by Josh Lanyon
J.J. shot back, “We’re not cops!”
They glared at each other. Jason raked a hand through his hair, sighed. “I know. I realize that. But you know as well as I do that this stinks to high heaven.”
“Okay,” J.J. said. “Maybe I agree that this whole thing looks fishy as shit. You’re the one who said there was no motive for the Thompsons to get rid of de Haan. Even if they do have the rest of the treasure, it would be a lot easier just to make a deal with the various entities than commit murder and then still not be able to move those items for God knows how long. Maybe forever. It’s not like a Vermeer can just pop up and no one is going to notice. And if even one of those items shows up, it’s tantamount to confessing they’ve got everything. In fact, according to your latest theory, it would be tantamount to confessing to murder. Why would they do that? It makes no sense.”
“I know it makes no sense, but that’s what happened. I know it is.”
J.J. was shaking his head. “And why would Sandford go along with this?”
“He’s a friend of the family.”
“I’ll say. If he’s willing to help them commit murder.”
“From the minute we arrived, Sandford wanted to go to war. Why?”
“He doesn’t like feebs. Are you pretending you’ve never bumped into a cop with an attitude before?”
“I think it’s more than that. Why did Bert Thompson call Sandford when we showed up at his ranch?”
“You just said it. He’s a friend of the family.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about this. Sandford arrived before anyone else, including the Park County Sheriffs. It took us nearly an hour to drive out to the ranch. How did he get there so fast? I think Thompson called him before the shooting. I think he was already on his way.”
J.J. opened his mouth, closed it.
“Something else,” Jason said. “When I first contacted Sandford’s office to let them know we’d be interviewing people locally, he refused to take my calls or answer my emails.”
“We’re going in circles. He doesn’t like feebs. He’s not alone in that. It doesn’t prove anything.”
“Not on its own, but when you put it all together—”
J.J. groaned. “When you put it all together, it sounds like the conspiracy theory of a guy who hasn’t had much sleep in the last month. That’s what it sounds like to me.” He closed his laptop and got to his feet. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve got dinner plans tonight. If you want to tackle this again tomorrow when we’re both fresh, okay. Apparently, we’re not ever going home, so yeah, let’s hash it tomorrow when we’ve both—hopefully—had some sleep.”
“I got plenty of sleep last night,” Jason said shortly.
“Really? ’Coz Kennedy looks trashed today.”
Jason was silent.
J.J. grabbed his jacket. “I’m getting a ride with Martinez, so the car’s yours tonight.”
Jason nodded.
J.J. hesitated at the door. “Seriously, West, you need a night off.”
Jason nodded again. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
J.J. went out, closing the door.
Jason sighed, scrubbed his face with both hands. He was tired, but that didn’t mean he was wrong about this. De Haan’s death was not random, not accidental. It was directly related to this case. And no, it didn’t make sense. Because they didn’t have all the facts yet. Once they did, those facts would show the Thompsons and Police Chief Sandford were in this thing up to their collective necks.
But how the hell was he supposed to gather those facts? He had no idea.
J.J. was right about one thing: sitting here as the daylight leeched away was not getting him anywhere.
He rose, grabbed his things, left the office—and was in time to see Travis Petty step out of Sam’s office.
“Exactly,” Petty said. He was laughing as he closed Sam’s door. He glanced over, spotted Jason, and his expression instantly closed down.
Jason felt a surge of ridiculous and confused emotion. Jealousy, hurt, irritation.
Petty nodded, passing Jason. There was a hint of curiosity in his blue gaze. Jason nodded in return, waiting until Petty went into his office.
Jason glanced at Sam’s closed door.
Weird the difference twenty-four hours could make. Yesterday at this time… Well, probably better not to dwell on yesterday. Not if he was going to get through today with his dignity intact.
At the same time, it felt crazy, impossible, that he couldn’t just go talk to Sam.
For God’s sake, they had been talking nonstop for almost a year.
As angry as Sam had been this morning, he couldn’t want this situation any more than Jason did.
