“I hate to interrupt a happy reunion, but let’s get outside and let these guys do their work.”
Mason and Sloane broke apart but his arm wrapped around her shoulders as they followed Detective Bascom out of the building into the bright afternoon sun. She squinted against it and buried her face into his shoulder. A myriad of questions assaulted her.
“How did you find me? How did you know Sakkas . . .” She turned to Bascom. “I’m sorry I snuck out of the safe house, Detective,” she said, voice trembling. “It was just . . . I was going stir crazy.”
“What did he say to you?” Bascom asked.
“He just said I ruined everything,” Sloane replied, huddled against Mason’s strong frame. “He didn’t tell me what, just that he would have to relocate, or something along those lines. He said I’d ruined his operation.” She turned to look back at the structure. “I have a suspicion that that location is important, but I have no recollection of it or what he could’ve been using it for.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “We need to take care of this mess here, but my partner and I will want to talk to you more later. In the meantime, you’re going back to the safe house.” He looked at Mason. “You can stay there if you want, but she’s not to leave town.” He glanced down at her. “And I would suggest that you not go anywhere by yourself until we have this entire matter resolved. Is that understood?”
She nodded. The detective moved off to return to the other shop. Two EMTs pulled up, and she and Mason watched as they unloaded the gurney and entered through the front door of the building, now open.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said. “I can’t—”
“Look at me, Sloane,” Mason said. He grasped her shoulders and gently turned her to face him. “No matter what you think you’ve done, I know in my own heart that you’re not a bad person. There’s nothing about this that’s your fault. You understand?”
“No, Mason, I don’t,” she replied honestly. “And while I appreciate your trust in me, your belief in me, I still don’t know what’s going on. I still don’t know if I . . . if I have anything to do with this.”
“You didn’t, Sloane, and I’d be willing to stake my life on it.”
God, she wished she could be so sure. Mason’s trust in her meant more than he could know, but until she regained her memories, Sloane couldn’t allow herself to believe it. She had to know for sure.
“Come on, let’s go back to the safe house.” He pointed. “Look who’s here to take you—us—back.”
She turned and found Scott, the undercover, waiting nearby, leaning against a nondescript Buick sedan, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest, his face blank except for a raised eyebrow. Chagrined, she allowed Mason to guide her to his car. She paused in front of the undercover officer. “Scott, I’m really sorry I snuck out.”
“You’re just lucky you’re alive.”
She nodded. “I hope I didn’t get you and Martin into too much trouble.”
“A reprimand, but nothing serious.” He glanced at Mason. “You going to the safe house with her? You’ll make sure she doesn’t sneak out again?”
Mason nodded, then grinned down at her. “Don’t worry, I can keep her occupied.”
Back at the house, Sloane stood in the shower, allowing the deliciously warm water to soothe the last remnants of fear from her body. She felt content with Mason, safe. She shouldn’t rely so heavily on him, but—
The bathroom door opened. “Mind if I come in?”
She spoke over the spatter of water. “Do your business, Mason, I don’t care. I’ll be done in just a—”
And then the shower door opened and there he stood, naked, his arousal obvious. She stood, frozen, bared before him, her skin slick with soapy water, hands wrapped around the loofah. His gaze swept across her entire body, causing her nipples to tighten. In a matter of seconds, her pulse pounded with desire. As he stepped into the shower and closed the door behind him with a soft click, she dropped the loofah and reached for him. They stood skin to skin, his erection pressed against her lower abdomen. “No cameras in the bathroom,” Mason muttered, his voice low and full of heat.
Her hands automatically strayed over the expanse of muscles in his back and down along his narrow waistline to settle on his firm ass. His cock jerked in appreciation and she uttered a low laugh that transitioned into a gasp of pleasure as his hands skimmed down her back to caress her ass. Then, while one hand squeezed her cheek, the other slid its way between them and up her abdomen. Cupped a breast. She moaned. His thumb rubbed across her nipple. It hardened instantly and blossomed with desire as he thumbed circles around her breast until her nipple was a hard nub.
His lips met hers, and with the water pounding down her back, he took her mouth. Their tongues tangled and played hide and seek, then once found, suckled. Her breath erupted in harsh gasps as she reached a hand between them and grasped his cock. Silky smooth on the surface, incredibly hard underneath. She thrilled at the sound he made as she gripped him. While she slowly stroked his dick, his hand continued to massage her breast and tweak her nipple while the other squeezed her ass once more before moving around and brushing against her core.
Small sounds escaped her throat as his finger found her opening and dipped inside. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her inner muscles grasped onto him and her hips began to rock. Her other hand was free, caressing his shoulder, his bicep, and then stroking his chest, moving ever downward until she cupped his balls. His breaths grew harsher as well as she gently squeezed and stroked. Her entire was body on fire. She ignored the cooling water as the sensations Mason was evoking in her grew.
Suddenly, he broke off all contact. Sloane stood, stunned, her blood thrumming through her veins, every cell in her body pulsing with desire and crying out disappointment. She opened her mouth to protest, but in the next instant, he swept her into his arms. Leaving the water running, he stepped out of the shower and quickly carried her into the bedroom. “Mason! The cameras.”
