The Mermaid Murders (The Art of Murder 1) - Page 72

“The door is open. There’s a window above, and I can see more stairs. I’m coming up.”

This time Kennedy didn’t answer, and Jason thought he knew why. He could hear the distant wail of approaching sirens.

Chapter Sixteen

“Why would he leave her alive?” Jason asked.

Kennedy shook his head. His expression was closed.

They were in the bathroom of Kennedy’s motel room. Jason sat uncomfortably on the side of the tub while Kennedy liberally doused him with hydrogen peroxide and antiseptic cream. Jason could have done it himself. He was good at looking after himself. In fact, he had declined the on-scene attentions of the paramedics—until Kennedy had ordered him not to be a complete dumbass. Since Jason prided himself on not being a dumbass, partial or complete, he had submitted to being checked for concussion and, once given a conditional all-clear, had headed back to the motel for a very long, very hot shower.

He’d have fallen into bed at that point, but Kennedy had pounded on his door and insisted on this first-aid routine. The truth was, concussion or not, Jason still felt weirdly shaky and chilled. Shock, according to Kennedy. An idea Jason had brushed off, but he couldn’t deny that there was something sort of comforting about relinquishing himself to Kennedy’s gruff care.

Actually, Kennedy was surprisingly careful, lightly smearing white antiseptic cream over Jason’s knuckles.

He answered Jason’s question. “Whatever his reasons, she’s out of his hands now.”

Candy had been airlifted out of Rexford—it turned out it was easier to fly in than drive in—and transported to a hospital in Boston where she was currently sedated and under guard.

“It doesn’t fit the profile, right? We didn’t interrupt him. He had her for over twenty-four hours. And during that time he didn’t sexually assault her. He didn’t harm her in any way. Other than abduct her and leave her in that—” Jason had to pause for another of those huge, nervous yawns that kept interrupting him.

“There may be other time constraints we’re not aware of,” Kennedy said.

“He actually had more time because no one even knew Candy was missing for nearly twenty-four hours.”

“That’s a hell of a bruise on your shoulder.”

“I walked into the door.”

“Hm.” Kennedy dabbed a blob of Neosporin on a cut on Jason’s neck and neatly applied a Band-Aid. “I hope you’re up to date on your tetanus shots.”

Jason looked up and smiled. To his astonishment, Kennedy leaned in and covered his mouth with his own.

He hadn’t been expecting it, so the kiss landed on Jason’s open and startled mouth. It was an odd kiss—maybe Kennedy had surprised himself as much as Jason—not hungry and hard, but not quite as light and sociable as perhaps Kennedy had intended.

Kennedy’s lips were warm and firm. He tasted dark and sweet. A complex and masculine flavor, unique to him. Nice. Very nice.

They parted, and Jason thought Sam—no, Kennedy—looked as confused as himself.

“She’s older,” Jason said at random. “Maybe that’s a factor. She’s not a teenage girl.”

“Maybe,” Kennedy said. And that noncommittal comment made it clear to Jason that Kennedy did not for one minute believe it.

So what did he think had motivated Candy’s abductor to leave her unharmed?

For once, Jason was too tired to care.

Kennedy finished patching Jason’s various cuts and grazes and then stood back to examine his handiwork. “You’ll do.”

“Thank you, Florence. You’ll be glad to know I’m making a generous contribution to the Red Cross this year.”

“Are you hungry?”

Jason shook his head. “No. I’m beat. I’m going to bed.” He rose from the side of the tub, swaying as another jaw-breaking yawn caught him off guard. “I think I could sleep for a year.”

Kennedy began to gather up his tweezers, nail scissors, and bits of Band-Aid wrappers. He said over his shoulder. “Why don’t you sleep here?”

Jason shook his head, his smile apologetic. “Thanks, but I’m no

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