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“I know this is hard.” He dried his hands on the towel and tossed it aside.
Kerri exhaled a big breath. “Now I know how Diana felt last year when she couldn’t help Amelia.”
“This is not going to be like that,” Falco assured her.
“You can’t be certain,” Kerri argued. “Look at what Sarah Talley did just today.”
“Tori is stronger than Sarah,” Falco argued.
“I hope so.” In addition to feeling helpless, Kerri felt guilty too. “I should be helping you with the Kurtz investigation. The case is too much for one person.”
“I’ve got this. You keep your focus on Tori and this Cortez girl. There’s something more than adolescent bickering in all this. To tell you the truth, it sounds a whole hell of a lot like plain old murder.”
Her partner was right, and that was the scariest part.
26
10:00 p.m.
Mulligan’s Pub
Sixth Avenue, Twenty-Seventh Street
Birmingham
Mason watched the man enter the pub and survey the place. Darius Washburn spotted Mason and snaked his way through the jam-packed tables and around booths. The place was crowded for a Thursday night.
No surprise. Pauley, the son of a bitch, had always known an Irish pub would do well on this corner.
Washburn pulled out the chair across from Mason and sat. Even in the dim lighting Mason noted the sprinkle of gray at the man’s temples. The first time he’d hired Darius for a job, he’d been twenty-five and fresh out of prison. The man was good, very good. Possibly the best at getting in and out of places and, more importantly, finding things. But there were drawbacks with Darius.
Now that he’d cultivated such a respected reputation for himself, he honored the highest bidder.
Darius ordered his preferred ale and turned his attention to Mason. “You have a job for me?”
The only time they ever met in person was when Mason gave him instructions on a new assignment. Mason didn’t leave trails to be followed. No texts, no calls, no emails. Nothing. Face-to-face. That was the way he conducted this sort of business. It was best for all concerned.
Meeting here, with his daughter just upstairs, was a sort of irony only he understood for now. Perhaps Darius would come to see it later.
“Not at this time,” Mason said. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to answer.”
Darius smirked but said nothing because the waitress had appeared with his beer.
When she had flitted away, the younger man said, “You know I don’t answer questions about my other assignments, so don’t ask. I wouldn’t want our relationship to become awkward like that.”
Mason felt himself smile. Oh yes, the cocky little shit had decided the price of his stock had risen significantly.
“Darius.” Mason shook his head. “Your memory must be failing you. However valuable your services are to others, however much they choose to pay you for those services, I”—Mason patted his chest for emphasis—“ownyou. Forgetting that fact could be very awkward for you.”
Fury tightened the younger man’s face. “What do you want, Cross?”
Much better. It was infinitely useful to have information on anyone you might one day need. Mason had learned this lesson particularly well from someone far more ruthless than him. Take the fact that Darius Washburn had murdered his own father after his release from prison. Not that anyone could prove it or that Mason blamed him. The old bastard had set up his son to take the fall for his own bad deed. Never underestimate how far your offspring might go for revenge if you screwed them over badly enough.
Those words were inscribed across Mason’s brain. His own offspring would likely one day have her revenge. Maybe sooner than he had anticipated.
“Who hired you to hit Naomi Taylor’s home?” Mason asked. “Or more specifically, who hired you to stage such a blunder. We both know that job would have been a piece of cake. Apparently, someone wanted to send a message, and I want to know who that someone was. Particularly since the message appears to have been intended to prompt trouble for me.”
And it had worked. Sadie had immediately put the blame on him.
