The Monuments Men Murders (The Art of Murder 4)

Sam’s head bent in silent, unsmiling assent.

Okay, J.J. had been right about two things. Sam did look haggard. There were lines in his face that hadn’t been there yesterday and shadows beneath his eyes.

Jason closed the door and leaned against it. He did not want anyone walking in on this conversation; also, he did not miss the fact that he was not being invited to sit.

“It…hurts that you think I would try to bury the truth or—or manipulate the facts to suit myself or my family. I wouldn’t do that. I would never do that.”

Sam said—and he sounded tired, “People find good reasons for doing the wrong things. You’re not the first. You won’t be the last.”

“I wanted to know the truth. That’s all. And I felt like I was the best person to discover what that is because I am biased.”

Sam’s mouth curved, but it was not a friendly smile.

Jason pushed on. That’s what it felt like: trying to push a boulder up a hill. “I know how this looks on the surface, but I also know the kind of man my grandfather was. He dedicated his life to the preservation of art. He was willing to risk his life. He didn’t have to go overseas. He wasn’t drafted. He was forty-six and a lieutenant in the Navy Reserve. He requested active duty, but because of his art-conservation background, he agreed to join the newly formed Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives program.”

Sam said, “I know all this. I know how much you admired and loved your grandfather. I know that his work with the Monuments Men inspired your own decision to dedicate your life to the protection and preservation of art. I understand—more than you realize—that this is not easy for you, which is why you needed to hand if off to an agent who did not have a personal stake in the outcome.”

Jason started to speak, but Sam cut across. “Do you not understand that because you are ethically compromised, your investigation is compromised? Even if you do find that your grandfather had no involvement whatsoever in the theft of these items, your personal bias makes your findings dubious at best.”

“I know that’s a risk, but—”

“It’s not a risk. It’s a fact.”

“Which is why it was my intention to find irrefutable proof that my grandfather was not involved.”

“Okay, and do you understand that comment is not remotely reassuring?”

“You know what I mea

n.”

“You know what I know? Your good intentions are irrelevant. What is relevant is you’ve knowingly, deliberately, violated ethics regulations. You’re throwing your career away—and for what?”

Jason was silent. He had hoped that with a bit of time to cool down and process, Sam’s hard-line view of the situation might soften. But if anything, his perspective had solidified, hardened. He was no longer angry. This cold conviction was worse than that.

He said finally, bitterly, “I see. So where does that leave us?”

Sam did not answer.

Jason said, “Would you like your ring back?”

That was pure sarcasm, because of course Sam had not given him a ring. They had never so much as discussed rings—or even the future. Not in any real or practical way.

Sam’s eyes grew grayer, flintier. He said, “Do you think this is easy for me?”

“No. But I don’t think I realized how difficult it was going to be.”

He was trying to be fair about this. He understood why Sam was upset. Understood that he had inadvertently placed Sam in an awkward position. But wouldn’t it have been worse to continue to conceal the truth? He understood that Sam disapproved of his choices up and down the line. Understood that while Sam was capable of violating protocol when he deemed it necessary, he took a seriously dim view of anyone else doing so.

Sam said, “No? Well, finding out the person you love can’t be trusted is a big fucking deal in my book.”

Jason forgot about trying to be fair or trying to see things from Sam’s point of view.

“Can’t be trusted?” His voice shook, but that was plain old fury, nothing more. “I can be trusted in every way that counts. And if you don’t know that—”

Sam’s voice rose—and he rose with it. Towering over the desk. “You don’t get to decide what ways count for me. You lied—”

“I didn’t lie. I withheld information. Which you have also done in the past.”