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He was deeply shocked that Sam had kept all this hidden. He had a right to know. He had a right to be able to trust what Sam told him. This…rocked the foundation of their relationship, certainly his understanding of that relationship.
First there had been Ethan. Now this. What the hell else was Sam hiding?
His cell rang, and Jason sprang to his feet, on edge as if someone had thumped on the window. Shadow on the Glass indeed. His heart pounded as he checked the caller ID, and he was not reassured when he recognized the photo of Dirty Harry. In fact, he felt a little nauseated.
He almost let it go to message. But no, if he didn’t answer, Sam would keep calling.
“West.” His mouth was gummy, the word sounded thick.
“Hey.” Sam’s voice was warm. He sounded pleased, as though reaching Jason was a happy surprise and not the inevitable result of calling his cell phone.
Jason literally could think of nothing to say. He managed a stiff, “Hi.”
“How’s it going?”
Jason’s gaze traveled to the scrawl-covered whiteboard. WEST circled in frantic thick strokes. “Okay.”
“How’s the ankle?”
He experienced a sudden and completely weird urge to cry. A very short time ago he had been desperate for any crumbs of concern and caring Sam thought to cast his way. Now…he didn’t even know who Sam was.
“Better,” he said.
“Any luck tracking that missing art collection?” There was a note of teasing in Sam’s voice, and once again Jason’s eyes stung.
“No.” He made an effort. “How was your… Were you able to interview Bamburg?”
Sam answered. Jason had no idea what he said. Sam continued to talk, and Jason continued to think in that roaring silence.
Sam said suddenly, “Are you all right? You sound like you’re catching cold.”
“Yes,” Jason said. “Tired.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“You sound… You don’t sound…” Funny to hear that uncertainty in Sam’s voice.
Jason tried to pull himself together. He had to give Sam a chance to explain. However strange and unreasonable Sam’s behavior seemed, he was clearly trying to protect Jason. He deserved to be able to offer his side.
But it wasn’t even that clear-cut. It wasn’t that Sam had a different version of events. What different version could there be? It was more like Jason had been granted a peek into Sam’s brain, and what he had discovered seething there appalled him.
He said automatically, “Sorry. Nothing’s happened. I’m just beat. And this situation is… wearing on me.”
“Jason—”
“I’d like to…want to…talk it over with you when you get back.”
“Yeah, of course.” Sam’s tone took on that odd, almost tender timbre. “We’ll talk it all out when I’m back. Meantime, try not to worry.”
Jason gave a half laugh. “Sure.”
“If you do feel unsafe, the sheriff—”
“I don’t feel unsafe.”
“Okay.” Sam hesitated.
