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the folder and find more of the club’s records. Pages she’d never seen, pages that looked like they were from the beginning of Declan’s suspicious activities. Again and again, Mason’s half-sister’s name was highlighted, and notes were made, here and there, in someone else’s handwriting. What’s the connection? And why Anna Bressette— relationship ? And club officers . It couldn’t be any clearer.
     
    Mason had never known a thing about what happened with the dirty side of the club. The transactions to the “Anna Bressette” accounts had stopped once Mason took over as the treasurer of the club. But that wouldn’t necessarily lead someone to think that he hadn’t been the dirty one, or that Declan had been in a position to manipulate the last treasurer in a way that he hadn’t been able to manipulate Mason. Or even that Mason was being framed from the start.
     
    He’d said to her once that guys like him only got a fair shot on cop dramas, that once the police found someone to blame, they rarely looked further— they rarely had the funding or the time, realistically. This was a threat. It was a threat from someone who knew what Mason had done, and someone who believed that they could tie everything together.
     
    She found herself backing away from the desk like it contained a scorpion. The red of the folder flashed at her, and her breathing was out of control, high and rapid, her eyes too wide. Some part of her recognized the panic attack as it happened, but the vast majority of her was too busy screaming to do anything but— well, scream.
     
    She pulled herself together enough to send a quick chat to her boss, saying that she was coming down with something, and was going to head home early, and then she left. She went out to her car, slid into the driver’s seat, and stared at the folder she’d tossed onto the passenger’s seat as she got in.
     
    Where the hell was she going to go? Her house was a ridiculous suggestion, just the thought of it made her guts clench and her eyes water. Jack and Missy— she couldn’t bring any more of this crap to their doorstep than she already had. Mason’s apartment— sure, he’d given her a key, but there was a difference between “Lock up when you leave” and “Come over whenever you want.” And besides, if the cop was watching her, wouldn’t he be looking for her to flee to Mason’s, or something like that? Was that the action of a guilty party? Would that be the proof he was looking for, somehow? Would it be the thing that tipped them over the line from “suspect” to “guilty?”
     
    She put her face in her hands and tried to find a way to breathe. It was too much, all too much. She’d led an exceedingly boring life before Mason had walked through her office door, and yes, the past two months had been the best months of her life. But at the same time, the stress of it all, the constant fear that something was going to go horribly wrong, was wearing on her.
     
    She didn’t know what to do, and turning to Mason somehow seemed like a failure. Like giving in, like admitting that she couldn’t be strong on her own. And that was a horrifying thought, one she didn’t want to even entertain. She didn’t ever want to be one of those women who needed someone else to be strong.
     
    But at the same time, she was totally out of her league. She needed to talk to someone who didn’t have a vested interest in protecting their own ass, but would have some fucking clue what she should do.
     
    There was only one person on her speed dial who would fit that description at all.
     

 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    “Thanks for seeing me, Teddy,” Caroline said as her cousin walked into the park in front of the City Hall building.
     
    He laughed and sat down on the bench beside her, putting his feet up on the stone wall surrounding the fountain. “Yeah, my busy social calendar. Having fun with my bro, Caro?”
     
    She made herself smile and nod. Teddy was older