Placed her gently on the bed, he grinned. “None in here, either. I asked.”
Sloane felt her cheeks heat, but his eyes never left hers as he reached into the bedside table and pulled out a condom. He quickly opened the wrapper and covered himself as she opened her legs, reached her arms toward him, and smiled.
“Hurry,” she moaned. In the next instant, he was there, nestled between her legs, the tip of his cock pushing against her opening. He lowered his head, and kissing her deeply, he plunged inside. She gasped, his mouth swallowing the sound of her pleasure as her arms wrapped around his back. Wanting him deeper, closer, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips. There was nothing leisurely about their movements now, both of them with heightened passion. Mason plunged forward, thrusting deep inside her as desire tipped them closer and closer to the edge, their bodies moving together in a perfect rhythm.
In a matter of minutes, a blinding, pulsating orgasm shook her to her core. Moments later, Mason followed, pulsing deep inside her. He collapsed into her arms, their chests pressed against each other, both heaving with exertion. Sloane held him close. She had no idea what was going to happen in the coming days, but if she had her way, this moment—this feeling—would never go away.
25
Mason
Mason glanced at the clock on the living room wall. Nearly seven thirty. Bascom had called a few minutes ago, said he was on his way over to talk to Sloane. They sat on the couch together, his arm draped over her shoulder. Her hands were folded quietly in her lap, her expression reflective, her anxiety betrayed only by the nervous jiggling of her foot. He looked down at her with a slow grin. Their lovemaking in the shower and then the bedroom had been great. Just the memory of it prompted his dick to respond. He struggled to distract his mind from the sight of her perfect breasts, those nipples of hers reaching out toward him, inviting his ministrations. The feel of her slick, soapy skin—
“What are you thinking?” Sloane had turned to fac
e him, resting one hand on his thigh. The touch sent a wave of heat directly to his dick. He forced himself to focus. Her expression was tight, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“Did you remember something?”
“In the building, just before you guys came in, I remembered Sakkas. Not just his voice, but the expression on his face. It was filled with fury. He’s looked at me like that before, but I still don’t know what I did to make him so angry. I’m wracking my brain, trying to remember . . . but nothing’s there.” She frowned and turned away, staring at the coffee table. “Mason, what if I never remember?”
He pulled her tighter into his arms. “Then you start over from this point forward.”
Sloane gave him a wan smile. “Sounds so easy, doesn’t it? Do you know how many people would give anything to be able to start over? A clean slate. Here I have the opportunity and I want to run from it.” She shook her head. “I have to know. I have to!”
“Give it time, Sloane.”
A knock on the door interrupted them.
“That’ll be Detective Bascom. Maybe he’ll have some information for us.” He rose from the couch and moved toward the front door. Before opening it, he looked through the peep hole and saw Detectives Bascom and Williams standing in the glow of the porch light. He opened the door and let them in. As they passed, he peered through into the parking lot, where he spotted the unmarked car belonging to Scott and his partner. Good. Still on surveillance.
“Good evening, Sloane,” Bascom said, entering the living room. “How are you feeling?”
Mason shut the front door and moved into the living room, leaning against the door jamb as Williams and Bascom paused in front of the coffee table. Sloane stood, wiping her hands against her pants before gesturing toward the couch. “Please, if you want to, sit down.”
“We’re fine, Miss Maxwell,” Williams said. “You might want to sit down, though.” He looked at Mason and gestured with his chin toward the couch.
Mason pushed away from the door jamb, frowning. Bad news? He moved to sit down beside Sloane, then clasped her hand. Sitting with intertwined fingers, they both waited.
Bascom started without preamble. “CSU tore the place apart. In another small storage room, we found a power cord to a laptop. The laptop wasn’t there, but we did find a flash drive hidden underneath the shelf.”
“And?” Mason prompted.
“And it had Sloane’s fingerprint on it.”
Sloane stared at the detective, then she turned to look at Mason, frowning with confusion. “There was a flash drive with my fingerprint on it in that building?” She slowly shook her head. “I don’t remember being there at all.”
“What’s on the flash drive?” Mason asked, hoping she couldn’t hear the anxiety in his voice. He needed to remain calm for her, no matter what. Bascom looked at Sloane. Mason studied him, not seeing any signs of accusation in his expression. If anything, the detective’s features softened as he gazed down at her.
“You mentioned that Sakkas told you he would have to move his entire operation.”
Sloane nodded.
“He was smuggling, Sloane.”
Sloane’s grip on his hand tightened, and he squeezed back. “All this—the attempted murders, blowing up Mason’s Jeep, my kidnapping—all because he was smuggling? Antiquities? Artifacts?”
“Not artifacts,” Bascom said, his voice lowering. “Humans.”
Mason’s eyes widened and he pulled Sloane tighter in his arms. She had turned pale, all the color leaching from her face. “Humans? Sakkas was running a human smuggling ring?” he said. Disbelieving, he glanced at Sloane. She couldn’t possibly have been involved! She made a garbled sound in her throat and he held her tighter.
