When he didn’t continue, Jason asked, “Why did you want to talk to him again?”
“Partly because I’m older and a lot more experienced now. The first time around I just wanted to catch him. Convict him. Not just convict him. Put him away forever. My perspective on a lot of things has changed through the years.” He absently shook the ice in the dregs of his drink. “Though not on putting psychopaths like Bamburg away forever.”
Jason looked down at his hand resting on Sam’s muscular thigh. It was not easy to get the words out. His voice was very quiet. “It wasn’t because you think he might be soliciting someone to kill you—or people close to you?”
He counted two heartbeats before Sam said carefully, “Where did you hear that?”
Jason met his gaze. “I didn’t hear it. I read it in the files in your office.” Jesus. Despite all that mental rehearsing, it was still coming out badly, baldly.
Sam’s brows lifted in inquiry. He said nothing. His eyes were watchful.
“I wasn’t going through your things,” Jason said. “I want you to understand that. I did not have any intention of looking through your files.”
Sam made an unamused sound. “Okay.”
“I’m not even sure why I opened the door to your office. Honestly, I think I was missing you.” Sam’s eyes flickered. He didn’t speak. “But when I opened the door, I saw the whiteboard with my name on it.”
“I see.”
“And I realized that you do believe that someone from your past could be the one who came after me.”
“I told you it was a possibility.”
Jason’s smile was twisted. “Yes. You did. But you made it sound like a long shot. Whereas in fact, you think it’s a very real possibility. Maybe the most likely possibility.”
It was another second or two before Sam said, “You feel that I lied to you.” That detached observation was Sam the Psychologist. The guy who had a master’s in criminal psychology, but who wasn’t always so great with normal personal relationships.
“That’s how it feels. I know that it was—at most—a lie of omission, but it still feels like you deliberately kept me in the dark.”
Sam leaned forward to put his empty glass on the coffee table—which meant taking his arm from around Jason’s shoulders. Jason felt the loss of that comfortable weight like the reverberation of a slammed door. Sam was not looking at him as he said, still even-voiced, unemotional, “Let me ask you this. Do you think it would have helped you immediately after the accident to know that there were multiple suspects—people you refer to as monsters—who might wish you harm?”
Jason closed his eyes. He tried to keep his voice level. “Could you…please not use that analyst’s couch voice on me?”
Sam said, “Sorry.” And then, “You haven’t answered the question.”
Jason’s eyes snapped open. “I don’t know, Sam. Maybe it wouldn’t have been the thing to say when I first regained consciousness, but once we were here, once I asked you about it? Then I think the correct course would have been candor. I have a right to know where the danger might be coming from.”
“I don’t know where the danger might be coming from. That’s the problem.” Sam’s voice was flat.
Jason moved so they could face each other. “It’s a problem that at the very least, we should share. Look, I know that what happened to Ethan has some bearing. That maybe because of that you feel you have to—”
Sam’s expression grew closed, shuttered. “You don’t know anything about it,” he cut across Jason’s words, but he did not sound angry. His face and voice we
re cold. No. Worse. Bored. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
It was effective. It made Jason feel he was being dramatic and emotional—as well as prying into things that were none of his business.
This is how he fights people he dislikes.
But as the thought formed, Jason realized he was wrong. The adult Sam simply annihilated his opponents. This was how the boy Sam had fought. Hiding his own insecurities, his vulnerabilities, behind dismissiveness, derision.
“Not just a rich rancher. A very rich rancher.”
Why should that memory close his throat? Bring that sting to the back of his eyes? It did.
Jason said in a low voice, “You’re right. I have no idea because you’ve barely said a word about Ethan since that night at the Buccaneer’s Cove two months ago.”
Sam’s eyes were dark with anger. “Why would I? Ethan has nothing to do with us.”