It wasn’t possible to instantly stop loving someone.
Or at least it wasn’t possible for Jason.
Sam… Well, as much as Jason loved Sam, Sam had his quirks. No question.
He continued to linger in the hall, trying to make up his mind. In the end, he walked down to Sam’s office because it was almost physically impossible for him not to do so. Despite his reluctance to face the Sam of that morning, the connection he felt was simply too strong to ignore.
He knocked softly on the door.
“Come.” Sam’s voice was crisp.
Jason opened the door.
Sam looked up.
He did not seem surprised to see Jason. He did not seem much of anything. There was no smile, no welcome in his eyes.
It was painful for Jason to realize how much he had come to take for granted—to rely on—the welcome in Sam’s eyes.
“Can we talk?”
Sam’s head bent in silent, unsmiling assent.
Okay, J.J. had been right about two things. Sam did look haggard. There were lines in his face that hadn’t been there yesterday and shadows beneath his eyes.
Jason closed the door and leaned against it. He did not want anyone walking in on this conversation; also, he did not miss the fact that he was not being invited to sit.
“It…hurts that you think I would try to bury the truth or—or manipulate the facts to suit myself or my family. I wouldn’t do that. I would never do that.”
Sam said—and he sounded tired, “People find good reasons for doing the wrong things. You’re not the first. You won’t be the last.”
“I wanted to know the truth. That’s all. And I felt like I was the best person to discover what that is because I am biased.”
Sam’s mouth curved, but it was not a friendly smile.
Jason pushed on. That’s what it felt like: trying to push a boulder up a hill. “I know how this looks on the surface, but I also know the kind of man my grandfather was. He dedicated his life to the preservation of art. He was willing to risk his life. He didn’t have to go overseas. He wasn’t drafted. He was forty-six and a lieutenant in the Navy Reserve. He requested active duty, but because of his art-conservation background, he agreed to join the newly formed Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives program.”
Sam said, “I know all this. I know how much you admired and loved your grandfather. I know that his work with the Monuments Men inspired your own decision to dedicate your life to the protection and preservation of art. I understand—more than you realize—that this is not easy for you, which is why you needed to hand if off to an agent who did not have a personal stake in the outcome.”
Jason started to speak, but Sam cut across. “Do you not understand that because you are ethically compromised, your investigation is compromised? Even if you do find that your grandfather had no involvement whatsoever in the theft of these items, your personal bias makes your findings dubious at best.”
“I know that’s a risk, but—”
“It’s not a risk. It’s a fact.”
“Which is why it was my intention to find irrefutable proof that my grandfather was not involved.”
“Okay, and do you understand that comment is not remotely reassuring?”
“You know what I mea
n.”
“You know what I know? Your good intentions are irrelevant. What is relevant is you’ve knowingly, deliberately, violated ethics regulations. You’re throwing your career away—and for what?”
Jason was silent. He had hoped that with a bit of time to cool down and process, Sam’s hard-line view of the situation might soften. But if anything, his perspective had solidified, hardened. He was no longer angry. This cold conviction was worse than that.
He said finally, bitterly, “I see. So where does that leave us?”
Sam did not answer.
Jason said, “Would you like your ring back?”
That was pure sarcasm, because of course Sam had not given him a ring. They had never so much as discussed rings—or even the future. Not in any real or practical way.
Sam’s eyes grew grayer, flintier. He said, “Do you think this is easy for me?”
“No. But I don’t think I realized how difficult it was going to be.”
He was trying to be fair about this. He understood why Sam was upset. Understood that he had inadvertently placed Sam in an awkward position. But wouldn’t it have been worse to continue to conceal the truth? He understood that Sam disapproved of his choices up and down the line. Understood that while Sam was capable of violating protocol when he deemed it necessary, he took a seriously dim view of anyone else doing so.
Sam said, “No? Well, finding out the person you love can’t be trusted is a big fucking deal in my book.”
Jason forgot about trying to be fair or trying to see things from Sam’s point of view.
