"Where am I?" he mumbled in confusion, pushing himself up with his hands and gazed around, bleary eyed. He was lying in a huge bed with a soft mattress that he felt give beneath him slightly when he moved. The sheets were a light blue with a tiny silver pattern dancing along the edge. The pillows were soft, filled with duck down and stretching right the way across the top of the bed. The blue of the walls matched that of the bed perfectly, also with an identical silver pattern running along the top and bottom. The carpet was a snowy white; along with the book cases, desk and other standard furnishings you would find in a bedroom. There was a large bay window to his left, light streaming in between the neatly drawn back blue curtains forgotten to close them last night. The view from the window was that of the Empire State building.
Suddenly, it clicked. He was in New York. New case. New job. New life. None of that old shit he had left behind. His first class flight from Indianapolis had got him in late last night, giving him only enough time to dump his case on the floor and strip off to his boxer briefs before he fell into bed. And so, that was how he had awoken this morning. He glanced at the clock on the night stand beside him. The time read half past seven. Sighing, he realised he was awake now and there was no use in trying to go back to sleep. Besides, there were things to do.
Dragging himself out of bed, he wandered through into the en suit bathroom. Stripping of his boxer briefs he stepped into the large power shower. The water hammering down on his head and upper back didn't take long to wake him up. He quickly lathered a small sample shampoo that was lying on the side into his hair and washed his body with a heavily masculine scented shower gel. Stepping out, he felt refreshed and awake. He tied a deep blue towel round his waste and wandered back through to the bedroom, pulling out a pair of denim jeans and a t-shirt. When he was ready he began to unpack the four cases he had brought with him from Indiana. It didn't take long and it was just before eight o'clock when he left his bedroom and headed through to the main living area. Other than the bedrooms that came off the main upstair section it was all open plan with each room blending into the next.
On the way downstairs he passed a closed door, identical to his own. That must be the other guy, he thought to himself, Dean, they had said he was called. Mason stepped into the tidy kitchen, and, after searching the cupboards for a plate and knife, dropped some toast into the toaster. It didn't take long for it to pop up and he spread some butter onto it and sat down at the table.
That was when he spotted two large
parcels in cardboard boxes lying on the side, one addressed to him and the other to a Detective Winchester; which he vaguely recalled as being the surname of the other detective he was working with. Toast in one hand, he walked over to the parcel and brought it back to the table with him. Slipping a pen knife out of his pocket, he slid it along the duct tape that held the box closed and the lid sprung open. Inside was a black iPhone and a profile for a woman called Knatilee Schiano. Mason had to admit it there and then, she was absolutely gorgeous. She had crystal blue eyes and thick, brunette hair flowing down her back in luscious waves. Her skin and body were flawless. She looked more like she should be gracing the covers of Vogue rather than murdering men for money.
His eyes scanned through the information the police already had on them, a small, determined smile forming on his lips.
"Guess you're mine then," he said out loud, his voice like satin.