by Ophelia Bell
“Oh,” I say when it becomes clear that I had it wrong all this time. “Oh, Nina. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
I pull her into my arms and hold her tight, my heart breaking all over again for the grief she must have endured in silence all these years.
35
Mason
With Arturo Flores bankrolling half this operation, we have access to a private luxury jet for the flight back to Mexico City. It’s like night and day from my flight up, and I can’t help but laugh when we buckle into our seats.
“What’s so funny?” Callie asks.
“When I left Mexico, I was in zip-ties with my face on the floor of the plane. They didn’t even strap me down.”
She grimaces, and Maddox lets out a snort as he buckles into the seat across from me. It’s just the three of us, along with the pilot, co-pilot, and a single flight attendant. The plane is tricked out with cushy leather seats and sofas, and the three of us have a small table between us.
“Are you comfortable? Do you need an ice pack?” Callie asks.
I lift an eyebrow at her and my mouth twitches. “No, but if you want to meet me in the lavatory when we’re airborne, we can test my mobility. Maybe do a little comparison of private versus public airplane bathrooms.”
“Now there’s a story I need to hear,” Maddox says, grinning at us both.
Callie’s cheeks turn bright red and she glares at us in turn, spending an extra few seconds on me. “You’re forbidden from doing anything stupid, got it? That includes sex in weird places, no matter how fun it sounds. And I’m preemptively giving you an ice pack.”
She reaches into the portable med-kit she brought and fishes out one of several instant cold packs, squeezes it until it cracks, and then urges me to lean forward so she can slip it between my back and the seat.
I meet my brother’s gaze and roll my eyes, but he just offers an amused smirk.
“She did this when we met,” I explain. “Remember I still had that shiner from Zavala’s cabrones? She had me on ice before we even had a proper conversation.”
“Consistency isn’t a bad quality,” Maddox says. “And it’s some comfort to know you’ve found a woman who will take care of you in spite of your idiocy.”
I flash him a grin. “Just for the record, the lavatory sex was her idea.”
“Even better,” he says on a laugh, then turns and eyes the narrow door to the private jet’s restroom. “I wonder if it’d fit three,” he muses. “Not that we’d need to squeeze in there if we have the whole plane to ourselves, though. Maybe I’ll suggest a vacation to Leo and Celeste when we get back.”
“Oh my god,” Callie murmurs as she slouches down and whips her e-reader out, studiously focusing on the screen. But despite how intensely she stares at the words, something tells me she isn’t really reading. Her fingertips are worrying at the edge of the e-reader’s case and I can sense her gears turning.
Sure enough, within just a couple minutes her curiosity gets the better of her and she takes a deep breath.
“Here it comes,” I murmur, tilting my head toward her when Maddox’s eyebrows rise in question.
“Maddox,” Callie says, drawing out his name in an inquisitive tone. “What’s it like being in a committed relationship with two people? And I’m asking purely from a clinical perspective.”
My brother has the grace to look amused rather than annoyed and just shakes his head when I give him an apologetic look.
“It’s pretty fucking fantastic. Like being with one person, only twice as amazing.”
Of course, Callie doesn’t stop there, and Maddox humors her, so I’m privy to a more detailed recounting of my brother’s journey to winding up with his two lovers than I’ve ever heard. He doesn’t skimp on detail, either, and to be honest, some of the more explicit topics he shares make me subtly excuse myself to go take a piss, retreating to the lavatory that kicked off the whole snowball of a conversation to start with.
I take my time admiring how cushy the small bathroom is, but I don’t think I’ll share with my brother that I think it would actually fit three, if the parties were determined enough to make it work. I love the bastard, but really don’t need to know the inner workings of his relationship. As long as he’s happy, what they do in the privacy of their own spaces is their business.
Thankfully they’ve moved past the sex part of the conversation by the time I get back, and he’s telling anecdotes about his relationship with Leo and Celeste since they became an official throuple. This is all new to me, so I listen, more than happy to hear all the details of his life that I’ve missed over the past three years.
An alarm on Callie’s phone goes off partway through, and she feeds me a few pills without breaking stride in the conversation. I recline my seat, and within minutes I conk out to the comforting sounds of both their voices, only vaguely aware of Callie slipping her hand into mine before consciousness fades entirely.
I’m antsy when we land, despite still feeling groggy from the pain meds. I made the call to Zavala last night after settling the final details with the senator while Booth listened in. He didn’t plan to accompany me because there really wasn’t much he could do with his bum shoulder, but he knows how Zavala works as well as I do, so he was crucial in helping negotiate the exchange. As for backup, my brother will be more than enough if I need it. Hopefully it’ll be a quick and easy trade, but I wouldn’t put it past Zavala to unnecessarily complicate things.
We still have a few hours before the meeting, so we check into our hotel. It’s a nice one, again thanks to Flores, and I can’t help but have a strange sense of dejá vù, as if all the tension that’s gathered since my unceremonious arrival outside San Diego is gradually unwinding.
“What time do we leave for the meeting?” Callie asks once we get into our room and the bellboy deposits our bags on the luggage stands.
