The Magician Murders (The Art of Murder 3) - Page 2

Sam grimaced. “I do, unfortunately.”

“So? You must have a favorite Chinese restaurant.” Jason was smiling because he didn’t take Sam’s flickers of irritation all that seriously—and because the first meal they’d shared had been Chinese food.

Ah, memories. They’d pretty much detested each other back then. Which had made the sexual tension that flared instantly between them all the more—and mutually—exasperating.

“Sure. But…”

Sam didn’t finish the thought. Weariness vying with his sense of obligation. Their relationship was such—the nature of their jobs was such—that there was not a lot of time for dating as most of the world understood it.

Jason got it. Anyone in law enforcement got it. But Sam still suffered these occasional bouts of guilt. Or whatever. Sam’s obsession with the job was always going to be a challenge to their relationship. Initially, Jason had figured it had to do with losing Ethan, but for all he knew, Sam had always been like this.

And maybe that single-minded drive had been an issue between Sam and Ethan too. Ethan had been Sam’s boyhood love. They’d grown up together, planned to spend their lives together, but Ethan had been murdered while they were still in college. That was about all Jason knew because Sam was not informative on the topic of Ethan.

“Delivery and staying in is actually what I’d prefer,” Jason said.

“Yeah?” Sam scanned his face, then relaxed. “Well, if that’s the case, the China King restaurant on Hope Road is pretty good. There’s no delivery, though. Tell me what you want—”

“Nope. You tell me what you want. I’ve been sitting around here for a couple of hours. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

Sam hesitated. “You sure you don’t mind?”

Jason half closed his eyes, consulting his memory of that first night in Kingsfield. “Hot and sour soup, shrimp with lobster sauce… What else? Steamed rice or fried?”

“Steamed. Good memory.”

“You need it in my line of work.” Jason wiggled his eyebrows as though he was involved in some nefarious occupation and not just another cop with a fancy title. He hunted around for his shoes, locating them beneath the coffee table. His leather jacket was draped over the autumn-colored accent chair in the corner of the room.

He was pretty sure Sam had taken this “apartment home” furnished, because the décor had a definite Overstock.com vibe. Comfortable, attractive, generic. Other than the four paintings by Granville Redmond that decorated his living room, office, and bedroom walls, the place could have doubled as a very nice hotel suite.

“Hope Road, you said?” He checked his wallet.

“Go north on US-1. It’s less than a mile.” Sam was shrugging out of his raincoat, preparing to get comfortable, and Jason smiled inwardly.

“Got it. I’ll be back in a few.”

“West?”

Jason glanced back. “Mm?”

Sam grinned. “Don’t forget the fortune cookies.”

“Roger that.” Jason touched a finger to his temple in mock salute and stepped outside.

* * * * *

It was tough, no question. Not knowing when, after tomorrow, he’d see Sam again. Not anytime soon, that much he did know. And Sam didn’t—couldn’t—offer any promises that things would get better. Sam was one hundred percent committed to the job. That’s what Jason had signed on for, and it was still easier, at least for now, knowing that eventually he would see Sam. Easier than the alternative. He’d had to face the alternative two month ago, and it had been hell.

For now, he would take what he could get because when they were together, it just felt…right.

These were Jason’s thoughts as he pushed out through the glass door of the China King restaurant. It was dark at seven thirty. The rain was coming down much harder now, and he ducked his head, tucking the white paper bag of fragrant-smelling food beneath his arm, feeling in his coat pocket for his keys. He jogged toward his rental car. The damp air smelled of wet brick, wet cement, wet trees, and car exhaust. The parking lot was a large one and reasonably busy on this Thursday night, though it was a relatively rural area. Well, compared to Venice.

There had been a line inside the China King, anyway.

Should he stop and pick up a six-pack? Sam would drink whisky sours all night, but Jason had training the next day, followed by a long-ass flight home. Beer might be the better choice.

Originally the plan had been to stay the weekend, but duty called. Duty called Sam, to be precise. He was flying out tomorrow afternoon to Seattle. So the much-anticipated weekend together would have to wait for another time. Another city.

The blue pickup was still parked on the passenger side of Jason’s rental car. A black Porsche had pulled into the slot next to the driver’s side, close enough that it made getting into Jason’s vehicle awkward. The hood of the Porsche’s trunk was popped and wide open. The driver did not appear to be about.

Tags: Josh Lanyon The Art of Murder Mystery
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