The Monuments Men Murders (The Art of Murder 4)

Sam snapped, “I withheld information when you were injured, and I did so on the advice and with the approval of your doctor.”

Okay, well, Jason hadn’t realized Sam had bothered to check with his doctors regarding how much to tell him after he’d been injured. Maybe he should have. Even so.

There were surely plenty of other instances of Sam’s highhanded behavior, but in the heat of the moment they escaped him. Or maybe there were just too many to choose from.

“Are you seriously going to pretend that if you thought keeping me in the dark was in my best interests, you wouldn’t have overruled that advice?”

Sam said flatly, “I would not do anything that could potentially compromise you either physically or professionally.”

That was the simple, unvarnished truth. Jason had to acknowledge it.

“Fair enough.” He met Sam’s gaze steadily. “Again, I did not mean to compromise you. I’m sorry. I’ve apologized, and if I could undo it, I would. I don’t know what more I can say or do.” It was not easy to ask, but he had to know. “Are we— Are you— Is it over between us? Is that what you want?”

“Of course it’s not what I want. I love you. But.” It was Sam’s turn to take a deep breath. For a moment, his face looked harrowed. Clearly, this was not easy for him either. Clearly, he was in pain. Knowing that only made it worse. “I feel that I don’t know you. The person I thought you were would not have done this.”

Probably would have hurt less if Sam had simply kicked him in the face. As it was, it was all Jason could do to manage an even, “I see.”

To which Sam said nothing.

Nothing.

Not because he was being deliberately cruel, but because that was how he felt. He had told Jason the truth and, it seemed, did not have anything else to add.

And as hard as Jason was trying to be fair and look at it from Sam’s point of view, he was simply in too much pain to take it without fighting back.

“Well, if you decide we’re no longer whatever the hell it is we’re supposed to be, can you at least tell me to my face this time? I don’t want a phone call or a text or an email.”

Sam didn’t like that. His eyes narrowed. His mouth thinned.

“Anything I have to say to you, West, I’ll tell you in person.”

“Can’t wait,” Jason returned. “In the meantime?”

Sam didn’t even hesitate. “I think we both need time apart.”

Jason nodded, opened the office door, stepped out, and closed it quietly behind him.

Chapter Sixteen

Can’t be trusted.

Jason slammed out through the glass doors of the Bozwin RA and stalked toward the parking lot. Any tears at that point would have been tears of rage, but there were no tears in him. His eyes were dry and burning. His heart felt like something kicked out of a volcano, red-hot and pulsing.

He was hurt and angry—more angry than hurt for now, which made the immediate future easier—and yes, he knew he was largely to blame for his problems. But not entirely. For Sam Kennedy, the keeper of secrets, to tell Jason he couldn’t be trusted?

Jesus fucking Christ.

Talk about being blind to your own faults. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Talk about… Well, no need to worry about talking because he would die before he ever voluntarily said another word to that goddamned arrogant asshole—

“Agent West?” someone called.

Jason spun—and he half hoped it would be Jeremy Kyser on the other end of that high, strained voice because he dearly wanted to strangle someone with his bare hands.

But no. Baby Mayhew stood on the curb next to the No Parking zone.

“Yes?”

His expression must have been pretty alarming because she clutched her purse in front of her with both hands like a little old lady afraid of being mugged.