It had been a long and exhausting night for Mason, too. After arriving back home, he stayed in the driver’s seat of his Mustang, looking up at the home he and Diane had bought together. It was mostly her input that had afforded them the huge house, and that wasn’t untypical for her. She had always been a kind soul. The kindest. And she would never rub it in his face or claim she owned more than half. It truly was a partnership.
The problem was keeping her safe. Mason had promised time after time that his private-investigating career would at some point simmer down to the easy jobs. Tailing a cheating husband, finding a missing daughter who had run off with her boyfriend. Stuff a normal PI would put up with. Not tracking down notorious serial killers and bringing the danger to their doorstep. It was that kind of work that had gotten Amy killed. He didn’t know what would happen to his soul if something like that happened again. To Diane, MJ, or Evie.
After a long, contemplative stare, Mason finally climbed out of the car. He shut the door quietly so as not to wake Diane, then went inside the house. It was dark, empty, and still. Only the clock announced its presence with an irritating tick. Mason enjoyed the silence, thinking how lucky he was to be so swamped with activity that he rarely saw things like this. He had a family who loved him and who he loved in return. Did things get any better than that?
They did not, he knew. That was why he had to protect them at all costs. Rather than climb into bed and risk waking Diane, Mason took his spare gun from the dresser drawer, then dragged a chair out from behind the dining table. He set it in front of the door, took a seat with the gun in his lap, and stayed there. His head occasionally bobbed down as tiredness finally took over him, but if anyone wanted to break into his house, they’d have to go through him.
And he would love to see them try.