Reckless (Mason Family 3)

Coy snorts. “I’d prepare for feeling like an idiot.”

I start up the stairs. “Have any tips to get me started?”

“Very funny.” The line muffles for a moment and I hear our older brother, Oliver’s, voice. “Hey, Ollie wants to know why your alarm system wasn’t on.”

“Oh, great. You told Oliver.”

“He wanted to know what was going on, and I think he has a very valid question.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t know. I think I forgot to pay it.”

“Seriously, Boone? At least put the important stuff on auto-pay.”

“You can do that?”

I’m not sure what Oliver says to Coy, but that’s probably for the best. They both start laughing.

“I’m glad you guys find this so funny,” I mutter as I stare at the door.

While I’m ninety percent sure this is some kind of misunderstanding, there’s still a ten-percent chance it isn’t. And the possibilities are endless.

“What do you want us to do, Boone?” Coy asks. “Stay on the phone with you? Call the police? Tell Mom that you’re scared and have her call you and hold your hand? What am I doing here?”

“Nothing. Just … I just felt like someone needed to know what was happening. Just in case.”

He exhales. “Great. But could you call someone else the next time you think you might die because you haven’t thought through a situation? Now I have to sit here and avoid Mom because she knows I’m talking to you and she’s going to want to know what’s going on.”

“So, tell her.”

“Tell her what? That you’re not coming back to family night because you’re getting your dick sucked? I’d rather not.”

I make a face. “I’d rather you not tell her that either. Just hang on, and let’s see what happens here.”

“I’m pretty sure my wife won’t appreciate you rattling off some woman’s measurements, brother.”

I press my thumb onto the keypad. A green light blinks, and the lock frees. A click shoots through the air.

Coy and Oliver laugh again on the other end of the line. It distracts me from the potentially life-or-death situation I’m dealing with.

“Here goes nothing,” I mutter. “I’ll call you back.”

“Oh, hell. Keep me on the line. Just in case.”

“No. I tried to call you in case I needed help, but you—”

“Boone …”

I step inside the entryway and ignore my brother. Cool air envelops me, along with the scent of lavender from the little night-light thing that my housekeeper put in an outlet the last time she was here.

The decorator pillows from the couch are strewn across the floor. A pizza box sits open on the coffee table, and a pile of clothes are tossed across the loveseat that faces the fireplace.

Everything looks just as I left it, but something feels different.

I wrap my hand around my neck and try to unwind the knot that’s slowly forming.

“Coy, I gotta go.”

“Dammit, Boone—”

I end the call before he can continue.

The brief description from Sarah—that the intruder was totally my type—didn’t help pinpoint who the woman might be. Nor did the fact that Sarah thinks she might’ve seen the woman before but isn’t quite sure.

“They all start to look alike at some point,” she said.

I squeeze the back of my neck again, my heart thumping in quick succession, and listen for some indication of the intruder’s location. Just as I start to second-guess not having a witness if things don’t go my way, a sound from the kitchen makes me jump.

I spin around.

Oh fuck.

Two

Boone

Sarah was right.

Holy shit.

Whoever this is—she’s totally my type.

The woman sucks in a quick breath and stills herself next to the kitchen counter.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, holding both hands out as if to show her I’m unarmed.

I have no idea what’s going on, but there’s no need to make this worse. While she does look a little apprehensive, I don’t think the vibe she’s putting off means she’s ready to commit a homicide. Not that I’ve ever met a murderer before—that I know of.

She blows out her breath slowly. With each microsecond that passes, she gathers more of herself until she finally lifts her chin and throws her shoulders back.

“Who are you?” Her voice is confident and calm—two things someone’s voice should not be if they’ve just snuck into a stranger’s house.

I lift a brow.

She mimics the gesture. The movement causes her cheekbones to nearly touch a pair of moody, hazel-colored eyes framed by the longest, thickest lashes I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure they’re even real. Actually, I’ve seen women put them on to do laundry, so they probably are false. But they’re so long and dark and—

“Hello?” She creeps sideways toward the knives hung on a magnetic strip near the stovetop. “I asked you a question.”

“I heard you.” I clear my throat and try not to smile. “Who are you?”

Her plump lips press together. “Yeah, no. I’ll be the one asking questions here, buddy.”