exchange, but chose then to assert himself. “Mason, you can't take responsibility for other people's mental illnesses. You dated the woman sixteen years ago. It's not your fault she's fixated on you.”
“I still don't get it,” Kat started. “I mean, we love each other, and we're getting married. So, she has the drugs planted and now I'm going on trial for trafficking. Let's say I end up convicted—”
“You won't be convicted,” Carter interjected.
“For the sake of the hypothetical situation, let's say I am and sent to Fluvanna with my mother. Does she expect Mason to fall heartbroken into her arms?”
“I'm no profiler, but I'd say she feels you are a distraction to Mason. If she removes the distraction, then the attention will turn to her.”
“My God, she is a crazy bitch.”
With a gasp, Kat asked, “You don't think she'd kill me, do you?”
“Don't even think that!” Mason exclaimed.
“She's already had drugs planted. It's not like, 'You killed my woman, now I love you,' makes any more sense than, 'You put my woman away, now I love you.'”
His stomach dropped. “Carter, I need her protected.”
“Of course,” Carter agreed.
~*~
“What happened? Why is that little bitch cooling her heels at Mason's house right now?” Priscilla shrieked.
“Judge King allowed bail, and it was posted. She was released pending her trial,” Brandon explained.
“I don't care, I don't care, I don't care!” she protested with a stomp of her feet.
He stood back and watched the deceivingly pretty blonde throw a tantrum like a four year old. “Planting evidence is one thing, Prissy, but I have no control over Judge King. She allowed bail, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.”
“Don't you dare call me Prissy again, Brandy,” she answered, a glint in her blue eyes. At his perturbed expression, she asked, “How do you like it?”
“Fine. Priscilla.” He walked away from her, choosing to brace himself against the far wall instead of sitting on any of her precious antique furniture. “Have I told you lately how happy I am our parents were only married for two years?” he murmured, loving the disgust lighting her face. “I did my part. I helped. I even called you Miss McClaren and acted like you could tell me what to do.” He pushed off the wall then, his long legs eating the distance between them in seconds. Toe to toe with this tiny ball of fury he called sister for a few years of his life, he warned her, “Against my better judgment, I did you a favor. Don't make me regret it.”
“I will own you, Brandon Davis,” she hissed.
“Not a chance in hell.” He chuckled softly when she flinched. “You asked me to plant evidence, asked me to risk my career so you could have some man. What do you think I could do to you, Prissy?” He paused, letting the threat sink in along with the diminutive name. “I could hang you out to dry right along with Katerina.” He grabbed her arms then. “Or, I could clear the beautiful Miss Nemecek and toss your bony ass in jail.” He released her, propelling her away from himself. “The decision is yours.”
Stumbling on her heels, Priscilla pointed to the door. “Get out.”
He gave her a mock salute. “My pleasure, Prissy.”
~*~
Kat snuggled into the cushions of the window seat. She'd been warned about staying away from windows for fear someone would take a shot at her, but this was her favorite spot in the house and she really didn't believe Priscilla would have her killed. She didn't want to hide and she didn't want to hunker down like a prisoner. She gave herself a mental kick. Just a few hours ago she had been a prisoner. She'd just opened her book when Mason appeared in the doorway.
Alarmed, Mason snapped, “What are you doing in the window?”
“Reading,” she answered as calmly as possible. “No one is going to shoot me.”
He crossed into the room then, stopping inches from picking her up bodily. “You were in jail this morning, Kat. You're the one who posed the damn question to Carter in the first place. You are supposed to be here to be protected, not to offer yourself for target practice in the middle of a bay window.”
Hating to see him so upset, even if it meant abandoning her favorite place in the house—maybe anywhere—she stood. “I know I asked the question, but do you really think she'd try to kill me?”
“I wouldn't have thought she'd give a damn about me after