“No, not by any means, but these guys were shrewd and increasingly suspicious with each passing day. Anyway, the plan was for me to hand over the money and while they were doing the math, slip out and let the tactical team into the room. The door was supposed to be rigged so that it would just swing open. I wouldn’t even have to turn the lever. Only…the lock malfunctioned. I couldn’t get the door open.”

“What the hell,” Kennedy said softly.

“Just what I said. Among other things. Anyway, tac couldn’t get in, and I couldn’t get out. It was only for a couple of seconds but long enough for the Columbians to figure out what was happening. And, as you might expect, they weren’t happy. In particular, they weren’t happy with me.”

Kennedy ran exploratory fingertips along the length of Jason’s clavicle. That knowledgeable but disconcertingly gentle touch left Jason’s skin tingling. “The bullet cleared your vest.”

“Yes, it did. That one did. The other two hit me squarely in the vest.” He stopped talking as the memory flooded back. It had been like getting kicked by a horse in the chest. Twice. A couple of ribs had cracked beneath the impact—which was still a whole hell of a lot better than what could have happened.

He could feel the hard thump of his heart as it picked up speed. Better not to think about it too much. Kennedy could probably feel that telltale pulse too and was liable to start thinking again that Jason couldn’t handle field duty.

“I remember hearing about the Miami shooting,” Kennedy said slowly. “So that was you.”

“That was me.”

He said gravely, “I’m glad you made it.”

“Thanks.” Jason smiled. “Me too.”

Kennedy let go of him and reached up to turn the light out.

Jason turned onto his side and closed his eyes. Kennedy settled on his back with a deep and contented sigh. Jason smiled faintly and let sleep claim him.

He was alone when he woke up.

It took Jason a second or two to realize he was not in his own room—even in the gloom he could tell the difference between a Homer Winslow print and an Arthur Quartley—and then remember the turn of events that had led to him not being in his own room at…he peered at the clock…six thirty on a Wednesday morning.

He threw a glance at the bathroom, but the door stood open and the room was empty.

So…okay. Maybe Kennedy was making a run for coffee. That would be nice. That would be grounds for genuine affection, in fact.

Then he heard the keycard in the lock, the door swung open, and Jason saw Kennedy had been making a different kind of run.

He wore sweatpants. His navy FBI T-shirt clung to him, a sweat-dark line running centrally down to his midriff. His face was flushed and shining with exertion, pale hair dark with sweat.

“You should have—” Jason began.

Kennedy said, “Good. You’re awake. We’ve got to get down to the station. Another girl is missing.”

Chapter Fifteen

Candy Davies was twenty-two and, though she worked nights as a bartender at the Blue Mermaid, was an Olympic swimming hopeful. On Tuesday morning she had been taken from Holyoke Pond where she worked out every morning, practicing her freestyle.

“As near as we can figure, she’s been gone roughly twenty-four hours,” Chief Gervase said when they had all gathered in the command center. The chief looked bad. Gray-faced and exhausted. “Her car was sitting in the parking lot overnight. The lifeguard found her gym bag and beach towel right there on the grass where Candy left them.”

Holyoke Pond. Jason’s heart sank. Just like Honey.

Gervase said, “While we have to consider the worst case scenario, there’s always the chance Candy’s still alive. Finding her is our number one priority.”

Boxner was staring at Jason. Jason said, “I’ve got an alibi. Do you?” He shouldn’t have said it, not even in sarcasm. Trying to head off accusations before they were made was liable to lend credence to Boxner’s loony theory.

To his relief, Boxner turned his back on him.

Gervase said, “We’ll start the search at Holyoke Pond. I’ve already got a call into State, and we can always count on a strong showing of volunteers even though it’s a weekday. We’ve got storm clouds moving in, so we all need to exercise extra caution out there. If we do get rain, it’s going to turn these roads and trails into a mud bath.”

Kennedy said, “West and I will check out Rexford.”

Boxner said, “Rexford? He’s not going to leave her in the same place twice.”

Tags: Josh Lanyon The Art of Murder Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net