desertion

148

LYDIA

The office felt stifling today. I sat at my desk, staring at the files in front of me, but I couldn't focus. My brain was stuck on the events of yesterday-on the blood-stained floor, the safe in the hollowed-out book, and the way my heart had raced as I fled from Daniel Carter's apartment. I thought I could push it all aside, bury it deep down like I did with most things. But Mason was here, and Mason always noticed everything.

I decided to talk. A lot.

"So, about that timeline," I started, flipping through my notes and glancing at him. "Do you think we should shift the focus to the neighbor's statement? Or should we stick with the text messages? I mean, the texts are obviously more direct evidence, but the neighbor could be holding something back, don't you think?"

Mason didn't respond immediately. He was typing something on his computer, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Mason?" I asked, louder this time.

He glanced up, his lips quirking into a small smile. "Yeah, the neighbor's statement is important. But I'd say we stick with the texts for now-they're more concrete."

"Right, right," I said quickly, scribbling something down. "But what if the neighbor saw something they didn't realize was important? Like, I don't know, maybe they saw someone leaving the apartment but didn't think to mention it because they didn't realize it mattered? People do that all the time, don't they? They overlook things because they're in a rush, or they don't think it's their business-"

"Lydia."

I froze at the sound of his voice. Mason was looking at me now, his eyes sharp and curious. He rolled his chair closer to my desk, folding his arms as he studied me.

"What?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

He raised an eyebrow. "You've been talking nonstop since you got here."

I shrugged, flipping a page in my notebook. "I'm just trying to figure things out. That's what we do, right?"

"Sure," he said slowly, leaning forward. "But this? This isn't normal for you."

I swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze.

"Lydia," he said again, his voice softer this time. "I've only known you for, what, three weeks? But I know you well enough to tell when you're nervous. And right now, you're nervously talking to distract me from something."

I felt my heart skip a beat as his words sank in. He wasn't wrong, but I wasn't ready to admit it yet.

Mason leaned back in his chair, giving me a pointed look. "So, what's going on? Spill."

I hesitated, my fingers gripping the edge of my notebook. Part of me wanted to deny it, to brush him off with some half-hearted excuse. But the other part-the part that trusted Mason-knew he wouldn't let this go.

Taking a deep breath, I looked up at him. "I went to Daniel Carter's apartment yesterday."

His eyebrows shot up. "You what?"

"I snuck in," I admitted, the words tumbling out faster than I could stop them. "I know it was stupid, okay? But I couldn't stop thinking about the case. I had to see it for myself."

"And?" he prompted, his tone cautious.

I launched into a full-blown rant, telling him everything-the blood, the book with the hidden safe, the way I'd wiped it down to remove my fingerprints. "And then I realized I probably wiped off other fingerprints too! I messed with evidence, Mason. I'm a horrible person. I shouldn't have done it, but I was curious, and I just-"

"Lydia," Mason interrupted, his hands landing on my shoulders. "Stop."

I blinked up at him, my breath hitching.

"You're not a horrible person," he said firmly. "You had a feeling, and you followed it. That's what we do. That's the job."

I shook my head, my voice trembling. "It's not my job to mess with evidence."

Mason gave me a stern look, then stood up and pulled me to my feet.

"Come on," he said.

"Where are we going?" I asked, confused.

"We're taking our break early," he replied, grabbing my hand.

His grip was warm and steady, and for some reason, I didn't resist. He led me down the hall, stopping at Officer Darden's office.

"We're going out to eat," Mason announced, nodding toward me. "We both need a break."

Officer Darden gave us a suspicious look but eventually nodded.

Mason let out a relieved sigh and guided me outside. He led me to his truck, opening the passenger door with a teasing grin. "After you, my lady."

I laughed despite myself and climbed in. Mason closed the door and walked around to the driver's side, starting the engine.

The ride to the diner was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Mason didn't push me to talk, and I appreciated that.

When we arrived, we slid into a booth near the window. A cheerful waitress took our orders, and for the first time all day, I felt a bit of the tension in my chest ease.

"So," Mason said, leaning back in his seat. "Let's talk about something other than work. What's your favorite movie?"

I raised an eyebrow. "That's random."

"Exactly," he said, smirking. "Humor me."

I thought for a moment before answering. "Probably 10 Things I Hate About You. It's a classic."

"Solid choice," Mason said, nodding approvingly. "Mine's The Dark Knight. Can't go wrong with Batman."

We spent the next hour trading stories, talking about everything from childhood memories to embarrassing moments. Mason was easy to talk to, and his quick wit kept me laughing.

By the time we left the diner, I felt lighter. The case was still waiting for us, but for now, I was grateful for the distraction-and for Mason.