The Monuments Men Murders (The Art of Murder 4)

Afterward they basked in the mellow lamplight, holding each other.

“What do you think about Montana?” Sam asked lazily. He picked up Jason’s hand and kissed his palm almost absently before placing it on his own flat abdomen.

“It’s big. It’s got a lot of mountains. Why?”

“I like it.”

“You mean…you like it enough to live here?”

Sam shrugged. “Who knows. You keep reminding me I’ll have to retire one of these days.” He smiled and traced the brown tan line across Jason’s hips. “Of course, it’s a long way from the ocean—and you’re half fish.”

Montana had some things going for it, fair enough. It was beautiful, no question. Maybe one of the most beautiful places Jason had ever been.

It wasn’t just a matter of geography, though. Jason’s career was on an upward trajectory, and some of that momentum inevitably had to do with location. The LA Field Office was one of the largest and most high-profile in the country. Los Angeles was arguably the current art capital of the nation. There were opportunities for him there that would not be available elsewhere. Certainly not in Siberia. Also, his parents were not young. Anywhere, Montana, was a long way from Los Angeles if he had to get home quickly.

“The winters would take some getting used to,” Jason said.

“You would not enjoy the winters,” Sam agreed.

Jason smiled. Not because the winters would probably kill him, but because of the casual way Sam threw out that you, as though taking it for granted that wherever he ended up, it would be with Jason.

They lay in contented silence for a while, Sam idly folding and smoothing out the fingers of Jason’s hand resting on his abdomen.

“I met the president of your fan club today,” Jason remarked. He glanced sideways at Sam.

“Hm?” Sam’s brows shot up. “Oh.” He was amused. “Petty. He’s enthusiastic.”

“Understatement.”

“You’re not jealous?” Sam sounded incredulous.

Jason thought it over. “I don’t think so. No. You had a thing with him, I take it?”

Sam dipped his head left and right. Comme ci, comme ça. “‘A thing’ might be putting it too strongly. I like him. We had sex.”

“Okay.” He wanted to ask the obvious question, but pride kept him silent.

Sam seemed to reflect. “It was before I met you. Obviously.”

Was it obvious? If so, Jason was glad to hear it.

He said, “Sure. Well, and even if it wasn’t, we didn’t have any agreement.”

“No.”

Jason chose his next words carefully. “It would bother me now.”

Sam made a hmph sound. “I would hope.”

Jason smiled, closed his eyes again. “Just wanted to be sure we’re on the same page.”

“There’s nobody but you, West.”

“I haven’t wanted anyone else since we met.”

Sam gave a funny laugh. “Except Chris Shipka.”

Jason winced, looked up. “That was…” Something he preferred not to think about. He had been in a lot of pain and had made the mistake of thinking sex with someone—anyone—who wasn’t Sam would help.