The Monet Murders (The Art of Murder 2)

Jason stared at the mirrored window opening and the room beyond. It took a second to compute. “I didn’t realize.”

Understatement of the year.

From this angle, he could see Sam’s reflection. Just a slice. Enough to see that Sam was not moving, was standing perfectly still, listening to Jason. Despite his casual tone, Sam was deliberately choosing his words, and Jason’s heart began to thump with something unpleasantly like anxiety.

What the hell was going on?

Sam said in brisk reminder, like this was not a big deal, “I monitor the Roadside Ripper Taskforce.”

“Right. Sure.” Jason answered automatically, following Sam’s lead. But of course this was kind of a big deal. For eight months he and Sam had been…what? Flirting? Fencing? Engaging in some kind of verbal foreplay. Foreplay, hell. Afterplay?

There was no commitment, of course. No…understanding. Per se. If there was an understanding, it was that once they managed to land in the same city at the same time, they would hook up.

Jason didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to look like it mattered as much as it felt like it did, but after all, if it really wasn’t a big deal, he’d ask the normal questions. He braced himself to get the words out casually.

“When did you get in?”

“This morning.”

Okay. So that wasn’t too bad. Jason had been out of the office most of the day, and maybe Sam hadn’t had a chance to phone.

“Are you here regularly? Monitoring the taskforce?”

Sam’s reflection moved, picked up what looked like a day planner. His tone was vague as he flipped through the pages. “I’ve looked in a time or two.”

Don’t ask. Leave it alone. Don’t push this. But of course he had to ask. Of course he couldn’t leave it alone.

He said—and now he was the one with the artificially careless tone, “Since Kingsfield?”

Stricken, he watched Sam close his eyes and expel a long breath. That…weary, wordless admission was all he needed to know. Except Sam had no idea he was being observed. Believed Jason was still waiting for an answer. He opened his eyes, looked down at the day planner, and said without inflection, “Yes.”

Jason said nothing. There was nothing he could say without sounding exactly like what Sam clearly feared. Unprofessional. Emotional. Immature. Something.

He felt incredibly, embarrassingly hurt. And foolish—which hurt even more than the ice-cold realization that Sam had never had any intention of pursuing their…whatever the hell it was.

But no. That couldn’t be right, because Sam was the one who had come after him in Massachusetts. Jason had accepted no for an answer. There had been no reason for Sam to bring up the possibility of anything more between them. No reason for Sam to take him to bed one final time and promise, well, in the end nothing very serious. A date.

A date that might have led to something more. Or might not have.

Somewhere along the line, Sam had changed his mind.

Which he had a right to do.

Of course. Hell. Jason changed his mind all the time about…stuff. People. No. Maybe not people. He was actually a pretty good judge of character. But relationships. Yes. He had changed his mind a few times about pursuing relationships. No reason Sam couldn’t or shouldn’t do the same.

It would have been nice to know, during all those flirty phone calls. Not so flirty lately, though. Not so many calls either.

So. It was over. Before it had ever begun. Good to know.

Which was why getting involved with coworkers was always a bad idea, regardless of company policy.

He snapped out of his preoccupation as someone thumped on the front entrance, and jumped to open the heavy door for Hickok.

“Sure is quiet in here. I was starting to wonder if you two gave up and went home.” He took a closer look at Jason. “Did you find something?” Hickok looked from Jason to the other room where Sam was still searching.

“Not yet.” Jason rolled up his loose shirtsleeve. He was relieved that his fingers were perfect

ly steady, because his heart was still hopping in his chest like a cricket that had just escaped being squashed.