26

Mason felt the muscles in his chest groan as he turned into the parking lot on the west side of the warehouse, wishing—not for the first time—that his beat-up pickup truck had power steering. At thirty-three, he was already feeling too old for the backbreaking job of manually lifting boxes onto pallets, then stacking them onto trailers that would be shipped across the country. All this while trying to keep up with a half-dozen college-aged kids for a measly ten bucks an hour. But he couldn’t complain too much. If everything went as planned, he was about to be promoted.

Inside the open warehouse, he found Owen Jefferson already at work at his desk in the back corner, sweat dripping down his bald head and onto the sides of his neck. The overhead fans did little to alleviate the heavy heat in the warehouse. Mason had never seen Owen lift more than a pile of papers, but the man clearly worked out somewhere.

Mason had received extensive profiles on Owen the first day of work. Ex-military, with combat experience. Two ex-wives and hefty alimony payments. After a few years working security, he now managed a distribution center of imported furniture and knickknacks from Asia.

Whatever Mason might think about the man’s personal life, Owen was his way in. And with word from his informant that the timeline had suddenly been pushed up, it was going to take every trick Mason knew to get there. Which was why he’d left Gavin lying on the floor of his apartment in a pile of vomit.

Owen punched off his cell phone and dropped it onto his desk. He frowned at Mason. “You’re early.”

“You never know how traffic is going to be.” Mason poured himself a drink from the water cooler and took a sip, wondering what Owen knew. “Something wrong?”

“Just got a call from Gavin’s girlfriend.”

“Gavin?” Mason furrowed his brow and pretended to try to place the man.

“Short, stocky, curly red hair. He was supposed to be working today’s second shift.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve spoken to him a time or two. Something wrong with him?”

“He’s not coming in today.”

Mason took another sip of the cold water. “He sick or something?”

“Something. Girlfriend found the door open to his apartment, went in to investigate, and found him unconscious.”

Mason tossed the empty cup into the trash. He must have just missed her. “Seriously?”

“Crazy, isn’t it? Ambulance took him to the hospital about an hour or so ago. She said something about food poisoning.”

That familiar wave of guilt swept over him. Some of his aunt’s preaching still got to him every now and then. Love your neighbor as yourself. Turn the other cheek. How did that fit in with all the lies he’d told in the past two years, or the bodily harm he’d inflicted? He was convinced there was a special place in hell reserved for people like him. Unless the good he managed to pull off could make up for everything else.

Owen started punching something into his computer.

Mason weighed his words. “Listen, Finn said you might have some extra work. If you need someone to work Gavin’s shift, I could really use the money.”

Owen stopped and looked at him hard. This wasn’t a man Mason would want to meet in a dark alley, and he had his own experience with hand-to-hand combat. But as long as he played it cool, he could definitely win at mental games.

Owen leaned back and crossed his arms, looking as if he were sizing him up. “We don’t normally let our workers take double shifts. I don’t like being responsible for my men collapsing on the job.”

“I can do it.”

“You do pretty well keeping up with the college-age boys you work alongside, but that’s for one shift.”

The comment hit low, but Mason ignored it.

“Finn told me what you did for him. Saving his life.”

“It was nothing really.”

“Don’t be so modest. He said you took out a cop for him. That’s no small feat.”

“It seemed to be the right thing to do at the time, and he did get me this job. You know how it is with debt and ex-wives. Can’t sit around doing nothing for too long.”

Owen laughed. “He also said you’re a user.”

“Just on the side. You know my record. Never late for work. Always get everything loaded on time.”

“Oh, I know that and more. I did a background check on you.”

Mason shifted. “I thought the background check was required.”

“It is, but I did a bit of extra research on my own.”

Mason felt his pulse increase.

Play it cool, man. If Owen had found a hole in his story, Mason would already be gone by now.

“And?”

“You weren’t kidding about the debt.”

“Just a few . . . gambling issues.”

“Finn did talk to me about you. Told me you’re looking to make some extra cash on the side.”

“Yeah.”

“I might have a job if you’re interested.”

“I am.” Mason slowed his breathing. “What’s the job?”

“It’s worth five grand for a couple days’ work.”

“More than I make in two months.” Mason leaned forward. “So I assume I wouldn’t be driving pillow cushions and shag rugs.”

“Oh, but you would be.”

Mason shook his head. “I’m not a fool. If I take the risk, I at least want to know what I’m getting into. Drug smuggling? Cigarettes with fraudulent tax stamps?”

Owen shifted his gaze toward the back of the warehouse and hesitated. “Weapons.”

“Weapons?” Mason furrowed his brow, making sure Owen didn’t catch the hint of satisfaction in his eyes.

“With Gavin out, I need a fourth man to drive one of our store trucks from here to Houston. And I need that someone today.”

Trafficking weapons across state lines would mean the FBI getting involved. This was no small family business.

“It’s the tip of the iceberg. A couple dozen guns every month. Guaranteed extra income for those of us involved.”

“Where do they come from?”

“Mainly from China and India. It’s easier than you think, and as far as I’m concerned, the demand far outweighs the risks. Did you know that there are craftsmen living in local villages who can clone assault rifles? Within days, they ship them into the country. Guns with no serial numbers and no way to trace them. It’s unbelievable how easy it is. From here we send them across the country, to the UK, and of course, Mexico.”

“If I get caught, I could get into a lot of trouble for this.”

“Don’t get caught.”

“How are they shipped?”

“Sourn Imports is a legitimate business, remember. So they are shipped inside the pillow cushions and shag rugs. Sometimes, they’re broken down into parts and concealed to be sent internationally.”

“How do you know I won’t simply go to the police with the information you’ve just given me?”

“You think I’m stupid enough to hire people off the street?”

“No. That’s why I’m asking.”

“I trust Finn’s recommendations, and my background checks are thorough. I happen to know a man by the name of Veno who you owe seventeen thousand to in gambling debts. And I know you’re already two months late. Veno and I go way back, and I know how he works. If you don’t pay up, he won’t kill you, but he’ll hunt you down and start breaking your bones, one by one.”

Mason swallowed hard. “Then you understand why I need this job and why I’m willing to take on a shady deal or two for some extra cash. When does the shipment need to go out?”

“Later this afternoon.”

“Can I see the goods?”

Owen hesitated briefly, then nodded for him to follow him across the back of the warehouse to a locked door Mason had noticed his first day on the job. The older man opened the door with a key from his pocket, then shut and locked it behind him after they entered. The room was large, at least twenty by twenty, and filled with imported items that looked ready to go into the storefront.

Owen pulled open two wooden chests along the wall. Mason eyed the cache of weapons ready. Five or six shotguns, two dozen handguns, three boxes of M-16 rifles, plus ammunition. And that was just for starters.

“Worth at least two million dollars on the street,” Owen bragged.

All illegal and untraceable. Mason couldn’t help but smile. All his hard work was finally paying off. “Does Mr. Sourn know you’re using his warehouse to launder weapons?”

Owen’s laugh was back. “Don’t worry about your employer.”

Mason shifted his stance as Owen shut the containers.

“You’re sure you can do this?”

“Like I said, I need the money. Five thousand will go a long way to get Veno off my back, not to mention my ex-wife. I’m more afraid of her than Veno at this point.”

“Then we have a deal. You drive your truck to Houston, and I’ll help you keep Veno—and your ex-wife—off your back.”