The Monet Murders (The Art of Murder 2)

“You’re being diplomatic. This is between you and me. It goes no further.”

Jason remembered that not overly pleasant smile. He suspected Kennedy had already formed an opinion on Russell.

“Yeah? Okay, then. I think he’s a homophobic prick. And I would not trust him to guard my back. Or resist sticking his own knife in.”

Kennedy looked thoughtful. “And what about Special Agent Adam Darling?”

Jason couldn’t help a faint grin. “Best name I ever heard for an FBI agent.”

Kennedy’s mouth curved in answer, but he said gravely, “Aside from that.”

“You can ask Jonnie. She was partnered with him for about a year.”

“I’m asking you.”

“I don’t know him well. He’s a little standoffish. Reserved. Obsessive about the job—like someone else I know. What happened to him last year was bullshit.”

“What happened to him?” Kennedy asked.

Jason filled him in on the history of Special Agent Adam Darling—when bad things happen to good agents—and Kennedy listened without comment.

“I see,” he said noncommittally at the end of Jason’s recital. “Thanks.”

Jason nodded. He shoved his laptop into his computer bag, grabbed his keys, and rose.

Kennedy said slowly, ?

??So Friday’s your birthday?”

Like you fucking care? Kennedy probably did care. Kennedy had said he liked him, and Jason believed him. In fact, he knew Kennedy liked him. Knew Kennedy was still attracted to him. Kennedy was every bit as aware of Jason as Jason was Kennedy. Besides. You didn’t spend hours on the phone late at night with someone you didn’t like. So why Kennedy’s question made him so angry was hard to say.

“Thursday after next.” He glanced at his watch. “Is that it? I’ve got to be somewhere.”

Kennedy’s brows rose. “That’s it.”

As Jason headed for the door, Kennedy straightened and stepped into the hallway. He waited silently as Jason closed his office door.

What the hell was he waiting for? Jason gave him a look of polite, cool inquiry.

“Have a good evening,” Kennedy said.

Jason turned away. It was not easy. Not when this might be the last time they ever spoke in private. Certainly it was the last time they would ever speak as anything more than work colleagues.

He couldn’t help glancing back—and surprised an unexpectedly bleak expression on Kennedy’s face.

It smoothed out almost at once. It was Kennedy’s turn to offer a look of cool inquiry.

“Take care of yourself, Sam.” Jason’s voice was just about right. Maybe a little huskier than he’d have liked, but for a time Sam Kennedy had mattered to him. A lot. Still did, in a troubling way.

There it was again. A flash of something startlingly close to pain. But Kennedy’s voice was brisk. “You too, Jason.”

Jason turned and walked away. He did not look back until he reached the elevator. He punched the button, glanced back. The hall was empty.

The elevator doors opened. Jason stepped inside. The elevator doors closed. Jason leaned back against the wall and watched the numbers swiftly count down to nothing.

Chapter Seven

“It’s not like Mom and Dad are getting any younger. How many more birthdays will we all get to spend together?”