In His Sights Page 11

  Mason’s body teetered, and Noah moved to his side in seconds, grabbing onto him. Noah sighed, relieved Mason didn’t try to pull out of his grip. Noah could see Mason was worn down, both physically and emotionally. And Noah felt guilty about his allowing Mason to go on. Even with what little Mason said, he could lose his job if anyone ever found out he’d talked to Noah about an active case. Well, a case that was active less than twenty-four hours ago, from what Noah could speculate. An even though Noah would never tell anyone, he didn’t want to put Mason in the position of being concerned Noah might.

  “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” Noah held onto Mason’s arm and walked toward Mason’s bedroom.

  “You going to join me?” Mason smiled.

  A chill raced down Noah’s back. “Think it’s best if you go alone.” His words didn’t match his feelings. He would love nothing more than to cuddle up against Mason in his bed. Well, except maybe doing a repeat performance of the last time they were in Mason’s bed.

  Chapter 12

  Mason opened his eyes, then slammed them closed. The sun blazing around the blinds burned, intensifying the pounding in his head. Nausea rolled through him, and he fought with himself whether to endure the pain of standing up and running to the bathroom, or lie still and let anything about to happen, happen. Not moving won, as the throbbing in his head threatened to increase with any movement.

  He tried to arrange his thoughts enough to remember what the hell he’d done—what had put him in this state. But the mere idea of thinking had his head ready to explode. So instead, he attempted to clear everything from his mind and relax enough to go back to sleep.

  When he next opened his eyes, Mason had no clue how much time had passed. The light still hurt, but this time he fought through the pain to check the clock. It was 09:30 A.M. Fuck. He needed to head to work. He moved to sit up, and the pressure holding his head and body hostage caused him to crash back down. “Holy fuck.”

  What had he done the night before? Once he sent the question out in the universe, the answer came to him in small chunks. He’d ended up at the airport bar, ordering double shots of whiskey at a time. Once he cleared up why he felt like shit, his mind continued along the same track to the reason he’d walked in the bar. El had come for a visit. The weight of her husband’s death still balanced precariously on Mason’s back. It was Mason’s job, both as her big brother and as an FBI agent, to find out who was responsible for killing him, and Mason had failed in both roles. And now, thanks to what took place even earlier yesterday, his time was up—he’d never get the chance to find out who was to blame for bombing the market in Chad, killing not only Tom, but also fifty-three other people.

  Twenty hours earlier, Mason’s phone had rung. His boss had called to ask Mason—well, actually, order Mason—to come to his office for a meeting. Mason remembered stepping out of his truck. At that time, he’d expected the meeting to suck. But deep down he had held onto the tiny, as in a newborn flea, bit of hope his boss planned to tell him the powers that be had given some more thought to what Mason had told them, and they finally seemed to think he was right. His optimism had died when he’d walked into his boss’s office, and his boss addressed him by his full title, and not simply Carlyle. Right then Mason had known the meeting wasn’t going to end well. The tightness in his stomach had extended to his chest when he’d spotted his boss’s boss, Associate Deputy Director Chandler, perched in the corner.

  After that, Mason had spent three grueling hours in a stifling room listening to his boss explain, and then his boss’s boss agree that Mason had wasted the past twenty-five months investigating a non-existent terrorist organization. Well, that wasn’t exactly true—the terrorists were real, but everyone at the Bureau, except for Mason, seemed to believe they were also part of a bigger group already under investigation by another task force team.

  And since the men in charge were among those who’d believed that to be fact, it meant Mason’s team was no longer needed. The other task force had been already assigned to watching Dendrospis Angusticeps, and would, for the foreseeable future, be handling surveillance on the group. Therefore, all case files Mason and his team had on the non-existent new group were to be turned over to said task force immediately, and Mason’s team would be disbanded and assigned to new teams.

  Mason had sat between two men who had the power, and after listening to them, maybe even the desire, to end his career if he hadn’t done what they ordered him to do—ceased looking into the actions of the new terrorist group. Sadly, it was an order Mason couldn’t follow.

