“No, I’m going to leave in a few minutes now that he’s out of danger again.” Mason sounded as if he hadn’t slept in two days.
The shooting was barely twenty-four hours ago.
“Ava . . .”
She waited.
“We lost another one. A deputy,” he whispered.
Her eyes smarted. “That’s five deaths now.”
“I know. Could’ve been six.”
Silence stretched between them.
Ray will be fine. He’s going to make it.
Ava kept the thoughts to herself. Mason was never comforted by the usual words of encouragement. They were empty to him, meaningless. She felt the same.
“There’s a service tomorrow,” he finally said.
“We’ll be there, of course.” The police funeral they’d attended last fall suddenly felt as if it had occurred yesterday.
Mason didn’t reply. His supervisor had been murdered in October, and Ava knew he was suffering through unpleasant memories. She wished she were standing beside him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice flat.
He wants a distraction. “Zander and I were assigned to follow up on some interviews in Oregon City.” She wished she had nonshooting news to share. She still hadn’t told him about David’s death on the coast—there’d been no time.
“Mason, I hate to bring this up now, but you should know.” With hesitant words she shared what she knew about David’s shooting.
“Ava . . . I’m so sorry.” Concern flooded his tone. “Are you going over there?”
“No. I’m needed here. The sheriff seems to have it under control.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He was asking about her joining her . . . family. “I know,” she said quietly. Like Zander, Mason knew all her insecurities about the Dresslers. “I’m staying here. For now.”
“What a fucked-up couple of days,” he muttered.
“There’s something else. I forgot to tell you last night because . . . well, because,” Ava said awkwardly. She told him the story of how Brady Shurr had shown up, and Zander’s discovery that Jayne had used a fake passport in Ava’s name to get into the country.
“Are you okay?” he asked sharply.
He’d been the buffer between Jayne’s rehab journey and Ava for quite some time. “Is it wrong that I’m almost relieved to hear she’s up to her old tricks?”
“Makes sense. We’ve both been waiting for her relationship with Shurr to blow up somehow. This is the Jayne we understand.”
“I don’t think understand is the right word. Expect is more accurate.” She grimaced. “There’s one more thing.”
Mason cursed long and loud at her story about the wedding-venue cancellation.
“Zander has a point that we can’t assume it was Jayne. It could have been someone getting back at you or at Cheryl’s business.”
“We both know that’s not true. Jayne enters the country and that happens? It’s not a coincidence.”
Ava caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Zander was waiting at his SUV two rows over, watching her talk on the phone. Good. He didn’t leave after dropping me off.
“I’m going back to work. Zander is waiting,” she told Mason as she held up one finger to Zander. “I think I’ve covered everything.”
“That was a lot to catch up on. David . . . Jayne . . . the wedding.”
“I know. Too much has happened in a short period of time. We both need a breather. Hopefully there will be good news about Ray soon.”
“I’m ready for some good news,” Mason admitted. “It’s all been shit.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. Keep an eye out for Jayne. And anything else odd.”
She straightened, remembering the message he’d left on her voice mail. “What was with that message earlier? You essentially told me to watch my back. Why?”
“Brody told me he thinks Reuben Braswell wasn’t alone in his anger against law enforcement. Even though Braswell said you were one of the good ones, someone else might not feel that way.”
“Michael is involved now? Is he writing a story?” Ava grew very still. Michael Brody had excellent instincts. She’d learned to pay attention when the reporter had something to say.
“He was working on something else when he stumbled across Braswell. He sent me some links I haven’t looked at yet, but Braswell may have been active in organizations that want us gone.”
“By ‘us,’ you mean law enforcement. Not you and me specifically.”
“Right.”
Mason’s answer was a split second too slow for her comfort. “You heard something about me,” she said flatly.
“I didn’t, honestly. I just want you to be aware.”
“I will. I always am.”
“I know,” he said reluctantly. “But I had to say something.”
“And I love you for it.” She’d dated men who’d tried to micromanage her work life. Mason didn’t, and she knew he battled protective urges about her and her job. She did the same with him. But with jobs like theirs, all they could do was trust.
And they both did.
Mason sat at his desk, keenly aware of Ray’s empty space across from him. The entire room was quiet, most of the detectives out of the office. The silence was eerie.
He made himself focus; he had work to do.
Brody had forwarded his user ID and password so Mason could snoop and observe on the websites the reporter had mentioned. A few minutes later Mason knew that everything Brody had said was supported by what he saw on the message boards.
The hate was overwhelming.
“Fucking pricks,” he muttered. He’d wanted a shower within the first minute of visiting one site.
Every profession had its bad apples, but the law enforcement ones were thrust into the media spotlight. The website Mason was currently viewing appeared to be encouraging attacks against these bad apples. But there were cops with good reputations listed too. He was alarmed to find law enforcement officers’ home addresses and phone numbers, and even pictures of their kids. The comments were brutal.
put them in prison
funded by the deep state
take away their families
Ice formed at the base of his spine. The comments were designed to incite violence. No doubt most of the commenters rarely left the chairs in front of their computer screens, but it just took one to absorb the hate as fuel and act upon it. He scrolled rapidly, searching and skimming for names or pictures of people he knew.
Or himself. And Ava.
The website was an amateur mess. No search function. Just a long, long list of discussion topics.
There was no way he could scroll through every discussion; it would take hours.
He took several deep breaths. There was nothing he could do even if he did find a familiar name. He and Ava already lived their lives with the utmost caution. They had to for their own peace of mind and safety. Getting worked up over this site was pointless.
In the email, Michael had listed the topics where he’d discovered Reuben’s comments. Mason cringed at the one titled “FBI: the well-dressed weapon of the deep state.”