Connie burst into Mason Crawford’s office, disregarding his male secretary. “CeCe Babbitt is free?”
Mason sat in the room of coral walls and navy blue furniture, talking on his desk phone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Crawford,” the lanky, 20-something secretary said. “She barged in.”
Mason bid goodbye to whoever he spoke to and hung up the phone. “It’s okay, Price.”
The young man tossed an annoyed glance Connie’s way as he left.
“Is it true?” Connie trudged to Mason’s L-shaped desk. “Is CeCe out of the mental facility?”
“Detective Wilks.” Mason’s handsome face lit up as his bearded lips formed a condescending smile. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”
“Don’t tell me you’re so desperate for a win you got that murderer out of the institution.”
“I didn’t do anything.” He stroked the teal tie that
