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Jason pulled a chair out from the table by the window and sat down, propping his sprained ankle on the chair opposite. He said, “I talked to J.J. Russell this morning—and before you say it, no, I didn’t mention where I was.”
“The thought never occurred to me.” Sam, mixing tarragon, shallots, and garlic into a small bowl of butter, paused to lick some of the mixture from the edge of his thumb. Jason was momentarily distracted by the memory of Sam’s tongue at other times and in other places.
He collected his thoughts and said, “Apparently Fletcher-Durrand plans to sue me for everything that happened on Camden Island two months ago. Me and the Bureau.”
Sam’s brows shot up. “Excellent.”
“Uh, not the word my SSA or my SAC or the Assistant Director in Charge are using, unfortunately.”
“No? But it’s always excellent when the subjects of your investigation trot out the lawyers. It means you’re
getting to them.”
Jason grinned and shook his head. He wasn’t smiling when he said, “Russell had a theory. I don’t know if you’ve considered it.”
Sam was no fan of Russell’s. “Let’s hear it.”
Now that he had to put it in words, Jason felt awkward. “Is it possible someone you’re investigating might try to distract you by getting rid of me?”
Sam’s attention returned to the ingredients in the small glass bowl. “It’s not impossible.”
“You’d considered that?”
“Yes. I’m considering all possibilities.”
“Is it likely?”
“Very few people outside the Bureau are aware of our relationship. No, I don’t think it’s likely. But like I said, every avenue is being explored.”
I don’t think most people inside the Bureau are aware of our relationship. But Jason did not say that.
Sam turned the steaks in the pan. He pulled the roasting beets out of the oven. No, he did not need Jason’s help. He had it under control. Of course. He always had everything under control.
“Want to go to a magic club this Friday?” Jason asked. “There’s a new place opening up in Cheyenne.”
“A magic club?” Sam looked taken aback. So taken aback, Jason found it funny.
“Why? Don’t you like magic?”
“I don’t believe in magic.”
“Now that’s disappointing.” But Jason was teasing.
“Next you’re going to tell me you collect energy drinks and dead batteries.”
Jason laughed. “Didn’t you ever try to learn any magic tricks when you were a kid? Sleight of hand? Invisible writing? Pulling coins out of littler kids’ ears?”
“Are you telling me you did?”
“Sure.” Jason pretended to preen. “I’m pretty good at card tricks. And at getting out of handcuffs.”
“I’ve seen that last one for myself.” Sam’s tone was dry, but he was smiling quizzically. “Card tricks, huh? You’re full of surprises, West.”
“You don’t know any card tricks?” Jason raised an eyebrow as though card tricks were some naughty talent—in fact, he had used card tricks as come-ons in his day.
“The only card trick I know is always winning at poker.”
“I think that’s called cheating.”
