The steady beep-beep of a machine sounded to his left. The cup to his mouth was supposed to help, but it just seemed to suffocate him. Mason reached up with a weak hand to shove it aside, knocking it off his face at an awkward angle. It wasn’t until he heard the voice that he opened his eyes, finding even that a strain.
“Don’t push yourself.”
Mason’s eyes leveled on Bill, who sat beside the bed in a little foldout chair. He looked around, immediately recognizing the scenery: the plain-blue walls, the pamphlets pinned to a corkboard on the nearby wall, the signs by the door pointing in every direction. They were in a hospital. The same one where Amy had taken her last breath.
“What happened?” Mason asked. Then, as he thought about Simon, the machine to his left began to beep more aggressively. He sat up, finding it hard work. “Where is he? Tell me you got that son of a bitch. Tell me—”
“Settle down, will you?”
“Tell me what happened.”
Bill looked over his shoulder, reaching out a hand to pat him back down. “We won,” he said. “My team took him down. When we got down into the bunker, he had a gun pointed at you, and we had to take the shot. He died on the way to the hospital.”
Mason fell back with blessed relief. It made all the pain worth it. Not just the wound in his shoulder, but all the screwed-up emotional torture of making them choose like Alison Wendell—Lady Luck herself—had forced them to do all those years ago. Now he got to lie here in only mild discomfort, knowing his family could live thanks to him. But was it really thanks to him? It was his actions that had put them here in the first place.
“Who was he?” Mason asked.
“There isn’t much to tell. His name was Simon Griffin. A loner with a big savings account. They’re in his home right now, combing over the evidence to find out more about him. My guess is that he was just some obsessed nut who wanted to play killer.”
“That explains why he didn’t want you.”
Bill tipped his head to one side. “Huh?”
“We got Wendell together, but the papers only reported on me. It seems all his facts were coming from the details we gave to the press, which explains why he didn’t know who Amelia was. It also explains why you got away with it while I have to lie here with a hole in my arm.”
“Don’t act like I wasn’t caught in an explosion.”
Mason grinned, aware of his defeat. “How you feeling?”
“A little fragile, but I can move.”
“I’m glad you did. Thanks for coming for me.”
“Come on, you know we’re in this together. I’m just sorry I kept things from you.”
“You did what you had to.”
Mason wasn’t sure he meant that, but the forgiveness was true. With his family safe, he could at least relax enough to let Bill off the hook. He had come to his rescue, after all, still adamantly refusing to tell the police the truth about what they’d done to Wendell. Only now he was in a position to learn something: he would no longer let anger blindly lead him.
“You want some good news?” Bill asked.
“Always.”
Bill checked over his shoulder, confirming again they were alone, then leaned in close. “They found Wendell’s body down there. Not only can they confirm that bastard is dead, but they’re pinning it on Simon Griffin, who is too dead to care.”
“Wait. He’s taking the fall?”
“Yes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope, completely true.”
Mason rolled back onto his pillow, the machine taking longer breaks between beeps. It had all fallen into place nicely, and although this usually meant something would come back to bite him on the ass, at least he knew he could finally relax.
For now.