The Monuments Men Murders (The Art of Murder 4)

His first horrified thought was that Russell and Martinez were doing it.

In the hotel walls.

Or maybe on the window ledge.

Somewhere nearby. The noise was muffled but uncomfortably close. And it went on and on.

Jesus, would they please just hurry it up?

He stiffened in astonishment at the distinct and sudden sound of flapping wings.

Straight sex really was different.

He raised his head, blinking.

“What’s up?” Sam mumbled, eyes still closed.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hm?”

They were silent for a moment. Jason wasn’t sure if Sam hadn’t drifted back to sleep.

Sam said finally, sleepily, “Pigeons,” and heaved onto his front, half burying his face in his pillow.

“Pigeons? Seriously?”

The hotel’s sex-crazed pigeons continued to go at it like…er, pigeons, it turned out, all the while making those distractingly human sounds.

“It sounds like they’re…” He trailed off as the bird—one of the birds?—seemed to reach a full-throated crescendo. “For God’s sake. Tell me that doesn’t sound like somebody in the next room has a-a prostitute with him!”

Sam’s shoulders began to jerk. He made a smothered woofing sound in the pillows.

Jason threw him a distracted look. “I mean, I’ve never known California pigeons to act like that.”

Sam started to wheeze like Muttley the cartoon dog. He rolled onto his side and pulled Jason over.

“You’ve led a sheltered life, West.”

“Not so much.”

“I don’t know what’s funnier. Your outrage at avian sex or that you immediately leap to the idea a man would have to resort to a prostitute—”

Jason started laughing. “I’m not outraged—”

“I see. Then you do consider dial-a-hooker to be standard operating practice?”

He didn’t laugh often and rarely hard, so it was a pleasure—Jason was smiling—watching Sam’s eyes crinkle and that little peek of teeth.

“No. Well, whatever. But I mean, listen to that,” Jason insisted. By now he was just trying to win another laugh out of Sam. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw a bunch of feathers blow out of the air vents.”

Sam laughed again. “I wish we had more time. I’d like to ruffle your feathers, West.”

“Mmm.” That would be nice. No lie.

As though reading his thoughts, Sam said, “This is nice. I like waking up to you.”

Jason assented. “We should do it more often.”