Be My Hero (Forbidden Men 3)

"What! Why would anyone name their kid Idiot?"

"No. I'm the idiot. I was so sure moving us halfway across the country away from her would get her out of his hair and free him from her forever, but—oh God. There." She pointed. "There she is." She covered her mouth and whimpered. "It's her, E. It's really her."

I'd never actually met Mrs. Garrison before. Never even seen her. I'd only heard Reese's horror stories. The woman was Mason's living nightmare. Sorry, I meant, the living nightmare of Mason.

It was dark, and I barely saw her face. But she did have a certain air about her that reminded me of my father. Rapists were all the same—predators.

"Are you sure? I can barely see her," I insisted, trying to keep Reese calm so her reactions wouldn't throw me into a panic attack, because that atmosphere about her freaked me the hell out.

"Yes," she said with steely determination as she reached for the keys still dangling from the ignition.

"Whoa. No." I reached out and caught her hand. "This is not . . . you shouldn't . . . " Damn, I was no good at this. We really needed Mason here. I'd never seen my cousin this unhinged before, but if anyone could draw her back from the ledge, it'd be him.

"Mason," I gasped, an idea hitting me.

Reese glanced sharply at me. Wow, even his name broke through her haze.

"What about him?"

"He's inside. If she went in there, she probably saw him, right? So don't you want to make sure he's okay?" I snatched her phone off the center console and thrust it at her. "Call him."

He'd make this better. He'd tell her she was mistaken, his blackmailing rapist was nowhere near Illinois, and everything was fine.

Blowing out a shaky breath, Reese nodded and dialed his number.

"Put it on speaker phone," I demanded, beginning to chew on my own nails as I turned to stare at the opening of the club, where the wicked witch lookalike had thankfully disappeared down the block.

Reese complied and I listened to the phone ring and ring, and ring. When it went to voice mail, she cursed and hung up.

I bit down a little harder on my thumbnail, wondering why he hadn't picked up. Mason always answered the phone when Reese called. It was all part of how disgustingly adorable they were together.

"Call again," I ordered.

She did. Then she did again. Baby Girl must've noticed the growing unease in me because she stirred in restless agitation. I smoothed my fingers over her, my palms naturally ironing down the image of Tinker Bell I had on the nightshirt I wore.

When the ringing stopped and the line clicked on, Reese and I sat up straighter and shared a relieved look. Until a muted voice as if it were a distance away from the receiver shouted, "Shit! Are you really going to tell her some old chick just came in, claiming Lowe knocked her up?"

"Say what?" Reese cried.

Immediately, the line went dead.

"Oh, no, they did not." Reese redialed.

I wasn't at all surprised when no one answered. Gulping in absolute worry for her, and even a little for Mason, I tried to calm her. "Maybe . . . maybe they meant . . . "

Reese glanced sharply at me. I winced. She muttered a couple more obscenities before grabbing her phone and shoving open the driver's side door.

"Ree Ree?" I squawked, not sure how I was going to physically restrain her if she actually did try to kill someone. I lurched out of the Jeep behind her, waddling pathetically in an effort to catch up. "What're you doing, sweetie?" I tried to sound soothing.

Totally didn't help.

"I'm going to find my goddamn boyfriend and figure out what the hell is going on."

Oh, double crap. I hurried after her. Her phone began ringing as soon as we hit the sidewalk. She answered without hitting the speaker to let me hear this time.

As she shoved open the front doors of the bar, she growled, "Let me guess. Mrs. Garrison just showed up to announce you'd put a baby in her."

I followed her inside, only to pause briefly in the entrance. Since the place had already closed, it was cleared out save for five guys—all employees because they wore the same kind of black T-shirt Mason always wore to work—and one woman. They had gathered around the bar in the back.