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“He wasn’t my boyfriend. I knew him all of four days.” How long had he and Kennedy been thrown together in Massachusetts? “If anyone was my boyfr—” Jason stopped. That was embarrassing. He said instead, striving to sound completely dispassionate, “That would mean your unsub followed Shipka to the island. Or he lives on the island. Isn’t that kind of unlikely?”
“Yes.”
“Well then?”
“Either way you look at it, there are one too many coincidences here. Unlikely or not, these cases do seem to intersect.” Kennedy glanced at Jason. His mouth curved. “Which means it’s very likely our cases intersect.”
Jason had no response to that. The best he could manage was a weak, “Ha.”
Kennedy said with a rare flash of humor, “Just what I said, Agent West.”
A few minutes later they pulled into the mostly empty hotel parking lot, and Kennedy turned off the engine. For a moment or two, they sat gazing at the sparkling blue of the St. Lawrence.
Kennedy took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ, I’m tired,” he muttered.
Jason looked at him in surprise. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever heard Kennedy acknowledge any human frailty, including fatigue. At forty-six, he was still eleven years from mandatory retirement age, and he worked overtime to prove he was every bit as fit and energetic as agents half his age.
“Are we still flying out tonight?”
“Up to you. I think a good night’s sleep won’t do either of us any harm.” He glanced briefly at Jason. “Have you called your office?”
“I wasn’t able to speak to George. I had to leave a message. I’ll try again when I get back to my room.”
His unease must have shown because Kennedy’s lip curled. “Don’t worry, West. As far as anyone at the LA office knows, you were swept up as part of an interagency pissing match. Your rung on the ladder of success is still safe.”
Kennedy’s fluctuation between concern and those little aggressive digs was unsettling. Jason said, “You know, I didn’t see you turning down promotion when it was offered.”
“No. I couldn’t afford to. I’d made too many enemies. I had to either move out of range or try to do my job the best I could as a moving target. I figured I’d be more effective if I took the promotion.”
Jason had suspected something like that, but it was the first time Kennedy had come right out and said so.
Unwillingly, he asked, “Do you have any regrets?”
“Sure,” Kennedy said. “I have plenty of regrets. About all kinds of things.” He opened his car door. “If I had to do it all again, I’d make the same choices.”
Chapter Eighteen
Of course, he didn’t need to stay over just because Kennedy was choosing to. But the fact was, Jason was still worn out physically, mentally, and emotionally. The idea of eight hours of undisturbed sleep sounded like heaven. He needed to be sharp when he finally confronted his superiors back in LA.
At least he hoped that was what motivated his decision to stay. He hoped it was not the desire to spend additional time in Kennedy’s company.
He booked his flight for the following morning and checked his messages—when he saw the state of his inbox, he wished he hadn’t. Nothing from George, though. No phone call, no email, no text. His stomach knotted with anxiety.
Jesus. Was he going to be fired? Without warning? Without a hearing?
He glanced at the bedside clock. Four thirty. Which meant it was one thirty in Los Angeles. George might be at lunch. Or he might not. He might be sitting at his desk wondering why his errant ACT agent wasn’t checking in.
If he was about to be canned, it would be better to know now. Jason phoned George—and ended up on hold where he spent the next eight minutes gnawing on his lip and staring out the window at the fishing boats.
George came on the line. “The prodigal son. I was just about to call you.” He sounded… Actually, he sounded pretty much as usual. Cheerful, friendly, relaxed.
“You okay?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m fine.”
“I figured. I figured if anybody could get you out of the pokey fast, it would be Mr. Personality.”
“You phoned Kennedy?” Jason couldn’t hide his amazement.
