The Magician Murders (The Art of Murder 3)

Jason nodded noncommittally.

Sam started to speak, then changed his mind. “We’ll talk it over when I get back, okay?”

So much for hiding his feelings. “Yeah. Of course. Sorry if I seem unappreciative. I just…”

“Don’t like being on the outside looking in.” Sam’s smile was wry. “But the truth is, you’re on sick leave. So whether we stayed in Virginia or you flew home to LA on your own or we spend the time together here, you’re on the sidelines.”

“True. I guess.”

“You guess right.”

“You’re going to keep me updated on the investigation? You’re not going to shut me out just be—”

“You’ll know everything I know. Okay? That’s a promise.”

Jason nodded. Sam wasn’t lying, but Jason knew full well he also wasn’t promising to share information as he received it in real time. That wasn’t the way he worked. And it sure as hell wouldn’t be the way he worked if he thought Jason was better off not knowing something.

It was aggravating, but Jason knew to pick his battles. Sam was already making concessions he would not make for anyone else.

“I just don’t know what we’re supposed to do for two weeks.”

Sam said mildly, “I bet we can come up with some ideas. If we put our heads to it.”

“Ha.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the workaholic.”

“It’s you I’m thinking of.”

Sam laughed. “I see. Well, among other things, I plan on working on my book.”

“Your book?”

Sam nodded.

“You’re writing a book?”

Sam’s brows rose. “It’s not like I’ve never written a book before.”

No. True. Sam had written the book on hunting serial killers. Shadow on the Glass was practically required reading at the academy.

“Sure, but in ten months you’ve never mentioned working on a new book.”

“Because in ten months I haven’t worked on the new book. Now I’ve got some time.”

Okay. Fair enough. Over the next two weeks Sam would work on his book and Jason would…what?

Meeting his gaze, Sam’s mouth twitched in private amusement. He kissed Jason, but all he said was, “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

When the rental car had disappeared down the long dirt driveway, Jason showered, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and limped over to the main house.

He could hear the dogs barking before he was halfway across the farmyard. That was what you called old-school early security vulnerability detection. Chickens poked and picked at the hard ground with their yellow beaks, flapping their wings and clucking as he mounted the deck.

It hurt climbing the steps, and he hung on to the rail, trying to keep his weight off his bad ankle. He reached the back door and rapped on the glass.

The dogs went nuts. He heard Sam’s mother yelling, “Remy! Esme! Adele!” The door swung open, and the homey scents of cinnamon, apples, and coffee wafted out.

“Hi, Mrs. Kennedy,” Jason said. “I’m praying you’ve got coffee in there.”