Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

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 not going to be much fun tonight.”

Kennedy turned to face him. “No. I really do mean sleep.” His expression was serious.

“Uh…well, if you…” What? Don’t mind ? Want the company ? Jason wasn’t sure what his question was. He was too surprised by Kennedy’s offer. The truth was, he didn’t particularly want to be on his own tonight. Every time he closed his eyes he saw that weird basement with its shifting shadows and skulls and snakes. No. He wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with a warm body tonight.

“In that case, yes,” he said. “However, I think you should know that I snore.”

Kennedy said, “I do know that you snore.”

“Oh? Right. Okay. On your head—or next to your head—be it.”

Kennedy smiled faintly.

It was a relief to stumble into the next room and flop down on the bed.

He shivered. The temperature in here was like a meat locker. Jason made the supreme effort to kick off his jeans and crawl under the coverlet. He pulled the comforter up, vaguely aware that Kennedy moved around the room, turning off the air conditioner, turning down the lamp, putting stuff away—how much tidying up did he have to do?—Jason’s eyelids felt weighted.

With the air conditioner off, he could hear the summer rain hitting the windows, making a soothing, shushing sound. Nice. Funny how rain had a different sound in the summer.

And Kennedy’s presence was comforting even if he was taking forever to come to bed.

“Are you checking email?” Jason mumbled.

“I’ll be right there,” Kennedy replied absently, fingers clicking away on his laptop.

At last the lamp on the desk snapped out. A moment later the mattress dipped. Kennedy’s long, solid frame slid between the sheets next to Jason. Jason had slipped into an uneasy doze, but that brought him back to wakefulness.

“Are you warm enough?” Kennedy asked. His voice was low and intimate, a bedroom voice.

“Oh, yeah. Boiling.” It wasn’t the truth though. There was a cold knot in his core, and every so often a shudder rippled through him. Maybe he was suffering a little from shock, as ridiculous as the idea seemed.

Kennedy slid an arm under Jason’s shoulders and drew him over. He wrapped his other arm around Jason. Normally Jason didn’t care to be held while he was trying to sleep, but tonight Kennedy’s heat and bulk was a comfort. Jason closed his eyes and relaxed.

After a time he stopped shivering and fell into a state of comfortable drowsiness. But he could tell that Kennedy was awake, could feel him thinking.

Jason murmured, “Everything all right?”

“Of course.” Kennedy kissed Jason’s temple. “Just relax.”

“If I was any more relaxed, I’d be drooling on your chest.”

He felt Kennedy’s smile. Kennedy nuzzled him, but it was an absent caress. His mind was a million miles away.

Well, not a million miles away because he was consciously quieting Jason, keeping him warm and comfortable, but the focus of his thoughts was not on Jason.

“How did you get into profiling?” Jason asked sleepily.

He felt Kennedy wrench back to alertness. After a moment, Kennedy said with a strange lack of inflection, “I like to hunt.”

“What made you want to hunt serial killers?”

The silence stretched so long he didn’t think Kennedy would answer.

“It was a long time ago,” Kennedy said finally. “I don’t talk about it.”

Jason considered that slammed door. “Okay.”

Kennedy kissed him with that same out-of-character gentleness. “Maybe sometime I’ll tell you about it. It’s no bedtime story.”

“Sure,” Jason said. He kissed Kennedy back. “If you want to.”

Until that moment he had not considered that he and Kennedy might continue any kind of relationship beyond their current assignment. Most probably Kennedy did not mean that they would literally discuss his past at a later date, was just softening the rejection. Not that he was overly prone to politeness.

Was there potential for him and Kennedy to…?

What?

They lived in different states, to begin with. Then again they both traveled extensively. It was not inconceivable they might hook up again.

And that was probably all Kennedy meant. The sex was good with them, so why wouldn’t they, er, socialize if they happened to find themselves with free time while in the same city. And maybe in that unforeseeable future Kennedy might even be in a more confiding frame of mind. That’s what he meant.

Right?

And that would be fine with Jason. Either would be fine. He liked Kennedy, but he wasn’t making long-term plans either. He wouldn’t mind reconnecting at some future date. And if that were to happen, he wouldn’t mind if Kennedy confided in him—but he also didn’t mind if Kennedy kept his secrets.

Everybody had secrets.

He woke to fragile sunlight and the knowledge that he was alone. Again.

Jason opened his eyes, peered at the clock and then at the indented pillow on Kennedy’s side of the bed.

Five thirty on Thursday morning. Jesus Christ, Kennedy was an early bird. Did he not understand the pleasurable possibilities of waking up with someone in a warm bed when you had a few quiet minutes to greet the day?

No. He probably did not. Given the fact that he had, as far as Jason could tell, barely slept the night before. For Kennedy, the night was more about accommodating the scheduling needs of others than requiring sleep himself.

Inviting Jason to crash here had been kind. Jason recognized now he had been more shaken than he’d realized by his fall. He remembered jerking awake at one point—one of those instinctive, spasmodic reactions to the sensation of plummeting down—and Kennedy’s arm had tightened around him.

“You’re okay,” he’d said softly. Just that, but even half asleep, Jason had heard and believed.

It gave him a weird, wobbly feeling in his belly to think of it. He was either close to falling for Kennedy—or desperately in need of breakfast. Desperately in need of breakfast, hopefully.

And right on cue, the motel room door opened, and Kennedy, in sweats, T-shirt, and sunglasses, carried in coffee and a bag of something that smelled promisingly of breakfast sandwiches. Jason’s stomach growled.

“I heard that,” Kennedy remarked.

Jason sat up. “I wondered where you’d got to.”

Kennedy threw him a quick, faint smile. He set down the paper bag on the desk and handed Jason his coffee. Jason checked under the lid that no pollutants had been added—Kennedy doctored his own coffee with sugar and cream—and took a life-saving swallow.