The Monuments Men Murders (The Art of Murder 4)

Chapter One

Fear was tiring.

Anger was preferable.

They were both draining.

Not that he was afraid all the time—most days he was too busy to really think about whether he was in danger, but sometimes at night, yes. Less so when he was away from home sweet home, which was ironic.

For a minute or two Special Agent Jason West of the FBI’s Art Crime Team lay motionless, eyes probing the gloom of his Bozwin Montana hotel room, absently listening to—classifying—the nearby ice machine dumping its load, the gunning of a flooded engine in the parking lot, the clicking over of one luminous number in the clock on the nightstand.

3:43.

Make that 3:44.

He could always phone Sam. Even if by some chance Behavior Analysis Unit Chief Sam Kennedy was asleep, he’d take Jason’s call.

Most likely he was awake.

Though Sam was halfway across the country, the thought of him comforted Jason. He could picture Sam, the glow from his computer monitor highlighting his craggy, not-quite-handsome face. Broad shoulders and hard, taut muscles beneath one of those severely tailored white shirts. At this time of night it would be unbuttoned, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He’d be wearing the gold-wire glasses Jason found peculiarly sexy and that distant, meditative look as he read over the day’s bad news.

Tomorrow Sam would be in Montana.

Tomorrow they’d be together for the first time in three weeks. They’d met for a spontaneous (on Jason’s part) and very brief Memorial Day get-together. Before that it had been eight weeks since they’d been in the same room together.

Long-distance relationships were never easy, and this one had more challenges than most. Still, it was better than the alternative. They had come painfully close to the alternative too many times to take it lightly.

If Sam was asleep, he needed the rest, and Jason resisted the longing to hear his voice for a few minutes. He had already called him once this week. He didn’t want Sam thinking the strain was getting to him.

But yeah, of course the strain was getting to him.

Not during the day, not while he was working.

But Dr. Jeremy Kyser had the key to Jason’s dreams, and more evenings than not, he opened the door to Jason’s subconscious and strolled right in. Mostly, it was just a lurking sense of unease, worry. Jason spent a lot of dreamtime looking for Kyser’s lost case file or a missing-person report; it didn’t take a shrink to interpret any of that.

Other nights—like this one—Jason relived some version of his narrow escape from attempted abduction, and woke drenched in perspiration and gulping for air like a landed fish.

The details of the assault remained sketchy in his memory, so he was never sure which, if any, of his nightmares offered a true version of events. He just knew he woke scared and angry, and no end to it in sight.

He reached for the remote control on the bed stand and turned on the television. Late-night TV was his new best friend. There was some crazy old black and white movie on—something to do with a stage magician having marital problems—and Jason folded his arms more comfortably behind his head and settled in, prepared to occupy himself for a few sleepless hours.

The movie, Eternally Yours, reminded Jason of the last time he and Sam had worked together. Well, they had not really been working together. Jason had been recuperating from injuries sustained fighting off Kyser, and Sam had been determined to oversee the process.

Anyway, his memories of the stay with Sam’s mother were good, the movie was pleasantly goofy, and he was content with the way the case had turned out in Wyoming. By the time the Cheyenne Resident Agency had managed to get their search warrants, the magician community of Laramie County had pulled off their own Top Hat White Rabbit. And maybe that was the way it was supposed to go.

Sam did not agree with Jason’s thinking on that score, and it was a given he would not approve of what Jason was hoping to accomplish in Montana. Which was why Jason was planning to get this case wrapped up without ever having to ad—

His cell phone vibrated into life—and Jason vibrated with it. He was immediately aggravated with his jump. He swore, grabbed the phone, growled, “West.”

“Agent West,” Sam said smoothly. His voice was deep, softened around the edges by a hint of Western drawl. “Did I wake you?”

Somewhere along the line, “West,” used when they were on their own, had become kind of a pet name.

Jason relaxed into the pillows. “No. I was just thinking about you.”

“Ah.”

“You might have felt a tingle at the base of your spine.”

Sam’s laugh was quiet, intimate. “You’re in a playful mood.”

“I am, yeah. Looking forward to tomorrow night.”

“Me too.”

Jason closed his eyes for a moment, grateful. There had been a time he wouldn’t have dared take it for granted that if he and Kennedy were sharing air space, they’d be together every possible moment.

Sam sipped something on the other end. Jason smiled faintly, waiting.

Sam asked thoughtfully, “You want to talk?”

Jason admitted, “Not really.”

“You want to listen?”

“Yeah. I want to listen to you talk dirty to me.” He was kidding, of course, but not entirely. No point pretending he wouldn’t like the relief and re

laxation that came from sex. Any kind of sex. Sam was not much for dirty talk, especially over the airwaves, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

Sam sipped his drink, considered, said gravely, “Are you touching yourself?”

Jason gulped a laugh, shoved the tent of his boxers down—ouch—caution: men at work—closed his hand around his cock. “Yeah. I am. I wish it was your hand wrapped around my dick.”

He nearly laughed again—unsteadily—at the reflective silence that followed. Maybe Sam had gone to fix himself a snack. A strangled sound escaped him at that thought.

Sam said suddenly, softly, “I love fucking you. And I love making love to you. And I love that it’s always both things when I’m with you.”

Jason swiped the pad of his thumb across the head of his cock to get a little slickness to ease the dragging grip of his fist as he slid his hand up the rigid pole of his erection.

“I love you too,” he said huskily.

Sam, sounding more like he was aiming for accuracy of information rather than seduction, said, “It’s always good with you. It’s always natural. It always feels right.”