“Was I . . . was I involved?” she asked. Small beads of sweat dotted her brow and she stared at him, her hands clenched in her lap.
Bascom shook his head. The sense of relief that surged through Mason nearly overwhelmed him.
“On the flash drive was evidence of a meeting between Sakkas’ second-in-command, that man that he met in the abandoned auto shop that night, the man he killed. You videoed the meeting. We have uncovered evidence that you expressed your suspicions to Charleston P.D. You knew that something was going on, but when they dismissed the claims, you apparently you decided to follow Sakkas up here to Monroe, to that abandoned building. You probably thought that you would get enough proof to take it to the police, the Feds, whoever would have jurisdiction.”
“Smuggling . . . human smuggling,” Sloane mumbled softly. “I think . . . I think I remember something . . . he was there that night.” She sat straighter and glanced at Mason. “I can’t remember how I got there, but I remember going through a door that I saw him enter. I was trying to be so quiet.” She paused again, closing her eyes as if to help her memory, her hand tightly squeezing Mason’s. “I was so scared, but I remember feeling horrible, and guilty, for not doing enough—”
“Sloane,” Mason interrupted gently. “You took a big chance. You were doing the right thing, even though you should’ve gone back to the police.”
“They wouldn’t listen to me. Not without some kind of proof,” she said, turning to Bascom. “I found a wall that I could hide behind, in the shadows, where I could film the meeting without being caught myself. Unfortunately, it was further away than I wanted, so the conversation obviously didn’t record as clearly as I had hoped.”
She remained quiet for several moments, three sets of eyes watching her, waiting to see if she remembered anything else. Her foot jiggled nervously again on the floor as she frowned in concentration, her gaze riveted to the coffee table. She was blind to the room in that moment, trapped in the memories of that night.
“I must’ve made a sound or moved or something when he stabbed that man.” Sloane paused and opened her eyes, frowning. “I don’t remember what happened after that…but…” She said nothing for several moments.
“Anything?” Bascom asked.
“The smell of gasoline. And then the sound of flames. They hissed and crackled. The smoke . . . the smoke was so dense. It was so hard to breathe! I remember trying to get out, but I could hardly move.”
Was she reliving the horror of being trapped in a burning building? The smoke overwhelming her, choking her, perhaps praying that the smoke killed her before the flames reached her skin? Mason wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “That’s enough for now, Sloane,” he said quietly.
“What now?”
Bascom shrugged. “Sakkas is in the hospital under police guard. We haven’t gotten too much from him except that when he was told that Sloane was alive, he said he tried to silence her. That much was obvious. When David called and informed him that Sloane was here and had started to regain her memories, Sakkas thought he’d better finish her off before she could tell anyone what she knew.”
Human smuggling. Mason couldn’t even wrap his brain around the terror the victims must have felt. “Were there any . . . did you find any—”
Bascom somberly nodded. “A shipping container in Savannah, at the harbor. When he found out that you two were down there, he made the first attempt to silence Sloane. Hired a guy to place a pipe bomb under your Jeep.” He shook his head. “You were collateral damage.”
Sloane moaned. “I should have gone to the FBI. I should have—”
“We know that you weren’t involved in any of the smuggling, Sloane, but it appears that you’ve had suspicions for a long time. We did a little digging into the Charleston Police Department. Apparently, you did call them about your suspicions, but because there was no evidence, there was really nothing they could do.” His face turned grim. “Bastards didn’t even file an official report. Had to threaten a few things to get them to tell me about it. Sakkas is a big name down there, and let’s face it, he’s made a name for himself all along the eastern seaboard. Apparently, you took things in your own hands.”
“And almost lost her life doing it.”
Bascom nod
ded and agreed with Mason. “Yes.” He turned to Sloane. “But it’s because of you that countless women’s lives were saved. If Sakkas hadn’t been stopped, there’s no telling how many other women’s lives would have . . . well, let’s just say you saved them in more ways than one.”
26
Sloane
It was over. It was finally over! She was back at Mason’s apartment, her police guard gone, away from the safe house, and with Sakkas, David, and a few others who had been rounded up over the past couple of days all in jail, Sloane felt like she could breathe again. Her memories of that awful night hadn’t fully returned, nor had her memories of working with Sakkas. She doubted they ever would.
So, where did she go from here?
She sat on Mason’s couch, listening as he moved around in the kitchen. The pop of a cork as he opened the bottle of Riesling. A cutting board placed on the counter. She smiled as she thought back to the times they had sat watching old black-and-white movies, nibbling on cheese and crackers and sipping wine. Wait. That was a memory. It was a memory!
Her hope surged. She glanced down at the fresh and still-red scar on her left forearm, a scar that would forever remind her of what had happened here in Monroe. Thank goodness they’d come through the whole ordeal relatively unscathed. Maybe it was just as well that she didn’t have her full memories about the incident. She was remembering more about her childhood, her teenage years, and maybe in time, she would remember that, too. But for now, perhaps the fact it was missing was a blessing.
From the Ashes (Southern Heat Book 1) Page 17
