where would you like to meet?"

This woman takes no prisoners, and is met with stony silence at the other end. "Hanover?" I prod.

"Your house is as good as any," he resigns himself to the meeting.

"I live at 349 South—" I start.

"I already know where you live, Pratt," he says before he disconnects the call abruptly.

Only fifteen minutes later, Dig and I are dressed and ready for what may be the most bizarre meeting of my life. I sit my Glock on the table as an obvious message to our guest. One glance out the window and car-door noise later and Dig opens my front door to welcome Tom Hanover into my tiny house. He's barely recognizable as a city official in his jeans and baseball cap.
 

"Hanover," I say plainly.

"Pratt," he nods then turns to Dig. "Detective," he nods again. Dig holds her strong stance with her arms crossed. Between her harsh demeanor and her purplish-green bruises, she could intimidate the strongest of individuals.
 

"Sit," I offer. I sit directly across from him, lifting the dark weapon lightly into my hand and purposely studying the grip as I twist the Glock in my palm. I want there to be no question as to my intentions for this meeting. I'm in charge, simple as that.
 

Hanover rolls his eyes at me. "You don't have to prove your point, Pratt. I know exactly who you are. You're not the only one who can investigate. Can we get down to business please?"

Dig and I glance at each other quickly and I drop the show. I don't, however, set my gun down. "What do you have?" I ask with hard determination. I see his eyes move to our board. He stands and moves to our intricate web of information.
 

"Sit down," I say almost too harshly. "You don't see ours until you show us yours."

He pulls a flash drive from his pocket before he sits; Sofia gets the computer and loads his info. Holy fuck. He knows almost everything we do and a few things we don't.
 

"This is good," I say, impressed.
 

"As is yours. Now are you convinced?"

I nod and stow my Glock in my ankle holster. "Convinced, but not backing off. Without legal constraints, I'm able to work in ways you can't. I can also run whatever time table I feel like, and I have no risk of information leaking."

"Of course," he says. "But we can pool resources. I'm not backing off either."

With one more glance at Dig, I see her nod. I can accept tipping our hand for a quick moment. "You work the legal angle," I say. "We'll keep our course on the other side. We have…
alternative
plans which won't land us in jail."

"And those would be?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with at this time. I don't mind sharing intel, but you'll understand if I don't simply bare our entire investigation for you. Unless you'd do the same?"

He lets out a frustrated sigh. "Obviously not."

"Then we understand each other. I'm keeping your flash drive, and I'll have one for you tomorrow."

He eyes me keenly. "The only way this ends is with me prosecuting each one of them, understood? For now, I need to come across as one of them, so feel free to keep harassing me publicly. We meet like this as little as possible. You work the mayor and the higher ups while I go after the lesser idiots, coming off to my 'friends' as noble. The mayor thinks I'm going after the piss ants to hold onto my power position. He thinks he's untouchable. He's all yours."

"We can work with that," Dig says. Hanover looks over at her.
 

"You two made quite an impression at lunch the other day."

I see Dig crack the tiniest smile. "As did you."

Hanover stands to leave but turns around again. "Don't fuck this up."

"I was thinking the same of you," I say deadpan. Hanover shakes his head and walks out my front door. I look over at Dig who's sporting the same expression I am.
 

"Well I didn't see that one coming," she says. "But we can use it."

"Yep," I agree.

We stand awkwardly for a moment as I look at the blanket and pillow stowed beside the couch. I slump my shoulders before I reach for my bedding and arrange it on the floor. Dig watches for a moment and then walks toward my bedroom.
 

"Good night, Sofia," I say, remembering her good night request from before. Same bed or not, we've become close. Using her given name seems an appropriate way to end the evening. She turns, taken aback by my words.

"Good night, Mason," she says softly.
 

Friday morning we have breakfast and discuss strategy as well as the DA's involvement. His role changes ours quite a bit, allowing us to concentrate on the top dogs on our list. We rearrange the board yet again and jot notes on our options. By lunch time, we've integrated our original strategy with our new plan of attack. Tonight's outing with the mayor's mistress is the perfect opportunity for more intel gathering and possibly more intimidation toward him directly if we play our cards right.
 

I make sure to call Shelby right after lunch, but she doesn't answer. That doesn't surprise me, but at least I made the effort and left a message. I'm hoping that eases the sting of our frustrated goodbye last night. When I come in from my call, Dig is still at the table.

"Don't react like I know you're going to," she starts, "but I need to help around here. Where do you keep your cleaning supplies?"

"No fucking way," I shake my head. "You're my guest. You're not doing any housework."

"Shut up, Pratt," she rolls her eyes. "My body needs to move around to work out the final kinks from getting so torn up. Some light cleaning will do me some good, and ease my guilt for being such a freeloader all week. I'd offer to shop for groceries, but my ribs could use a little more time without lifting a gallon of milk out of the case, especially if I'm planning to dance tonight."

I roll my eyes at her, but she makes sense. Neither of us is accustomed to sedentary living. I've had the luxury of working out in my garage this week. She has not.
 

"Fine. I'll make the grocery run while you do the bare minimum to accomplish what your body needs you to, but that's it," I say with a determined glare. Dig hands me a piece of paper and I look down at the words in mild surprise. "You're giving me a shopping list?"

