Reckless (Mason Family 3)

The color drains from her face. Her knuckles turn white as she grips the phone for dear life.

My heartbeat picks up as I watch her react to whatever the person on the other end is saying.

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll be there. Who do I ask for?” she asks with a wobble in her tone. “Okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you there. Thanks.”

She ends the call. Her gaze pulls to mine. It’s confused and, if I’m not mistaken, worried. Even though I have no idea what she’s worried about, I want to help her because I don’t like this look on her face.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I, um, I need to get to the police station. I need to call an Uber.”

A hundred thoughts race through my mind. Everything from what the person on the phone said to if she’s okay to why she has to go to the police department. I don’t know where to start.

But what I do know just by looking at her is that this has nothing to do with her. Or, at least, I hope not.

She raises her phone to her face.

“I’ll take you,” I tell her.

Her brows shoot to the sky. “What? No. I’ll get a ride.”

“Jaxi. I said I’ll take you.”

Relief washes across her eyes at my offer, and I know she wants to take it. But she’s as stubborn as a mule.

So, I take the option of her not taking my offer off the table.

“Let’s go,” I say, heading to my car. “I just need to grab my keys.”

“Boone …”

“You’re wasting time,” I tell her. “We can talk in the car.”

I don’t hear any objections, but I don’t stand around listening for them either.

And I sure as hell don’t let myself think about how badly this could go given she’s so fucking mysterious. She’s not from around here, yet the local police station wants to see her?

I just follow my gut. And hope it doesn’t lead me wrong.

Ten

Jaxi

The purr of the engine is somewhat soothing to my raw nerves.

Boone pilots the car down the city streets. We float in and out of traffic breezily, as if we aren’t on our way to the Savannah Police Station. The officer’s words pelt me over and over, telling me that he can’t say much until I meet with him face-to-face.

My stomach twists into the tightest knot I’ve ever felt, and a voice in my brain screams at me not to go. That being summoned to the police can’t be a good thing.

But if I was wanted for something, surely they wouldn’t call and ask me to come down. Right?

I close my eyes and remind myself that I can’t be wanted for something. I haven’t done anything. I’m not a criminal.

But what if someone planted my DNA at a crime scene?

I choke back a mouthful of vomit.

“Hey, how ya doing over there?” Boone asks. His voice is eerily calm, only mildly tinged with a curiosity that I feel too.

I look at him. “I feel like I’m gonna puke if you’re really looking for an answer.”

“Well, don’t do it in here.”

“You offered me a ride. To the police station,” I say, raising a brow. “I have to think that you realized I might be a little nervous.”

He rolls his tongue around his cheek before turning at me with a cautious twinkle in his eye. “I figured that women who do breaking and enterings were probably used to this kind of thing.”

I roll my eyes. “Under the circumstances, I’m not laughing.”

“Oh, come on. That was funny.”

“Maybe later it will be.” I focus my attention back on the road. “Time will tell.”

He regrips the steering wheel. “You really don’t know what this is about?”

“No. Believe it or not, I have had one interaction with the police. That was about three weeks ago when my landlord told me I could pay my rent in blow jobs and I threatened him with a baseball bat.”

A shadow sweeps across Boone’s face. His jaw tightens. “He did what?”

I ignore the question. It doesn’t matter.

“So, unless they have a question for me about that or if Chuck decided to press some kind of charge on me for something—I have no idea.”

“Chuck’s the landlord?”

I nod.

He lets his gaze linger on me for a long second before looking at the road.

Boone flips the turn signal, and as we take an exit to the right, the gray building comes into view. With each roll of the tires closer, the sicker I get.

Something is wrong. I can feel it.

My palms sweat as Boone parks the car, and my heart races as he turns off the ignition. Silence descends upon us, and I feel like I’m drowning in it.

“You don’t have to wait,” I tell him.

I’m not sure how much time passes with me sitting next to him, my eyes fixed on the large doors leading into the precinct. But eventually, I realize that there has been no response.