“Mad and I are leaving at two. I need you to stay here.”
She doesn’t respond for several seconds, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I tip the bellboy and close the door, bracing myself for a confrontation.
Callie’s occupied digging through her bag for something, but her movements are jerky and impatient. I wish like hell I knew what was going through her head. I expected she’d be unhappy with the decision not to bring her, but I didn’t expect the silent treatment.
I settle on the bed beside her bag and reach out, wrapping my fingers around one of her wrists to still her searching. “Look at me, honey. Let’s talk about this, okay?”
When I gently tug on her arm, she relents and allows me to pull her onto my lap. She immediately cringes and tries to pull away, but I hold tight.
“Your back. I shouldn’t . . .”
“Forget about my back for five minutes. Let me hold you, okay?”
Lines of worry deepen between her eyebrows and she’s stiff as iron in my arms. “My mother said something to you, didn’t she? To get you to leave me behind.”
“Maybe she did, but I’d have agreed with her either way. There’s no reason for you to take unnecessary risks. I’d rather Zavala not have you on his radar. Besides, I need you to do me a favor while we’re gone.”
“Whatever it is can wait, can’t it? Isn’t getting Zoe away from that man more important? I can handle myself in a fight. You’re forgetting both my mother and older brother were DEA agents. I know how to use a gun. I know a little hand-to-hand combat too. Not much, but enough to survive if I have to. I can’t . . .”
She cuts herself off as tears spring to her eyes and her jaw spasms with the clench of her teeth. She raises her hands to my cheeks and lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m afraid to let you out of my sight. I know it’s irrational, but I’m afraid if I do, you won’t come back this time.”
“Baby, all I want is to get my daughter and go home. With you. You have to trust that I’ll do every goddamn thing in my power to make that happen.” I wrap my arms around her tighter. “But we need someone to stay bac
k anyway, and of the two of you, I’d prefer to have Mad Dog beside me if things go sideways at the meeting. If that happens, I’ll need you to make a call for us.”
“A call to Flores,” she says, grasping the direction of my request immediately.
“To his local man, yeah. The DEA couldn’t mobilize enough agents to be on standby, but Flores has access to resources the DEA doesn’t have. I have a burner phone for you to hold onto. You can take it with you if you don’t want to sit up here waiting. Keep your own phone on you too. We’re supposed to meet Zavala at a restaurant nearby, but if I know him, he’ll be sending a handful of mercenaries to haul us to a different location, probably back to the compound, which is half an hour outside the city. I’ll try to text, but if you don’t hear from me within two hours after we leave, you call the number programmed into the phone.”
Having a mission of her own seems to mollify her and she finally relaxes, but the worry doesn’t completely leave her face. In an effort to wash the remaining anxiety from her mind, I lean in and kiss her.
She responds with a resigned groan, as if succumbing to the desire despite still believing it’s a bad idea, but one kiss won’t kill me. It’s when I get the bright idea to stand with her in my arms that I realize my mistake. The muscles across my back flex, pulling at the small incision and sending a jolt of pain straight through me. I hiss and sit back down when the pain flares hotter.
“Mason,” she admonishes. “You know better.”
I grimace. “Wanting you isn’t going to go away.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing I’ve got hands. I’m more than capable of taking care of you in every way. Now lie down.”
She slips off my lap and pushes against my shoulders, and I obey, falling back onto the pillows while she stands over me. I itch to touch her, but decide to enjoy the moment and just watch instead. If there was music, she’d be dancing. As it is, she sways a little, twisting sensuously as she pulls her sweater over her head, then unclasps her bra, letting it slide down her arms before dropping it onto the growing pile of clothes beside me on the bed. Then she slips out of her leggings and panties before climbing onto the bed to straddle me, completely naked.
I can finally touch her when she leans over me to kiss me again, and I nearly groan at the enticing sensation of her silken skin beneath my palms. She shivers and moans into my mouth when I find her breasts and tease my knuckles across their tips on my way down her body.
When I reach between her legs I find her wet and hot, her clit already swollen. I tease her until she’s panting, and she whispers, “Need you so much.”
“Then take me, Callie. You know I’m yours. Take me.”
She wastes no time unfastening my jeans, and the second she releases my erection, she’s sliding down me. It’s my turn to gasp and curse at the acute pleasure that blasts through me when she takes me to the hilt and fucks me slowly. I’d love nothing more than to roll her over and take control, but watching her ride me to her own climax is a thing of fucking beauty.
I don’t even bother to try to silence her when her orgasm takes hold. Her cries reverberate through the room, and my eardrums are having little orgasms of their own at the sound. Then I’m flying over myself, my own rough groan mingling with hers.
I open my eyes to the curtain of her hair surrounding my face and her panting breaths hot against my cheek.
“I love you, Mason Black. Promise you’ll come back to me,” she whispers.
“I promise.”
36
Callie
Only fifteen minutes after Mason and his brother leave, I’m grateful for his suggestion that I don’t need to just sit here waiting. I’m too anxious to stay cooped up in our room, so I come up with the bright idea to find a baby boutique somewhere and pick up a few things for Zoe when she arrives. I have no idea what she’ll need, but it’s better to be prepared, isn’t it?