"Yep. Dinner's on me tonight. I love to cook and I haven't had the chance. Don't skimp on the ingredients."

"Yes, ma'am," I say with a small smile. I remember her lasagna and I can't wait to see what's next.

I'm lucky, because not only is Dig cooking for me, but while I'm at the store I run into the city treasurer's wife in line. I introduce myself politely and make sure she remembers my name along with my charming smile. I can picture his face going white when she happily tells him about running into Mason Pratt at the store. He'll undoubtedly know who I am. Too fucking fun.
 

I get home shortly thereafter to find Dig has all my windows open, and the light breeze combines with the fresh scent of cleaner. For the first time ever, this feels like more of a home. Dig smiles at me brightly when I come in with two fists full of plastic bags.
 

"It feels so good to move around," she says. "I think by Monday I can start running again, and maybe some light lifting by next Friday. If you're up for it, maybe some slow sparring today?"

The light, hopeful look in her eyes takes some weight off my shoulders. I've been tense ever since leaving Shel's house. Some easy sparring with Dig sounds pretty damn good, especially with her mood so light. She's energized simply from cleaning, and I could take a hit off of it.
 

"As long as it doesn't interrupt your cooking," I grin.
 

"Don't worry, I've got my priorities straight today," she nods. "Cook, spar, then play brand-new-bestie to the mayor's favorite mistress."

"That's Amber, right?"

"Yep, Amber Collins. Now bring me those bags so I can get started."

"Already? It's only one o'clock."

"Good sauce needs to simmer for hours. I'm getting started a little late, actually."

I smile and unpack as she reaches for a large stock pot and the olive oil. Within fifteen minutes the aroma of simmering oregano with garlic and basil takes over. She preps some herb butter and lines up the rest of her ingredients on the counter. She cringes at the store-bought pasta.

"I don't know how you deal with your limited counter space."

"I cook nearly everything outside," I shrug.
 

The rest of the afternoon borders on perfection. I rearrange my living room so we have room for some basic stick-fighting drills at an easy pace, simply to refresh the muscle-memory of the moves.
 

"You see how easily I could kick your ass?" she laughs as she tags my knee from the side. If she applied force, she'd have knocked me down. If she'd hit as hard as she could, she might have done some damage.

"Kick my ass? What do you weigh, a buck twenty?" I tease.
 

"A little more, thank you, but muscle out ranks weight."

"Whatever. My left bicep weighs more than you do." My arrogant smirk amuses her.

"It's not the size that matters, big boy. It's what you do with it," she laughs, still attacking and defending with slow clicks of our weapons.
 

"Well, it's a good thing I know what to do with all my size," I say with obvious innuendo.
 

She laughs and rolls her eyes. "Are we still talking about muscle mass?"

I can't help but chuckle at our ridiculous conversation. I also can't help but notice the skin above her tank top glisten with a slight sheen of sweat, or that her leggings show off her muscle tone. And I'll be damned if I'm not distracted by her biceps flexing gently, especially since the bruises around her arms are no longer visible, highlighting the perfection of her skin. Damn it, I'm having no success keeping my thoughts of her professional.
 

I try to think of Shelby. I fail.
 

After more drills, showers, and more kitchen time, we share an excellent pasta dish. She combined the most incredible merlot-marinara sauce with hand-rolled meatballs and manicotti stuffed with spinach and a variety of cheeses. She arranges the meal on the plates as would a gourmet restaurant. A warm, crusty loaf of bread and a small plate of olive oil for dipping graces the middle of my table. She's poured a glass of wine for each of us.
 

"
Gratzie
," I toast with a smiling nod.

"
Di niente
," she smiles in return.
 

I cannot imagine a better meal, neither the food nor the company.

A few hours of easy conversation later, Dig and I are getting ready to go to the club. I put on my most scuffed jeans and a basic black tee. This particular shirt stretches across my chest and biceps tightly. Dig is in my room getting dressed while I brush my teeth. We both step into the living room at the same time. One glance in her direction and I nearly fall over. Sinful is the only word I can use to describe her.
 

She's wrapped in a tight, very short, stretchy black dress which leaves little to the imagination. Her cleavage is pushed up, and the shoulders of the dress don't cover the black straps of her bra. The fabric clings to her tiny waist, and the short skirt does little to hide the perfection of her ass. Her spiky heels are open at the toe. Cute turns to sexy in those shoes.
 

God. Damn.
 

Her hair is down, her earrings dangle seductively, and her barely-lingering bruises are concealed easily by her light makeup.

"Wow," I say, unable to find any other words that won't indicate how fucking turned on I am right now.
 

She smiles. "Thank you. Not so bad yourself," she notes, eyeing my chest and arms. This is going to be one difficult fucking night. I escort Dig to my truck where I don't allow myself to help her in. Touching needs to be kept at a minimum if I'm going to survive this. I remind myself she's my partner, and partner only.

We arrive at the club, and I pay the cover as Dig walks in looking like she's ready to party. She's a hell of a cop, slipping into her undercover personality so easily. She takes advantage of her young-looking appearance. My role tonight is the jealous boyfriend, here to keep away any men who want to hit on her. She needs focus, and I'm playing goalie. My choice of shirt is designed specifically for my intimidation role, and my hardened glare drives home the point.

"Amber!" Dig squeals when she sees her target. "Hey, bitch!"