  Nausea racked his body again, but this time Mason couldn’t ignore it. He jumped up and ran to the bathroom. He made it just in time. Puking his guts out with a raging headache was the last thing he wanted to be doing, but he wasn’t given much of a choice. Every time his thoughts went back to what had happened, he ended up perched over the toilet. It hadn’t taken long for all the ingredients in his stomach to be lost to the porcelain gods, followed by the dry heaves that kept him in a bent over position. As he wallowed in self-pity, he heard something that had him standing straight, positioned ready to fight. Someone was in his house.

  His hand moved to his holster, but it wasn’t there. Dammit. He looked toward his closet, then at his bedroom door that now hung partially open. If he went to get his gun and anyone came down the hall, they’d have a clear shot at him at his safe. He couldn’t risk it. He needed to be on the offensive. He looked around the room to see if he could find a weapon. Shit. It wasn’t the best, but it’d have to do. He picked up the plunger from behind the toilet. He’d use the rubber part as a grip.

  His abdomen cramped as he moved. He took a deep breath and held it for a second. The pain subsided. He crept to the door, sliding it open enough to secure a better view. He hadn’t spotted anyone or anything that appeared out of the ordinary. But right then, whoever invaded his home made their presence known. Mason couldn’t believe the intruder hadn’t heard Mason puking up his guts. But the fact they weren’t trying to stay quiet said they thought they were alone.

  Mason slipped out of the bedroom door. He held still, checking if his opening the door wider had alerted anyone to his presence. Reassured he had gone unnoticed, he continued to the end of the hall. Once there, he peered into the living room. The area stood empty, and again, nothing seemed out of place. He paused to listen, all his senses on alert. The noise came from the kitchen. Mason tiptoed toward the room. Once at the door, he stopped dead. He could see the person’s shadow. But that’s not what made him stop. What rendered Mason immobile was the fact the culprit in his kitchen was now singing. Singing. What the fuck? Rob a house, sing a song? It hadn’t made sense. He hadn’t cared. Again, he took a step and froze waiting until the shadow got closer—then he attacked—slamming the wooden stick toward the head of the intruder. He came in contact with skin and bone and the wooden handle broke and fell to the floor. The man shouted, and Mason recognized the voice. His stomach roiled and nausea burned the back of his throat.

  Instead of running for the bathroom, he opened up the French doors and ran outside. He made it to the grass just in time. Mason was surprised that something actually came out, but before long he was back to the dry heaves, his stomach cramping. Before realizing Noah had moved, he stood outside next to Mason. Noah placed his hand on Mason’s back and rubbed, and Mason body went rigid. What the hell was he doing there? Why couldn’t Mason remember? Part of him wanted to know, and the other wanted Noah to just leave. Mason knew that thought was bullshit before it fully formed. Deep down, he was glad Noah was there, no matter the reason.

  Mason pushed himself up, closing his eyes while the blood rushed to the rest of his body. Cinderblocks crushed down on his head. Noah helped hold him up. Mason wanted to shake Noah’s grip off. But he also wanted to grab it and wrap it around himself. Mason stayed still and did neither.

  “Mas. You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Mason barely recognized his own voice.

  “Y
ou okay to go back in the house? Come out of the rain.”

  It wasn’t until that moment that Mason noticed the rain. It poured, weighing down his hair, making his too long bangs hang in his eyes. He shook his head in answer, thinking it would be easier than speaking. The first move told him otherwise. His hands shot up to protect his head, holding it still.

  “Come on.” Noah tightened his hold on Mason’s arm as he walked him inside. He warned Mason of each step they had to climb, allowing Mason to keep his eyes closed. Once inside, Mason knew he had to say something. He needed to apologize for hitting Noah. How could he have forgotten the man was there? Hell, he still couldn’t remember him ever coming over. What the hell had he done the night before?

  “What—”

  “Shhh.” Noah let go of Mason and walked over to the sink, filling a glass with water. He handed the glass to Mason.