“Can’t be trusted?” His voice shook, but that was plain old fury, nothing more. “I can be trusted in every way that counts. And if you don’t know that—”
Sam’s voice rose—and he rose with it. Towering over the desk. “You don’t get to decide what ways count for me. You lied—”
“I didn’t lie. I withheld information. Which you have also done in the past.”
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.
“You said I could speak to you at any time…”
He had to take a couple of steadying breaths. He was still so furious, he was shaking.
Can’t be trusted.
He had spent his entire adult life being the guy everyone trusted. Reliable. Responsible. Reasonable.
You know who couldn’t be trusted? Goddamned Sam Kennedy, who made the rules up as he went along. Who believed rules were for other people. Who turned his emotions on and off like he was flicking a freaking switch.
He realized Baby’s big brown eyes were still fixed on him as she waited for his response.
“Yes,” he said, and he was surprised his voice sounded so normal. “Did you want to come inside and make a statement?”
“Oh no.” She looked alarmed at the very idea. “No, I just wanted to give you this.” She unsnapped her purse, reached in, and he braced for… Well, given the day he was having, getting shot would not have come as a total surprise. It might even be a relief.
She drew out something that shone and sparkled in the fading sunlight.
A gold locket.
He blinked at it as it swung gently from her hand, twisting and turning like a stage magician’s magical amulet.
“My great-uncle gave this to me when I turned sixteen.”
Even if Jason hadn’t seen the black and white photos, he would have recognized the locket from its description.
Circa 1920. Heart-shaped locket exquisitely detailed in 14kt yellow gold with 9 .12 ct. diamonds, suspended from pleated gold chain.
He reached for it, and she slipped the chain from her fingers and let him take it. He stared at the fragile chain threaded through his fingers. Somehow it had survived all these years. That had to be a metaphor for something, but he was too tired and heartsick to think what.
“Were there photos inside?”
Her lips trembled. She nodded. “Two. Old sepia pictures of a man and a little girl.”
“Do you still have the photos?”
Baby shook her head. “I was a kid. It never occurred to me— I didn’t want them. I wanted my own photos—so I took them out and threw them away.”
Someone else’s hea
rtbreak. But the Rosensteins would probably remind him they had lost a lot more than photos.
Baby said, “Uncle Roy was like that. Generous. He gave things away to the people he liked. I thought—we all thought—they were his to give.”
“Yes.” Jason did believe that.
“But now that I know…”
“Did your great-uncle give you other things?”
“No. Well, the five thousand dollars in his will. But nothing else. Nothing like that.” She nodded at the locket. Jason found that he believed her.
“Why are you bringing this to me now?”
Her throat jerked as she swallowed. “You were…nice yesterday. Kind. About the…not lying. And the things you said made me think.” She looked apologetic. “Gary doesn’t trust the police. He got into trouble a long time ago, and he thinks the police are always trying to get people. To trick them. But it seemed to me you were saying if you could get those pictures and the other things back, you didn’t really care about anything else.”
Jason said, “Where you’re concerned, no. I don’t care about anything else. You were a kid when your uncle gave you this locket. And as far as Gary, I don’t have anything against him. So long as he stays out of my case, I don’t see that changing.”
“Gary’s not involved.”
Did she have any idea how revealing that statement was? No. She did not.
Jason said, “Can I ask you something? You say your great-uncle was generous. Why was Bert’s daughter, your cousin Patty, left out of the will?”
Baby bit her lip. “Uncle Roy was funny about Cindy and Patty. He didn’t approve of my Uncle Bert’s lifestyle.”
“He didn’t approve of Bert’s lifestyle?”
“When my Uncle Bert was younger, he was kind of wild. He used to hang out in bars a lot and get into fights. But then he met Cindy, and everything changed. Except Uncle Roy didn’t want him to marry my aunt Cindy. For one thing, Cindy wasn’t a lot older than me when they met, and she was pregnant. Uncle Roy thought she was trash, and he was super against the marriage.”
Why was he surprised? Everyone had their biases and prejudices. Just because Roy had been a thief didn’t mean he couldn’t be a snob.
