“Hold on,” I tell Mason, texting Wes that I need to go and I’ll contact him later. “I don’t want to worry Wes.”
“Who’s Wes?”
"My friend with the FBI." I hold up the phone so Mason can see. "He’s the one who helped me start fresh after I escaped."
Mason’s expression goes flat the second I say FBI.
Not angry. Worse: Assessing.
He crosses his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you still had contact with him?”
The cottage suddenly feels too small, too hot. I tighten my grip on the phone. “It’s habit. I didn’t mean anything by it. The less people know about Wes, the safer he stays.”
He closes his eyes for a second. Then he steps closer, close enough that I can feel the tension pouring off him in waves, and gently takes my arms. “And what happens if Turner tracked you from him?”
I blink in shock. “He wouldn’t give me up.”
“No, but you don’t know who he works with or how much they know.” He kisses my forehead. “A federal badge doesn’t make him safe, Lily. It just makes him another man with access.”
“Wes isn’t like that,” I protest.
“Maybe not.” His eyes say he doesn’t believe it though. “He’s still required to report crime. How do you think that’s going to work if you go ahead with your plan for Kelly and Turner?”
“I hate logic.” I scowl up at him.
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “I’m just asking you to reframe things. Our success going in tomorrow depends on stealth. The fewer people who know about it, the safer everyone is, and the fewer repercussions there are.”
Taking a deep breath, I nod as I exhale. “Okay.”
“You agree?” he asks, studying me.
“Only because I trust you.”
“Thank you.” He lowers his mouth to mine, like he’s sealing it with a kiss.
73
MASON
Today was a shitshow of a day.
Every nerve in my body feels stretched tight. Turner’s back, Kelly’s still breathing, and Lily’s alternating between being pissed and terrified. On top of it all, I had to bribe Luke to go into town earlier to bring back Lily’s truck to the ranch. At the moment, the only thing keeping me from going one-man-army on this town is the weight of Lily’s hand in mine.
That’s how we walk into the Rusty Spur: hand in hand.
It’s Friday night, so it’s packed. I scan the room the moment we walk through the door—exits, sight lines, potential threats. Normally, that’s all habit, but tonight we’re on alert.
When we first came to Iron Ridge, I installed cameras in here so we could make sure Emma was safe when she met her friends for drinks. The cameras are still operational. We checked the feeds before we came, to make sure we weren’t walking into a situation.
Jake and Emma arrived a few minutes before we do. Somehow they managed to get a booth in the back. I take one look at Jake’s forbidding expression and am not surprised.
Lily's hand tightens in mine as we cross the room.
"Breathe," I murmur against her ear.
She does, but I feel the tension radiating through her.
"Jake got us a booth, and he only had to make one threat to do it." Emma rolls her eyes. She looks radiant tonight—glowing in that way pregnant women do, though most people wouldn't know yet.