Chapter 26
Mason
“Are these the original floors?”
I expected a lot of things when I let her out of the bedroom, but not this. We’re still on the second floor, walking along the corridor that leads to the stairs. She’s walking next to me, half a step behind, as if she was afraid of whatever might come our way. However, her gaze is fixed to the ground when I turn to look at her.
“Yes, I think so,” I say, my eyes trailing down to the dark wooden planks beneath our feet. I never paid much attention to the floors in this house, merely accepting them with their characteristic creaks and irregularities. Anna always liked them, that much I know.
“Gorgeous,” Grace comments. “They’ve been refurbished beautifully. I doubt they were this light when the house was built. Georgian mansions usually feature a darker shade. But these look like they have been polished and newly finished.”
“Georgian?” I implore. “How do you know about that?”
She lifts her head and points to the door of my office as we walk by.
“These paneled doors, the stucco in my bedroom, the window frames, it’s pretty obvious,” she says. “Though, the windows, frames and doors are probably not original. But they did a great job in preserving the original look when they were replaced.”
“Seems like you know your way around interior design.”
“Architecture,” she corrects. “Yeah, it’s a hobby of mine.”
A hint of sorrow casts a shadow across her face, when she adds: “I always wanted to study it, but…”
“But what?”
She sighs heavily. “Oh, there was never room to dream in my life. My family would never support it, and now…”
She speaks as if she’s already dead, and it breaks my heart, because I’m responsible for her despair. It’s just another reason for me to bring this to an end, even though it was never my plan to do it like this, and so early on. But it’s like she said: Things can’t go on like this forever. I brought her here to help her, not to destroy her will to live.
“You still can,” I say vaguely, evading her quizzical eyes as I lead her down the stairs.
She follows me like an obedient puppy on the leash, walking slowly as her gaze wanders around the house. It’s hard for me to tell whether she’s just taking in the minimalistic interior design, making notes on its architecture, or whether she’s looking for a way to escape. Or all of the above.
“Take a seat,” I tell her, pointing to the sofa once we reach the living area on the ground floor. “Are you hungry?”
I let go of her leash as I make my way to the open kitchen area, turning my back to her to feign a degree of trust that isn’t quite there. My ears are pricked, listening for the sound of her feet flying across the wooden floor as she tries to escape.
But she’s still right where I left her when I plant myself at the counter that separates the kitchen area from the living room. She’s holding the leash in her own hands now, her puzzled look flitting back and forth between me and the piece of leather.
“You’re not afraid I’m gonna run away?” she asks.
“Where would you even run to?” I retort, looking to the French doors that lead out to the terrace and a whole lot of nothingness. “You’ve seen it for yourself, we’re all alone up here.”
She shrugs and joins me at the kitchen counter, instead of doing what I told her to.
“I’m going to make us some tea, and something to eat,” I announce, while she takes her seat on one of her high chairs opposite of the counter. “Are you hungry?”
Grace shrugs. “A little.”
I’m just about to get to work, when I’m stopped in my tracks by my phone ringing. Grace startles as well, casting me a questioning look as I produce my phone from my pants pocket. It’s, Spencer, my PI. I have been waiting for his call for days.
“I have to get this,” I tell her, as I move to the other side of the counter.
I fetch the end of her leash that’s dangling down next to her and secure it around a metal towel rail on the side of the counter, closing the clasp with a loud click, before I take out the tiny key that comes with it.
“Are you serious?” She frowns at me.
“Just a precaution,” I say, winking at her, before I turn around and walk out to the hall in hurried steps. I close the door that separates the living area from the foyer and answer the call.
“What took you so long?” I greet him.
“You’ll understand in a minute,” Spencer says. “You wanted to know more about that Reid family, didn’t you? Well, turns out there’s a reason they’re so hard to research—they don’t want to be found.”
“And why is that?” I probe, annoyed at his vague words.
“They’re rich fuckers, but not the decent kind. Seems like they run a pretty lucrative drug cartel. Their father was the head of it until recently, but he’s become rather quiet. Looks like he handed it over to his sons,” he elaborates. “Well, most of his sons. The oldest, what’s his name, yeah, Logan, he’s out, apparently decided to become legit as an investor—which is just money laundering if you’re doing it with dirty money, if you ask me. Most things are run by Jack and Carter from the looks of it. Not so sure about that young boy, Tyler-”
“Tyler? I spoke to that one at the ward,” I interject.
“Oh, did you now?” Spencer asks. “Why? What was he doing there?”
That’s none of your business.
“Checking in about his sister, she’s the patient who’s gone missing,” I tell him. “He tried to threaten me, actually, that little shit. Seems like he’s more worried about his little sister than his brothers—or their father, for that matter.”
“Would make sense, considering they’re closest in age.”
“So, are you saying these guys are in with the mafia?” I want to know, my heart racing. I did not prepare for this. Had I known that Grace was part of a family like that, I probably would have run things differently. This could very well turn into a life-threatening situation—for the both of us.
“Not really, they’re kind of doing their own thing,” Spencer says. “In fact, it looks like they’ve run into some trouble with the mafia recently. Probably fighting over territory or some shit like that.”
He pauses for a few moments, exhaling a long sigh, before he adds: “You said that girl disappeared? Maybe that’s why her brother is so up in flames. Could be the mafia has her.”
“That seems plausible,” I utter.
Of course, Spencer has no idea that Grace is with me. With his line of work, I don’t even think he’d be shocked, but I have to be as careful about this as possible.
And I have to end it, sooner rather than later. I have zero interest in getting caught in the middle of a war between a drug cartel and the mafia.
However, it may already be too late for that, now that I think about it.
“I had a visitor at my office recently,” I say. “Guy said he was interested in obtaining some properties, quite a few actually. He claimed his name was Mr. Smith and he was particularly interested in the psychiatric ward—and in my history with it.”
“Mhm?” Spencer retorts. “Guy seemed fishy to you?”
“I’d say so, he played a role, dressed up, but still looked rough as fuck, tacky gold teeth, rough looking, inked up to the ears,” I tell him. “I don’t have much on him, but I can send you the data he left with my firm. I want you to find out as much as possible about him.”
“If he used an alias, that’s going to be tough, if I don’t even have a picture,” Spencer says. “But yeah, send it over. I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks.”
“Stay careful out there,” Spencer adds. “And stay away from those Reid guys. Let them find their sister on their own. If she’s been kidnapped by the mafia, that’s a job for the police. I suggest you stay as far away from it as possible, Mason.”
“Sure,” I assure him, before I hang up.
Stay as far away as possible.
I guess it’s a little too late for that.