Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

Jason felt around for his…what the hell was he searching for? He risked a quick look at Kennedy.

Kennedy’s face was impassive. He was combing his wet hair and watching Jason feebly paw the rug.

Jason found his shorts—and who didn’t enjoy having to pull up his pants in front of someone who looked like he was about to issue a citation. And not one for bravery. Although Jason must have been feeling pretty brave, if not actually foolhardy, to have done what he did.

Really, he would prefer not to think of all he had done. And at the top of his lungs if memory served.

“Uh, I think I’ll…” Jason dragged on his jeans. “Shower next door.”

“Suit yourself.” Kennedy turned back into the bathroom.

Jason grabbed his shirt, socks, shoes and departed Kennedy’s room. As he stepped into the hallway with its delirium tremens-themed carpeting and murky lighting, the door to #156 clicked shut behind him, and he realized he’d left his holster and weapon.

No small thing losing—leaving—your holster and gun .

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he murmured in anguish.

He thumped briskly on the door.

Kennedy opened the door and handed him his holster, weapon still neatly fastened.

“Thanks.”

Highly unlikely the gleam in Kennedy’s eyes was amusement, but if Kennedy thought this was funny, good. That made one of them.

“I’m going downstairs to grab a bagel,” Kennedy said.

“Right. I’ll be down in ten.”

He was down in eight, not that anyone was counting. Kennedy was reading the newspaper as he enjoyed his continental breakfast in the corner of the dining room.

A cold shower had done Jason a world of good. He talked the girl at the reception desk into giving him a couple of aspirins while watching Kennedy out of the corner of his eye.

I tapped that . The unbidden memory startled him. Or maybe what startled him was that the memory made him feel sort of warm and tingly.

Because no. If he should be feeling anything, it was concern this didn’t confuse the issue. The issue being that he wasn’t just Kennedy’s partner—temporary partner—he had been brought on to make sure Kennedy didn’t cross any double lines or swerve into the wrong lane. He had to keep some kind of impartial distance here. For everyone’s sake.

Plus, he wasn’t even sure he liked Kennedy. And he made it a rule not to have sex with people he didn’t like.

He washed the aspirin down with scalding sips of black coffee and made his way over to Kennedy, who was folding up his newspaper.

“We’ve got time if you want to grab something to eat,” Kennedy said.

“I’m fine.”

Kennedy nodded and rose.

They squeezed past a couple of families in shorts and T-shirts crowding through the sliding lobby doors. Weekday or not, this was summer vacation for a lot of people.

Kennedy unlocked the car doors, and Jason slid in and buckled up. He felt the need for restraint after the night before.

“You seem a little rattled this morning,” Kennedy remarked, once they were on the road and headed back toward Kingsfield.

“Nope. I’m good.” Jason adjusted the sun visor. Way too much sun for this early in the morning.

“Gervase phoned to let me know they’ve got the ME’s report. He wanted to wait and discuss in person.”

“Okay.”

A couple more miles of ruthless illumination, both internal and external.

Jason said abruptly, “I’m not rattled. I just…” He shook his head. “I don’t usually do this. That. Last night. In fact, I’ve never done that.”

“ Never ?”

Jason glanced at Kennedy. Was Kennedy teasing him? Impossible. Kennedy had no sense of humor.

“Not with a colleague. I don’t believe in mixing work with play. Pleasure. Sex. I mean , I like to keep my professional life professional.”

Kennedy, eyes on the road, said, “You do know the Bureau doesn’t have a non-fraternization policy?”

“Yes. I know.” Jason repeated—and even he could hear it sounded like it was by rote, “I like to keep my professional life professional.”

Really, why was he making such a point about this? It’s not like he had a hard-and-fast rule about getting involved with coworkers—although he’d have expected Kennedy to. Jason occasionally dated other agents, and he’d never had any particular problem. Granted, none of those dates had led to relationships. Relationships were stickier.

Also not a factor here.

“Fine by me,” Kennedy said. “I follow the catch-and-release rule. By exigency and by inclination.”

Exigency and inclination . Wow.

And, oh yeah. That’s why he’d felt the need for a preemptive strike. Jason had known Kennedy would say something like that, something to make it clear last night had been a one-off and not the start of anything. Because what the hell would they be starting? They had absolutely nothing in common beyond being gay. And horny.

So Jason felt relieved he had clarified his position first. Status and sex. They went hand in hand. Or hand and something.

“So we’re good, then,” Jason said.

“Yep.”

Jason took another swallow of coffee. It seemed to have grown noticeably more bitter over the past mile.

Chapter Thirteen

“Déjà vu,” Chief Gervase said. He held up a plastic evidence bag containing a cherry red two-piece swimsuit. “She was strangled with the top of her bikini. Just like before.”

“Was she raped?” Kennedy asked.

“No. The autopsy revealed that despite bruising of the genital area, Rebecca was not raped. No discernable DNA evidence was found.”

“So there’s a good chance he’s impotent,” Jason said. He glanced over his shoulder at Boxner, who was sitting by the door of Gervase’s office.

Boxner changed color and sat up. He didn’t speak—as much as he clearly wanted to.

Gervase agreed, “Unlike Pink.”

“I don’t believe Pink is a player in this,” Kennedy said. His tone was polite, but it was obvious he was getting tired of saying it.

“He’s not running around the countryside abducting young females,” owned Gervase. “I don’t know that he’s not a player. He’s certainly an inspiration to someone.”

“You’ve been wrong before,” Boxner said.

“Really?” Kennedy asked. “When?”

Boxner began to splutter, and Jason decided that if Kennedy chose to throw good old Boyd out the window, he wouldn’t interfere.

Gervase ignored their exchange. “Time of death is listed between one and three o’clock on Saturday morning. Here’s one other point of interest,” he said. “Rebecca was already dead before she was strangled.” He stared at Kennedy, waiting for his reaction.

“How did she die?” Kennedy asked after a moment.

“Blunt force trauma to the head.”

Jason asked, “Is it possible the killer was unaware the victim was deceased?”

“That’s a good point,” Gervase said. “The ME thinks the strangling took place less than thirty minutes after death. So our guy could have been in a real frenzy and still otherwise preoccupied. He may not have known the girl was dead. He might have thought she was just unconscious.”

That would have to be someone supremely unobservant. Jason waited for Kennedy to make that point. Kennedy said, “Does State’s CSI think she died at the scene?”

“I’m not following,” Gervase said.

“The Madigan girl was found much farther afield than any of Pink’s victims.”

Boxner said, “He doesn’t want to get caught like Pink. He’s smarter than Pink. He’s making a real effort to conceal the body.”

Kennedy repeated his question to Gervase. “Did Madigan die where her body was discovered?”