The Monuments Men Murders (The Art of Murder 4)

“Really? ’Coz Kennedy looks trashed today.”

Jason was silent.

J.J. grabbed his jacket. “I’m getting a ride with Martinez, so the car’s yours tonight.”

Jason nodded.

J.J. hesitated at the door. “Seriously, West, you need a night off.”

Jason nodded again. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

J.J. went out, closing the door.

Jason sighed, scrubbed his face with both hands. He was tired, but that didn’t mean he was wrong about this. De Haan’s death was not random, not accidental. It was directly related to this case. And no, it didn’t make sense. Because they didn’t have all the facts yet. Once they did, those facts would show the Thompsons and Police Chief Sandford were in this thing up to their collective necks.

But how the hell was he supposed to gather those facts? He had no idea.

J.J. was right about one thing: sitting here as the daylight leeched away was not getting him anywhere.

He rose, grabbed his things, left the office—and was in time to see Travis Petty step out of Sam’s office.

“Exactly,” Petty said. He was laughing as he closed Sam’s door. He glanced over, spotted Jason, and his expression instantly closed down.

Jason felt a surge of ridiculous and confused emotion. Jealousy, hurt, irritation.

Petty nodded, passing Jason. There was a hint of curiosity in his blue gaze. Jason nodded in return, waiting until Petty went into his office.

Jason glanced at Sam’s closed door.

Weird the difference twenty-four hours could make. Yesterday at this time… Well, probably better not to dwell on yesterday. Not if he was going to get through today with his dignity intact.

At the same time, it felt crazy, impossible, that he couldn’t just go talk to Sam.

For God’s sake, they had been talking nonstop for almost a year.

As angry as Sam had been this morning, he couldn’t want this situation any more than Jason did.

It wasn’t possible to instantly stop loving someone.

Or at least it wasn’t possible for Jason.

Sam… Well, as much as Jason loved Sam, Sam had his quirks. No question.

He continued to linger in the hall, trying to make up his mind. In the end, he walked down to Sam’s office because it was almost physically impossible for him not to do so. Despite his reluctance to face the Sam of that morning, the connection he felt was simply too strong to ignore.

He knocked softly on the door.

“Come.” Sam’s voice was crisp.

Jason opened the door.

Sam looked up.

He did not seem surprised to see Jason. He did not seem much of anything. There was no smile, no welcome in his eyes.

It was painful for Jason to realize how much he had come to take for granted—to rely on—the welcome in Sam’s eyes.

“Can we talk?”