Just as the notion hits me, the door opens and I stand mostly out of instinct, but also possibly fear. The need to run is overwhelming, but when my eyes catch sight of the imposing man walking in behind Detective Myer and another man who I assume is the commissioner, my knees go weak.
I don’t need to be told he’s Mason’s father. I don’t need to be introduced. His gray eyes and sharp cheekbones give it away. He even clears his throat like Mason as he unbuttons his suit jacket and sits in the empty chair across from me.
My eyes flicker to Detective Myer’s, who simply crosses his arms and leans against the wall in the far left corner. His dark eyes bore into me and send a chill down my spine. The commissioner makes a show of closing the door and then taking a seat at the far end of the table.
“Sit, sit,” Mason’s father insists. “Jules, isn’t it?” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
My knees are so weak that I obey him, falling into my seat and staring at the commissioner who isn’t looking at me at all. He casually picks at his nails instead. I glance back to the mirror and pray there’s a camera recording or someone behind it watching this. Someone else. God, please help me.
I’m not safe here. That’s the only thing I’m sure of. What have I gotten myself into?
“Good girl,” Mason’s father says approvingly, and it sickens me to my core. There’s something about the air of ownership he projects. Something about the way his words roll off his tongue. The fear is only partially brushed aside by my disgust, but I’m at least able to look him in the eye.
“Where’s Mason?” I ask evenly, although I don’t know how I got the courage to speak.
His father’s eyes twinkle with something that brightens the gray. Something that makes my stomach churn.
“Don’t worry, he’s coming shortly.” Mr. Thatcher looks over his shoulder at the detective. As his mouth parts to say something his straight white teeth peek out from behind his thin lips, but he’s interrupted by the door banging open.
“I’m sorry, Detective Myer,” a young woman says from the hallway as Mason stands in the doorway, hovering in the opening with an authority that’s incomparable.
And he’s pissed.
The way his steel gray eyes seem to turn a sharp silver and pierce through me makes every tiny hair on my body stand on end. Every inch of my skin chills and then heats so quickly I can’t move. All I can do is stare into his eyes, caught in his gaze.
He breaks it before I can relax, and only then can I breathe.
My eyes drop to the floor as the shock withdraws, and my reality strikes me across the face. The emotions that swarm me are confusing to say the least. I’m relieved to see the very man I fled from only hours ago.
“Jules,” he says and Mason’s voice isn’t cold like I imagined it would be. I lift my eyes to his, and my heart beats in rhythm with the seconds that tick by ever so slowly. Tick, tick, tick. The room is silent as the other men wait for my reaction. I can’t give them anything, though. I’m numb and useless with exhaustion and a thread of fear so easily broken. My throat is dry, and I can barely manage to make eye contact with Mason. I pick at my sleeve and look back at the table, feeling defeated, foolish and guilty.
How is it possible that guilt is what consumes me most?
“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?” Mason asks me with sympathy in his voice as he pulls out the chair next to me. The legs scrape on the floor and Mason wraps his arm around the back of my chair as he sits close to me, but not an inch of him touches me. Not his arm, not his knee to mine. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body, but he’s distant all the same.
“Is something wrong?” he asks me, and I immediately shake my head no.
I’m retreating like a coward. “I want to go home,” I say, whispering the plea just above a murmur, still not looking any of the men in the eye.
“What’s that?” Detective Myer says from the corner of the room, pushing off the wall and uncrossing his arms for the first time since he’s been in here. He starts to walk over.
I clear my throat and ignore how scratchy my voice is as I repeat myself. “I want to go home.”
The detective leans against the table, his palms flat as he waits for me to look up at him. His voice is strong and hard, filled with contempt as he says, “Issuing a false report and taking up the time—”
“What false report?” Mason asks at the same time that I refute the detective.
“No one has taken a statement from me. I haven’t said anything,” I say and my voice is stronger than I imagined it would be.
Mason rises from his chair abruptly, leaning over the table and bracing his forearms in front of me as he gets in Myer’s face. “Don’t you dare,” Mason says, speaking with a tone of malice that makes me flinch. “Don’t you dare threaten her.”
Mason’s chiseled jaw is covered with stubble and the way it clenches while his hands fist on the table takes the commissioner by surprise. He visibly balks, and it’s then that Mason’s father pipes up.
“Now, now. Miss Summers had something she wanted to say, Mason.” Mason’s head tilts slowly, daring his father to speak again and the old man does just that, the glint in his eye ever present.
He looks past Mason and asks me, “What was it that brought you here, Julia?”
“Nothing,” I say and my voice croaks.
“Oh, come now,” he says. Mr. Thatcher’s voice is lighthearted, but it’s never been more apparent how dark the situation has become. Do they already know? They must.
And now they know that I know.
My throat tightens instantly, as if a strong hand has gripped it to choke me. “You can come to me with anything, Miss Summers,” Mason’s father says, staring me straight in the eyes as he continues, “I know everyone, Jules, and I’ll be sure you’re taken care of—”
“Enough,” Mason practically growls at his father.
His father finally takes his assessing stare from me to give Mason his attention. “Just out of curiosity, Mason, what little secret did you tell our Jules?”
Mason ignores his father, taking my hand in his with a bruising force and leading me to the door. My legs are weak but I keep up with him. He rips the door open so violently I swear he nearly pulls it off the hinges.
“Go,” Mason commands me, sweeping his arm forward and I listen immediately, grateful to be getting the fuck out of here mostly unscathed.
“Bye for now, Jules,” Mr. Thatcher says to my back as I leave, and I’m grateful Mason is between us. I can’t breathe or do anything other than follow Mason’s lead until we’ve left the station. I can feel everyone watching us and my face blazes with the awareness, but fear is what keeps me moving and my eyes staring straight ahead.
“Mason,” I whimper as he braces his hand against the small of my back and leads me across the street to where he’s parked. I stare at his car, feeling as though I’m so close to safety, but knowing I’m going back to a cell.
Mason doesn’t respond but he pulls me in close, wrapping his arm around my waist as we cross the street to the parking lot. Without knowing what to think or feel, my head spins. I have to walk quickly to keep up with his purposeful strides, but I feel comforted just from his arm wrapped around me, needing his embrace.