I’m completely out of my element, though, and just wind up staring at the selection of disposable diapers as it occurs to me that I have no idea how big this baby is. All I know is her birthday, April 10th, which would make her nine months old. At a complete loss, I pull out my phone and tap a text to my roommate in LA. If anyone would have the answer, it’s a pediatric surgeon.
“SOS. What size diapers do nine-month-olds need?”
I have no idea what Felix is doing. It’s the middle of the day in the middle of the week, so he’s likely at work, but he responds to my question within seconds.
“Holy shit, are you still alive? You didn’t come home on Monday. Was worried.”
“Long story. Right now I just need help shopping for an infant. Also . . . may need a favor when I get back to LA.”
I tack the last part on when it occurs to me Zoe will need a proper pediatrician to look her over when we get home, and I’m betting Mason hasn’t thought that far ahead.
“Anything for my #workwife. What’s the sitch? Did you decide to hell with neuro and steal a baby?”
“Um . . . better keep the details to a minimum for now. Will fill you in when I’m back. Can you help? Sizes???”
A stuck-out-tongue emoji appears on my screen, then he types, “The age should be on the labels, genius. Unless the baby was a preemie, the appropriate age range should fit.”
“She’s a normal healthy baby, as far as I know. I won’t meet her for a few more hours.”
“Something tells me you had a far more exciting holiday than usual. Can’t wait to hear the story.”
“I’ll fill you in later. Will be in touch.”
When I look back up, I feel like an idiot because the age ranges are staring me in the face, not only on the packages, but on the signs that label each section of products. I go a little crazy with the shopping after that because some of the outfits are too adorable to ignore. And she’s going to get bigger, so she should have multiple sizes, right?
It isn’t until I’m finalizing the purchase and staring at the little pastel bags full of baby things that it hits me how far gone I am over this guy and his daughter, and I haven’t even met the little girl yet. All I know is that I want to build something real with them both when we get back to Los Angeles.
“¿Estás bien?” the sales lady asks, giving me a concerned look when I just stare wide-eyed at everything after she returns my credit card.
“Sí, sí,” I manage to get out, giving her a shaky smile as I gather everything up to take back to the hotel.
On the way back down the street, I muse over the fact that neither Mom nor Nina had anything negative to say about my insistence on coming, or about the situation I’ve gotten myself into. Because when you strip away all the complications, what it comes down to is that I’ve chosen to date a single father.
That’s not to say they weren’t both worried about how this trip would go—Mason’s currently negotiating with a cartel leader to release a hostage, for fuck’s sake, and the intel he’s bringing home could determine whether my brother is alive or dead—but when it came to the suggestion of continuing my relationship with Mason, I only received hopeful encouragement. It’s almost as if they know me better than I know myself, when it comes to men. If only I’d listened to them five years ago.
I have to shake off the regret. The past isn’t important anymore; what matters is moving forward.
I have more than half an hour left before I need to start worrying. I haven’t received a text or anything from Mason, so I head back to the hotel, my collection of shopping bags clutched in both hands.
I’m swiping my keycard when I feel a prickly sensation on the back of my neck, the same instinctive feeling of dread I get at work when the day is about to get complicated. But a glance down the hallway in either direction doesn’t immediately reveal any threats, so I head into the room.
It’s quiet aside from the muffled sounds of the city drifting up from a dozen floors below. I set the bags on the king-sized bed and stare at them. I’m in danger of slipping into another spiral of self-doubt over my decisi
on to buy things for a baby I’ve never met, whose father I’m falling for, when a soft whoosh from behind me makes my entire body go rigid.
Before I can turn, an arm clamps across my shoulders and a black-gloved hand holding a rag covers my mouth. Within a breath, the world fades to black.
37
Mason
I’m not exactly pleased my prediction about our meeting with Zavala turns out to be right. I was praying things would go quickly, but that doesn’t turn out to be the case.
When Mad and I make it to the restaurant Zavala directed us to, we’re greeted by two men I don’t recognize. Still, they have the distinct ex-military look of almost everyone Zavala hires, though one is in a suit while the other wears the plain black cargo pants and T-shirts that make up the uniforms of Zavala’s mercenary army.
“Which one of you is Mason Black?” the suited one asks when we slip into the booth. He’s the only one seated, while the other man stands against a wall nearby, watching us and the doors.
“That would be me,” I answer, sitting up a little too straight because it hurts if I lean back. I skipped the midday pain meds to keep a clear head. I can handle a little pain.
He narrows his eyes at my stiff posture, then shoots a look at Maddox. “This your brother?”
“This is Maddox. Zavala’s expecting us both. He’s got as big a stake in this deal as I do. You can trust him.”
“I’m just here to carry the baby,” Maddox says with a casual shrug. “My brother’s not allowed to lift anything heavier than ten pounds.”
Sighing, I nod my confirmation.
The man tilts his head toward the muscle standing guard, who motions for me to stand. I obey and endure a pat-down, then he yanks up the back of my shirt and urges me to turn my back to his boss.
