The Magician Murders (The Art of Murder 3)

Jason thought through half a dozen different scenarios and even tried rehearsing a couple of openings on the theme of honesty and openness in a healthy relationship. Even so, he couldn’t envision any outcome that did not end with him and Sam acknowledging they did not have a future together.

It tore him up. He loved Sam. He had believed they were really, truly working things out, and then this goddamned stint in hell had begun. Which, again for the record, was not Sam’s fault.

But regardless of whether it was fault or fate, the end result was Jason’s belief that he did not really know Sam. At all. And that Sam didn’t really know or understand him.

Which Sam, he was quite sure, would dismiss as proof of Jason being overly imaginative, overly dramatic, and getting bored with the script. Or something. Something that Sam need not take seriously, let alone act on.

Or worse, that Sam would see Jason’s demands as an indication that Jason needed to go the way all Sam’s liaisons—at least post Ethan—went. Namely, Sam would erase Jason from his iPhone’s starred contacts, as well as from his emotional memory bank, and move on.

It was probably inevitable anyway. If not tonight, eventually.

In between these depressing thoughts, Jason’s natural optimism would flicker into brief life.

He was not by nature insecure. He believed in fighting for what was important to him. And, embarrassing as it was, he did believe in the power of love.

But from the first, something about his relationship with Sam had knocked him off-balance. He just couldn’t seem to keep his footing. And every time the path seemed to smooth out, they were hit with an asteroid or something else from out of left field. Maybe it was just a matter of right guy, wrong time. Was there really such a thing?

Probably not. If it was the wrong time, it was the wrong guy.

A relationship with Sam Kennedy was always going to be challenging.

And, in fairness, a relationship with Jason probably wasn’t a cakewalk either. Jason was just as obsessed with work and career, just as busy, just as used to having things his way, just as unused at having to accommodate and compromise.

At seven Dreyfus phoned.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she said. “We got the security footage from the neighbors who live across the street from the Khan house.”

“I believe it,” Jason said.

“Not that,” Dreyfus said exasperatedly. “Wait till you see the footage. I’m emailing it to you now.”

Jason clicked in to his email. “You want me to call you back?”

“No, I’ll wait.”

They waited for the email to arrive. “You want to give me a hint?” Jason asked.

“No.”

His email pinged. “Got it.” Jason clicked on the email, downloaded the attached file, and studied it.

“Well?” Dreyfus demanded. “What are we looking at?”

Jason was silent, watching the indistinct, faraway figures running back and forth through the shadows.

“Burglary. Grand theft. Grand larceny. Impersonating a wizard without a license.”

Dreyfus said tartly, “Are you sure they don’t have a license? It looks like Halloween out there.”

Yes, it did. All those top hats and capes and cloaks and masks. It did look like Halloween. There was a lot of trick and self-treating for sure. A lot of coming and a whole lot of going. Michael Khan’s entire collection had gone, in fact. But this was April, not October, and that was not a gang of larcenous trick-or-treaters. It was a gang of magicians—or whatever a group of magicians was called. An illusion of magicians?

Unfortunately, this was no illusion. More like a conviction of cops—and an imprisonment of thieves.

He had dinner at his laptop and worked steadily until about ten thirty when he turned off his computer, made himself a Kamikaze, and sat down to wait by the fire. At eleven, Sam had still not shown up. Jason had another drink.

The red and yellow dance of flames in the fireplace, the mournful howl of the wind beneath the eaves, and the lack of sleep from the night before caught up with him. He closed his eyes. The next thing he knew he was coming awake to the sound of Sam’s key in the lock.

The front door swung open in a gust of cold night air. Jason sat up. Sam stepped inside the house.