Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

Mason

Three fast knocks and one slam on the door indicate Harrison Everhart has arrived. Opening the door, I find him holding out the duffel bag, an arched brow, and those blue hooded eyes expecting some kind of explanation.

"Utah?" He pushes through, hands me the bag, and picks up the television remote. "It's fucking freezing here. There's no limit to where you'd go for her, is there?"

I have no fucking idea what that means.

"Hurry up. If we're lucky, we'll make it there within an hour. I have an entire team waiting for your instructions." Harrison folds his tall body onto the bed as I change into my black cargo pants, my black T-shirt, and my bulletproof jacket.

"Have you thought about dating Ainsley?"

I glare at him. "Stop."

"How many times have I flown you to wherever she is at whatever time of the day or night she calls?"

Often.

I dismiss his question for several reasons. First, I lost count a long time ago of how often I pick up the phone and call him for a helicopter or plane ride to wherever she is.

I don't know why I jump out of a plane for her or rush to her rescue. There has to be some scientific explanation that I will never understand.

As I finish dressing and gathering all my shit, I open the main door of the room. I send him a warning glare to keep his mouth shut.

Harrison lifts his palms, rises from the bed, and darts to the open door to leave. He knows the discussion is over. My mind begins prepping for the mission.

Some last-minute reminders go through my head, the ones I'd like to forget about once I'm on the plane: like the fact that if something happens to me, my father will be alone. If I let a bullet come close, I'll break the promise I made to Ainse of always being safe.

Part of my team is on the plane. We can strategize before we make it to our destination. As soon as Everhart informs us that it's safe to use the plane's Wi-Fi and our electronics, we gather at the small rectangular table at the end of the cabin. We spend time planning a way to get in and out without causing pandemonium in one of the busiest cities in the country.

It sounds simple to go in and out, but not when there's too many witnesses. Added to it, there's the danger of having a sociopath who doesn't give a shit about others and likes to blow up things. What are the chances he's planning to use his explosive skills during his time in Vegas?

Halfway through the flight, I get a request for a virtual meeting. It's Kowalski. "What do you have?"

"Am I the man, or am I the man?" He grins. "We got him."

"Son of a bitch." I whistle. His cocky face gives away his news. He moves the camera toward the FBI agent who's pushing a handcuffed man. "Handed him over to the FBI as they arrived at the scene."

Kowalski gives me a brief, which is more like a gloating play-by-play.

"He shut down the CCTV for the time he worked in the bank—it was easy to figure out his whereabouts. Do you know what this means?"

"That I get the night off?"

"Yes, also, that you can delegate. We don't need you on the front line all the time." He smirks. "You're out of excuses to avoid being in one place for more than a week."

"Fill out your report," I say, not wanting to discuss my private life with him.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll send you the full report tomorrow." He narrows his gaze and then asks, "Are we taking the job down in Costa Rica?"

I cut the conversation and promise to have a decision by tomorrow night. I have no answer about that one. It'd take me away from the States for a prolonged stint, and for the first time in years, I want to stick around. Maybe that's crazy talk and leaving would clear my head.