She clicked off her phone screen, hearing Mason’s voice in her head. “It’s not your responsibility. Let them do their job. That’s why we pay them the big bucks.”

The residential center cost a small fortune. Insurance had paid for some of it, but with Mason’s blessing Ava had taken on the rest. Their other home remodeling projects could wait, he’d said. As long as they weren’t putting themselves in debt, he’d agreed Ava could do as she wished.

Ava knew she wouldn’t be as patient if Mason had a sibling who was a financial and emotional black hole.

Part of her wanted him to stop her from paying for Jayne’s care. If he put his boot down and said hell no, it would be easier to bear.

But where would Jayne be then?

Jayne had good doctors. If they couldn’t see what she was about to do with this young man, they would soon learn. It wasn’t Ava’s responsibility to point it out. If she called, they would pat her on the head, thank her, and ignore her advice.

Ava turned on her car. She needed a latte and a cookie.

8

The phone’s ring jolted Mason out of a sound sleep.

Ava’s phone.

A blurry glance at his clock showed it was two A.M. and he relaxed back into his pillow, listening to her fumble for her phone and answer. Her voice was thick with sleep, making him want to pull her close and absorb her heat.

“Are you sure?” she asked. There was a long pause. Mason heard someone speak but couldn’t make out the words.

“Send me the address,” she said. “It’s not far from me. I’ll be there in half an hour.” She set her phone back on the nightstand with a sigh. “I need to go.”

“What is it?” Mason yawned, wondering if he would be able to fall back to sleep or if he should get up and scramble some eggs.

“Another mask. Southeast Portland.”

He sat up, fully awake. “Who is it?”

Ava swung her legs out of bed and sat on the edge, stretching her back. “An Oregon state trooper. Murdered in his home.”

“Name?”

“Louis Samuelson. Know him?”

He thought hard. “I don’t think so.” He pushed the covers back and got out of bed. “I’m going with you.”

She sat silent on the edge of the bed. Ava should say he couldn’t accompany her to the scene, but she didn’t.

“Okay, but I get the first shower,” she said.

The narrow street in southeast Portland was brightly lit with flashing lights. Mason counted twenty patrol cars, both OSP and Portland police, and then stopped counting. His gut had overflowed with anger since Ava’s call. Nothing infuriated him more than when someone targeted a cop.

OSP troopers put their lives on the line every day. When they pulled over a driver during a routine stop, they didn’t know whom they’d encounter behind the wheel. Rarely was it someone happy to see them.

He followed Ava up the front walkway to the small bungalow. It was one of those older Portland homes that look like tiny cottages from the outside, but inside are sizable and made with high-quality craftsmanship that has lasted a century. Wooden floors, wooden arches, thick walls. A single-lane driveway led past the house to a small garage behind the home. Someone had hung a sheet over the large window at the front of the house.

The front yard had been converted to a Halloween graveyard. Mason read the names on the gravestones. DEE CAYED. WILL B. BACK. PAUL TERGEIST. Plastic bone arms and legs protruded from the grass. A headless stuffed body sat in a chair on the small front porch. Mason looked away from the decorations. The Halloween cheer was at odds with what he knew was indoors. Ava had learned more details as he drove them to the home, and he knew the scene inside would be difficult to stomach. He neatly printed his name in the scene log under Ava’s, thankful the police officer had no reason to question the appearance of an OSP detective, and slipped on booties.

They stepped inside. Mason nodded at a few familiar faces in the foyer, unsurprised at the level of anger he felt in the home. None of the officers he recognized said a word; they simply nodded back. A few people he didn’t know cast annoyed glances Ava’s way. Sexism was rife in many police departments and some cops didn’t want to see a female FBI agent when one of their own had been taken down. Mason returned the glares tenfold; Ava ignored them. She’d told him in the past she didn’t care what people thought. She did her job and knew she did it well.

They turned a corner and found themselves in the living room at the front of the house. Ava froze and Mason nearly bumped into her back. He looked across the room and caught his breath. The trooper had been nailed to the wall with thick spikes through his wrists. A white contorted ghost mask covered the officer’s face.

Mason wasn’t a religious man, but he said a silent prayer for the man’s soul and family. And then asked for the rapid capture of the person who’d committed such a sin. He saw Ava’s shoulders rise and fall with her deep breaths. Her chin lifted and she moved into the room, crossing to where Zander stood with Nora Hawes.

Nora’s eyes narrowed as she spotted Mason. “What are you doing here?” she asked as a greeting.

“I’m not here,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pants pockets.

She held his gaze a moment longer and then gave a short nod. “As you wish. But if someone directly asks me . . .”

“I understand,” he said. If asked, he knew she’d say he’d showed up and refused to leave. He could live with that and whatever consequences it brought.