Page 28 of Man of Lies

“Good. Hang on.”

Before he could get another word in, I slid the phone back into my pocket, still connected. Let him listen and wonder.

The oak’s branches twisted toward the upper floors like a ladder custom-built for sneaking in and out. I blew on my palms, rubbed them together, and caught the lowest branch, testing its give before hauling myself up.

Not the suavest way to make an entrance, but grace wasn’t my currency. Climbing trees wasn’t a childhood memory. I grew up in a shotgun house in Dorchester, where winters froze us solid and summers were a cacophony of heat, sirens, and neighbor shouting matches.

Mason could use some unpredictability in his routine, anyway, and I was more than happy to provide.

By the time I reached the top branches, sweat slicked the back of my neck, and my breath had picked up. My new smoking habit was starting to take a toll, but I took a minute to intentionally slow it down before rapping my knuckles against the glass. Couldn’t be panting like a teenager on my first break-in.

The shadow of Mason’s shoulders moved behind the sheer curtain, and my pulse jumped like it hadn’t been briefed on how this was supposed to go. Just a man, I told myself. Nothing but a silhouette blurred behind a sheet of gauze. But it didn’t matter. The way he moved, with strength and restraint, was enough to set me off. He didn’t need to touch me to get under my skin.

The curtain rippled as he pulled it aside. He fiddled with the window latch, brow furrowed, muttering something profane under his breath when it stuck at an inch. Bracing a shoulder against the frame, he gave it one solid shove. The window creaked open, dragging the thin curtain outward on a funnel of air that carried the dark spice of his cologne straight into my lungs.

He tilted his head, bracing one forearm against the sill to lock eyes with me. “Tell me something,” he said. “That prison sentence you served…any chance it involved breaking and entering?”

“Not breaking.” I grinned suggestively. “Just entering. Figured it was time to test if the fit’s as tight as it looks.”

His mouth twitched, but the rest of his expression held neutral. “And if it isn’t?”

“I’d keep trying until it was perfect.” I held his gaze, waiting for him to blink first—but he didn’t. Instead, he coolly stepped back, allowing me to hook a leg over the sill and pull myself in.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, but there was no bite. Just a hint of disbelief and amusement.

“Takes one to know one.” I dusted off the seat of my jeans, scanning the room with a quick sweep.

The bedroom wasn’t what I’d expected. Mason moved through life like a man with a system: polished shoes, starched collars, and a brain like a scalpel. But this space was chaos. The bones were old money: carved walnut bed, brass-handled dresser, and a wingback chair that looked like it belonged in a library that smelled like Cuban cigars. Mason’s personality came through in the modern touches—a flat-screen on the wall, a steel lamp on aglass desk, and an open laptop plugged into a portable battery. Case files teetered beside the desk in a precarious, knee-high stack. The space didn’t look lived in so much asworkedin. A battleground for the terminally driven.

But I hadn’t come for the room. I’d come for him.

He was watching me warily, amused despite the dark smudges beneath his eyes. For once, he wasn’t wearing one of his armor-plated suits, just sweats and a fitted t-shirt that clung to his lean runner’s frame. He looked wrecked. Not the kind of tired a nap could fix. I’d seen that look in the mirror too many times over the years not to recognize it. He was hollowed out and running on fumes because stopping wasn’t an option. Not for men like us.

I reached out, letting my thumb skate the top of his cheekbone, just enough to brush the shadow beneath his eye. His lashes flickered, drooping like he wanted to lean into my touch but couldn’t allow it.

“You haven’t crashed at my place all week,” I said softly. “I know you weren’t always doing it for my sparkling company. You need the break.”

“I don’t have time for a break.” At least he sounded regretful. That was a start.

“Sure, you do,” I coaxed, putting every drop of seduction I had into the words. “Your brother’s back under a real roof, yeah? Whatever you’re digging into at that warehouse downtown hasn’t exploded yet, so unless I’ve missed a headline, you’re finally ahead of the curve.”

The corner of his eye twitched, just barely, a flicker of something that looked like surprise. Yeah, I bet he’d thought he was pulling one over on me with that slick little warning about someonedigging into the Dead End. But I had tricks up my sleeve he’d never see coming.

“Face it—you’re a control freak, counselor. That’s half the appeal for me, I’ll grant you, but the monkey on your back’s gonna shove you off a cliff one of these days. So, take a break.”

“And I suppose you’re to provide that?” he asked, searching my eyes skeptically.

I dropped my hands to his waist and tugged him close, our bodies slotting together like they’d never been apart. “What can I say? I’m a giver.”

Our lips had barely touched when a knock at the door split the moment wide open.

Chapter Thirteen

SILAS

The universe hada sick sense of humor.

One second, Mason was in my arms, disheveled and beautiful, breath hot against mine—the next, he was yanking back like we’d been caught red-handed doing something filthy. Which we hadn’t. Yet.

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