The caller was patient and called again. She disconnected the call once more, repeating this process three or four times, each time patiently cutting off the call.
Suddenly, she understood why Mason Nightshade used to hang up on her. This feeling was so satisfying; it could become addictive.
To prevent her sleep from being disturbed, when Mason's last call came through, she hung up and then turned off the phone, switched off the lights, and went to sleep peacefully.
But at the same time—
On the road downstairs from the hotel, there were few vehicles. The chilly wind howled, and only a black military vehicle was parked by the roadside. A tall man stood by the car, listening to the mechanical sound coming from the phone as his temples throbbed.
"How is it going? Still can't get through?" Grayson Quinn leaned out his head and lazily yawned.
Mason Nightshade's face was dark as the bottom of a pot, "It's turned off."
