The Mermaid Murders (The Art of Murder 1)

They squeezed past a couple of families in shorts and T-shirts crowding through the sliding lobby doors. Weekday or not, this was summer vacation for a lot of people.

Kennedy unlocked the car doors, and Jason slid in and buckled up. He felt the need for restraint after the night before.

“You seem a little rattled this morning,” Kennedy remarked, once they were on the road and headed back toward Kingsfield.

“Nope. I’m good.” Jason adjusted the sun visor. Way too much sun for this early in the morning.

“Gervase phoned to let me know they’ve got the ME’s report. He wanted to wait and discuss in person.”

“Okay.”

A couple more miles of ruthless illumination, both internal and external.

Jason said abruptly, “I’m not rattled. I just…” He shook his head. “I don’t usually do this. That. Last night. In fact, I’ve never done that.”

“Never?”

Jason glanced at Kennedy. Was Kennedy teasing him? Impossible. Kennedy had no sense of humor.

“Not with a colleague. I don’t believe in mixing work with play. Pleasure. Sex. I mean, I like to keep my professional life professional.”

Kennedy, eyes on the road, said, “You do know the Bureau doesn’t have a non-fraternization policy?”

“Yes. I know.” Jason repeated—and even he could hear it sounded like it was by rote, “I like to keep my professional life professional.”

Really, why was he making such a point about this? It’s not like he had a hard-and-fast rule about getting involved with coworkers—although he’d have expected Kennedy to. Jason occasionally dated other agents, and he’d never had any particular problem. Granted, none of those dates had led to relationships. Relationships were stickier.

Also not a factor here.

“Fine by me,” Kennedy said. “I follow the catch-and-release rule. By exigency and by inclination.”

Exigency and inclination. Wow.

And, oh yeah. That’s why he’d felt the need for a preemptive strike. Jason had known Kennedy would say something like that, something to make it clear last night had been a one-off and not the start of anything. Because what the hell would they be starting? They had absolutely nothing in common beyond being gay. And horny.

So Jason felt relieved he had clarified his position first. Status and sex. They went hand in hand. Or hand and something.

“So we’re good, then,” Jason said.

“Yep.”

Jason took another swallow of coffee. It seemed to have grown noticeably more bitter over the past mile.

Chapter Thirteen

“Déjà vu,” Chief Gervase said. He held up a plastic evidence bag containing a cherry red two-piece swimsuit. “She was strangled with the top of her bikini. Just like before.”

“Was she raped?” Kennedy asked.

“No. The autopsy revealed that despite bruising of the genital area, Rebecca was not raped. No discernable DNA evidence was found.”

“So there’s a good chance he’s impotent,” Jason said. He glanced over his shoulder at Boxner, who was sitting by the door of Gervase’s office.

Boxner changed color and sat up. He didn’t speak—as much as he clearly wanted to.

Gervase agreed, “Unlike Pink.”

“I don’t believe Pink is a player in this,” Kennedy said. His tone was polite, but it was obvious he was getting tired of saying it.