  Mason closed his eyes, knowing the water would set off his stomach again, but his thirst won out. The first sip, Mason swished around in his mouth, then spit it out into the sink. The second and third, he swallowed. Not immediately affected, Mason took a deep breath.

  Noah laid his hand on Mason’s shoulder.

  “Let’s get you into the shower. Think that’ll help you. Maybe we’ll go for a run after. Burn some of the alcohol out of your system.”

  The thought of a run had Mason ready to cry. He couldn’t do it. Hell. He couldn’t make it into the shower. When they stepped in the bathroom, he planned to tell Noah that, but before he could say anything, Noah’s hands were back on him.

  “Lean up against here for me.” Noah positioned Mason’s back against the wall, then he lifted Mason’s feet to pull his pants off. Chills raced down Mason’s body when his last article of clothing came off. He must have trembled, because Noah’s hands instantly rubbed up and down Mason’s arms.

  That helped.

  “We’re waiting for the water to warm up a bit.”

  The we’re had Mason opening his eyes, and to his surprise, he found a naked Noah standing in front of him. Mason’s cock twitched. He should kneel down and take care of Noah. The fact he wasn’t, told how bad Mason felt.

  Noah held onto Mason, helping him climb into the shower.

  The water pinched like tiny little knives stabbing into his body. But he wouldn’t complain. He needed to wash the stink of the alcohol off his body and give his skin some of its hydration back. Mason moved to pick up the shampoo, but before he had the chance, Noah grabbed it. To Mason’s surprise, Noah poured some on his hands, then rubbed it into Mason’s hair. Mason closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Noah’s fingers massaging Mason’s head was the first thing that felt good since he’d woken up. The movement relaxed Mason, but to Mason’s annoyance, it also aroused his cock. It stood ready to do anything, regardless to how shitty the rest of Mason felt. Yeah, nothing unusual about that.

  Noah finished Mason’s hair, then moved on to his body. Mason had a hard time believing this was the same man who’d taken off in the middle of the night after the first time they were together. The only time they’d been together. And Mason was about to ask Noah about it, but then thought better of it. Discussing Noah’s disappearance, with the way Mason felt, wasn’t the best plan. He’d need to have his brain functioning at its full capacity. Today it barely ran on fifty percent. So not saying anything, Mason remained quiet, enjoying the moment. Once Noah finished with Mason, he washed himself quickly.

  Noah shut off the water, and before he stepped out of the shower, he grabbed a towel and dried Mason off. Mason thought he might have moaned, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Noah patted Mason’s back. “Come on. Let’s get out. Get you dressed. I think we should go for a run. The rain should let up.”

  “Don’t think I can handle doing that today.” Mason winced at the whine in his voice.

  “You need to burn off the alcohol.”

  “Yeah, I understand. But running in the rain? I don’t think I can. Not today.”

  “Okay. What’s the alternative?”

  “My gym.”

  “Didn’t realize you had one.”

  “Not here. Down the road.”

  “Okay. That’ll work.”

  Mason wanted to laugh. Hell, how could he not with Noah’s near perfect body situated directly in front of him? But that was it. Noah’s naked body. The same man who’d turned tail and ran the last time Mason saw him. Mason had figured he’d never see Noah again, yet here he stood—naked, chatting with him. Who the fuck would have believed it?

  He wore a smile, but couldn’t help it. And Noah mustn’t have thought anything of it, because he stood obviously debating about whether or not he’d go with Mason to the gym.

  “They’ll give you a day pass.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. Definitely. I need to throw some clothes on, then I’m ready.”

  “I made something for you to eat first.”

  Mason’s stomach twisted. “Don’t think it’s a good idea if I eat yet.”

  “I made a good ole greasy egg sandwich. Perfect for the morning-after.”

  It took a moment, but Noah must have realized what he’d said, because his skin turned a nice shade of red. The time was perfect for Mason to open up their last morning-after to discussion. But again, he’d give Noah a free pass. Besides the fact he hadn’t felt up to having a talk right then, he also wouldn’t admit he couldn’t remember whether they discussed it the night before.

