In the days that passed, there was surprisingly little media coverage. Morgan had to humor the press with occasional droplets of information, and the police sometimes asked for a little more, but the deadly events of that night were quickly behind them.
Bill had returned to San Francisco while Mason took up the couch in the Young household and waited for his car to be released. He stayed out of the way for the most part, occupying his time by taking long walks and checking out the local bars. Morgan still didn’t know much about the guy, but from the looks of things he was missing his family. Who wouldn’t? He’d been away from them for so long.
Eventually, the day came for him to leave. Mason got the call early on a Friday morning, and Morgan offered to drive him to the impound. They waited in silence as the sun beamed on their faces, nixing any hint of a cold breeze. Morgan spent the time wondering if they’d ever see each other again. Did he want to? Perhaps that was a question for another day, because right now he was just looking forward to getting back to his wife and son—they’d not had much privacy since the return from the cabin, and the time they did have was spent doting on their baby. Morgan didn’t want to miss another moment.
An officer finally brought the car around. Mason’s eyes lit up like he was reunited with an old flame. The officer killed the engine and climbed out, handing over a set of keys and asking him to sign a form. Mason did so while looking right through him, as if there was nothing but air between him and his black Mustang. Satisfied, the officer left and sealed the gate, leaving them on a short driveway that tailed onto a busy stretch of road.
Morgan felt uncomfortable in the silence.
“What will you do?” he asked, simply to lessen that discomfort.
Mason walked around the front of the car, brushing the hood with his fingertips until he reached the driver’s side. He stopped there, looking over the roof of the car with the excited eyes of a five-year-old boy on Christmas. “In San Francisco?”
“Yeah.”
“Go back to work, I guess.”
“Right. Catching the latest in an endless line of serial killers?”
“Something like that.”
Morgan smiled. “Do yourself a favor, will you?”
“What’s that?”
“Spend a little time with your family first. You probably don’t need me to tell you, but you only get one chance with them. It’s better to spend it with them rather than wishing you had. And speaking of which…” He glanced up and down the street. Goodbyes were one thing, but gratitude wasn’t always his strong suit. “I never got to thank you for what you did.”
Mason reeled back. “I owed you. No thanks necessary.”
“So… what? We’re even?”
“If you like.”
Morgan nodded slowly, the sun fading and letting the wind chill him. “Okay, if you say so. What happens now, then? Will you ever come back to Washington?”
“Probably not.”
“Don’t like it here?”
“It’s not my scene.” Mason opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat while Morgan came around and leaned in through the open window. “I’m more of a California guy, and my base is all set up. You should come visit sometime.”
Morgan considered this. It’d been a long time since they’d taken any real break from work, and if the offer was there to save money on a hotel and get a tour guide, then maybe it was worth thinking about. “Sure. I’ll talk to Rachel about it.”
“You do that.”
“Do you really think we’ll stay in touch?”
“Not so much. Why?”
Morgan shrugged. “You meet a lot of people in this line of work, and it’s hard to keep up with them all. I consider you a friend now, especially after what you did for us—for Rachel. I couldn’t imagine being without our son. You’re the reason we get to—”
“Stop.” Mason raised his hand. “I’ll contact you soon, all right?”
“Okay.”
Mason fed the key into the ignition and started the car. It boomed and echoed, then grumbled as he shifted the gears. He didn’t fasten his seat belt. “Take care of yourself. It’s good to know you.”
“You too. And tell your daughter there’s no charge.” Morgan stuck out a hand.
“Thank you.” Mason took the hand.
Seconds later, the Mustang peeled down the driveway and screeched onto the road. Morgan heard the gears shifting from here—a heavy clunk that gave way to the engine’s roar. As it vanished into the distance, Morgan wondered if he would ever see Mason again. He liked to think of himself as realistic when it came to these things; new friendships could always be made, and staying in touch was usually something people said but didn’t do.
All the same, he hoped he was wrong.
Because he’d found a friend in Mason Black.
No matter how different they were.