Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

“Right. Sorry.”

She tossed her hair in a dismissive gesture. “It’s terrible for her family. Terrible for the whole town. I hope whatever happened, it’s not like…”

“The last time?” Jason finished.

She nodded.

“Do you know Rebecca well?” He sipped his Sam Adams.

Candy’s smile was dry. “I know her. Not well. If you want the truth, I think she’s a spoiled brat. Or at least I sure don’t remember feeling that sense of entitlement at that age. Of course, my parents weren’t rich. Anyway. I’m sorry about what’s happened. She doesn’t deserve to be kidnapped. Or whatever.”

Not kidnapped. There would have been a ransom demand by now. Rebecca had either walked away under her own steam or she had been taken. If she had been abducted, it wasn’t for money.

“I mean, you guys did get the right guy last time?” Candy was only half-joking. A lot of people in Kingsfield were probably asking the same question.

Don’t look at me .

“Yes,” Jason said firmly. “We got the right guy. Whatever has happened to Rebecca, the Huntsman is behind bars.”

One of the patrons at the other end of the bar waved to Candy, and she smiled apologetically to Jason and moved off.

Jason studied the room and revised his original impression. The bar was busy, but the mood was not convivial. In fact, it was a little somber.

The front door swung open, and Boyd Boxner walked in.

Jason considered turning his back to the room, but Boxner would spot him eventually, and what did it matter anyway? He wasn’t afraid to face Boyd. Whatever he had felt, it was a long time ago.

Sure enough, Boxner’s tawny gaze scanned the room and lit on Jason. A weird expression crossed his face. He sauntered over to the bar.

“Jason West,” Boxner said. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?”

“I assumed you did recognize me. I recognized you.”

This momentarily nonplussed Boxner. He recovered quickly. “So you’re in the FBI.”

“I am.”

“That’s a surprise.”

“It’s a surprising kind of world.”

Boxner was a handsome enough guy, but not the young god he’d been at eighteen. His face was fuller, his waist thicker, his shoulders burly. There was a touch of premature gray in his sideburns. His aftershave was nice though. Something light and herbal and overtly masculine.

He was studying Jason with equal curiosity. His lip curled. “I thought you were going to be the next Jackson Pollock?”

Jackson Pollock? Did Boxner actually know who Jackson Pollock was?

“Nope,” Jason said. “It turns out I wasn’t good enough.”

If he thought self-deprecation would divert Boxner, he was wrong.

“No shit. Somehow the girls always fell for it.” Boxner’s expression screwed up into what he maybe imagined was a soulful look. “The sensitive artiste . Girls always go for that. Which is pretty funny in your case.”

Right. Because Boxner had been one of the first to figure out that Jason was gay. In fact, he’d probably realized the truth before Jason had. Definitely a late bloomer, Jason.

“I gotta confess,” Jason said mildly, “you remember a lot more about me than I do about you.”

Even in the blue-tinged light, he could see Boxner changed color. Score . But it wasn’t true. Jason had had a crush on Boxner for several years. Talk about misguided affections. That was adolescence for you. Boxner had had a thing for Honey and Honey had a thing for Jason and Jason had a thing for Boxner.

Anyway.

Ancient history.

Boxner ordered a beer from Candy. He greeted some of the other patrons at the bar and drank his beer.

Jason could feel they weren’t done though, and sure enough, after a few minutes, Boxner turned back to him.

“I didn’t realize the FBI allowed gays in.”

One thing about training for law enforcement. It taught you to control your temper. And your face. Plus, Jason knew a wide smile was more effective with the Boxners of the world than any amount of huffing and puffing. He grinned and, for good measure, gave Boxner a knowing wink. “Yes. They do.”

Boxner’s face turned red. This time it was irritation, not embarrassment. He wasn’t smart enough to be easily embarrassed. “I would think being gay would make it hard to do your job.”

“Not that I’ve noticed.” What part of his job did good old Boyd imagine he would have trouble with? He almost asked, but really, he didn’t want to hear it. He said, “So, how’ve you been?”

Boxner, however, would not be distracted by chitchat. He sipped his beer and gave Jason a long, brooding look.

“Are you married?” Jason asked. He figured that question coming from him would probably fluster Boxner.

“No,” Boxner said. “Are you?”

Oh, touché.

“No.”

Studying Boxner now, Jason felt rueful amusement at how very wrong his younger self had got it. Boxner was still attractive enough in a blunt, blond way—a bit like a budget brand version of Sam Kennedy—but other than his looks, it was difficult to recall what had been so fascinating about him. Maybe in the end it just came down to Boxner’s certainty, his assurance. Those were mighty rare commodities on the stock exchange of teenage masculinity. Jason, self-conscious and insecure—however well he managed to conceal it—had greatly admired those qualities in Boxner. As an adult he had learned to appreciate men who didn’t assume they were always right or always knew the answer. The adult Jason no longer misread arrogance for confidence.

Boxner said slowly, “It’s kind of a weird coincidence you being back here the same time we’ve got a copycat killer running around.”

That took Jason aback. Both that Boxner took it for granted they were dealing with a copycat killer and that he’d have the balls to imply whatever it was he seemed to be implying.

Or maybe he wasn’t implying anything. Maybe he was just being his normal jerk self.

Jason said, “Yeah, it’s hardly a coincidence since I’m here specifically to investigate.”

“Yep. That’s what’s so weird about it,” Boxner said with grim satisfaction.

Chapter Seven

Jason was just climbing out of the shower on Sunday morning when his cell phone rang.

He glanced at the ID. SAC Manning. He clicked accept. “West.”

“Agent West,” Manning said. “I’m glad I, erm, caught you.”

Since Jason carried a cell phone, it would be difficult for Manning not to catch him, by which he deduced that for whatever reason Manning was uncomfortable about making this call. Jason felt an instinctive flash of unease.

“Good morning, sir.”

“I received an, erm, rather concerning phone call from Agent Kennedy last night.”

Uh-oh. What was this about? What fresh hell—? He clipped out, “Yes?”

He could hear Manning’s disquiet all the way from Boston. “Kennedy has raised the, erm, question of your, erm, fitness for field duty.”

It was kind of like getting punched in the chest. It took a moment’s struggle before Jason had the breath to say, “He said what ?”

“Kennedy has suggested there may be an issue with your return to active duty status. I understand there was an, erm, incident yesterday.”

Jason stuttered with anger and alarm, “Th-the issue is Kennedy doesn’t like being partnered. That’s the only issue here, and it’s a big one.”

By some miracle he had hit on exactly the right response. He could hear the instant relief in Manning’s voice. “Erm. I see. I suspected that might be the case; however, Kennedy was unaware of your, erm, shooting, so his suggestion you froze under fire—”