  “Can we put the egg away for later? I’m definitely not feeling up to eating yet. I’ll focus on hydration and sweat for now.”

  “Okay. Sure.”

  This time when Mason went to walk, Noah let him do it on his own. Almost to his bedroom, Noah turned to Mason and asked, “Can I borrow a workout outfit? My luggage is back in Seattle.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Mason padded over to his dresser, and pulled out a pair of shorts and a shirt for Noah. Mason handed them to him, and Noah took them and walked away. Mason went to close his door, but before he did, Noah turned and said, “I’ll meet you in the kitchen as soon as I change.”

  “Okay.” Mason closed the bedroom door and sat down on the bed. His body cried for him to lie down, but his brain yelled to resist. Noah was right. The best thing to do would be to get to the gym and sweat out all the shit he’d put into his body the night before. With the way he felt, he’d need to be there all day, working off his hangover. What the hell had he been thinking? He stood up and grabbed clothes. He finished dressing and tied up his sneakers. He stood up ready to head back, when his thoughts went back to the events of the previous day.

  Chapter 13

  In the guest room, Noah put on his clothes. He thought about the day ahead. He planned to start with them working out at the gym. Mason would sweat out the alcohol, Noah would put some food into him, then finally he’d get out of his hair. Let Mason lick his wounds in private.

  As Noah passed by Mason’s door, he knocked. “I’m heading to the kitchen.”

  “‘Kay. Be right out.” Mason’s voice hitched, but Noah let it go. The man wasn’t doing too well. And after seeing Mason’s shape the night before, Noah was impressed that Mason had agreed to go to the gym rather than fall back into bed. Though, if Mason remained in his room for more than ten minutes, Noah would check on him.

  Minutes passed, and Noah moved toward Mason’s room, but Mason’s footsteps alerted him Mason was on his way. A sense of relief washed over Noah. The relief drained away seconds later when Noah saw Mason. Mason came in the room with his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his body rigid. Mason appeared ready for a fight. He walked over to where Noah stood; Mason’s gaze avoided Noah, focused out the window.

  “Hey, are you okay? How you feeling?”

  “Like death.”

  “Yeah. I’d imagine that.”

  Noah walked over to the counter and picked up a glass.

  Noah went to hand the concoction he’d made to Mason. “Here, I made this
for you.”

  Mason hesitated, staring at the glass as if the liquid would reach out and bite him. “What is this?”

  “Orange juice and egg.”

  Mason’s complexion turned green. Better than white, Noah thought.

  “Not sure—”

  “Trust me. This’ll help. Promise.”

  Mason slowly moved the drink toward his mouth.

  “I’d go with gulps, Mas. This is something you definitely don’t want to sip.”

  Mason glanced at Noah, his gaze wary.

  “Go ahead.”

  Mason did as Noah suggested. Mason’s eyes squeezed closed, and his mouth pinched as if he’d sucked on a lemon, he gulped the drink down.

  When he finished, he put the glass in the sink. “Let’s go.” Mason turned and headed toward the door, and Noah smiled. The mixture couldn’t have been that bad if Mason was able to speak.

  Noah picked up the keys off the counter. “All right if I drive?”

  “Sure.” Mason’s voice seemed calm. Noah had expected Mason to be none too happy with his offer to drive, but with the way his friend looked, Noah risked it.

  They walked outside, and Mason’s movements appeared more relaxed than they had when he first came into the kitchen.

  The rain had stopped, but the blackened sky warned of more showers to come. Perfect weather for a few hours at the gym.

  * * * *

  A couple hours had passed since they first arrived at the gym, and Mason seemed much better. On their way out, heading for Mason’s truck, Noah said, “There’s a flight at nine tonight. It’s the one I was supposed to take last night.”

  Mason kept his focus forward. “I’m sorry I made you miss your plane.” His complexion turned red.

  “It’s okay. I wouldn’t leave you in that state.” It really was okay. Noah was glad he’d been there for Mason. Especially after the shit he’d pulled the last time they’d been together, his taking off in the middle of the night.