“Yes. Anything distinctive about his voice? Do you think he had an accent?”
Jason sighed. “I don’t think so. I can’t…” All at once he had reached his limit. His heart was thudding, perspiration breaking out over his body. Pride kept him from asking for a break, but he was starting to hate Sam.
“I know,” Sam said, and his tone was unexpectedly gentle. “I’m sorry. Just a couple more questions. Can you think of anyone who might want to harm you?”
Jason gave him a long, hostile look.
Sam met it, unfazed. “Yes, you work for the FBI and hard feelings come with the territory, but this is the public assault and attempted abduction of a federal agent. Who wants you out of the way that bad?”
“No one. I’m on the Art Crime Team, for God’s sake. Nobody tries to take out members of the ACT.”
“You were shot in Miami.”
“Heat of the moment.”
Sam grunted acknowledgment. “What about Shepherd Durrand? He had a nice thing going before you came along. What about the brother? Barnaby.”
Jason summoned energy to refute this. “Getting rid of me isn’t going to stop the investigation into Fletcher-Durrand, which is at a standstill anyway. Getting rid of me would be the worst move they could make—for this very reason. It refocuses attention on them.”
“All right. What about your personal life? Anyone you can think of with a grudge?”
“You’re my personal life,” Jason said shortly, and he couldn’t help the note of bitterness that crept in.
That seemed to give even Sam pause. He pressed his lips together, said, “Your family is politically connected. It’s possible—”
“I know it’s possible. I don’t think that’s what this was—and you don’t think so either.”
“No? What do you think this is?”
“My pen pal. Jeremy Kyser.”
“It’s a possibility,” Sam said.
“He’d have to be fucking nuts.”
“Maybe he is fucking nuts.”
Over the past few months, Kyser, a witness in last summer’s disturbing Kingsfield case, had mailed Jason a succession of increasingly troubling handmade greeting cards. Initially, Jason had been inclined to brush off those unsolicited communications—until he saw what a dim view Sam took of them. Though Sam had been the one to point out the cards in themselves were inconclusive.
Uncertain, Jason studied Sam’s impassive expression. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s too soon to form a theory.”
“Last time I heard from him, he was in the Richmond area. And I seem to recall he owned a black Porsche.”
“Kyser is on my list.”
“Are you seriously not going to tell me what the hell ha—”
The rest of it was cut off as Sam bent to press a quick—too quick—hard kiss to his open mouth. “You did great. Try to get some rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
It was like a shot of much needed adrenaline. Brief as that kiss was, Jason’s mouth seemed to tingle as he listened to the sound of Sam’s footsteps disappearing down the hallway.
Chapter Three
He was not on his own for long. A petite nurse in flowered scrubs soon appeared to congratulate him on regaining consciousness.
“What the hell happened to me?”