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“Withdrawn?” Sam asked drily. “Uncommunicative? Secretive?”
“I was going to say guarded, but okay.”
Sam was silent, seeming to think it over. His blue gaze lifted to Jason’s. “Yes,” he said at last. “I was. Which is why I don’t want to make the same mistakes with you.”
That helped. A lot.
“I’ve never been good at this part of relationships.” Sam’s mouth twisted. “If Ethan were here, he would say the same.”
That…was less helpful.
When Jason didn’t reply, Sam said, “What is it you want to know?”
“Sam, I don’t have a list. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to know. Any of it. Anything to do with Ethan. But the fact that you can’t talk about it. About him. Won’t talk about him. Worries me. And it’s not just Ethan. In fact, Ethan is probably the least of it. Walking into that room last night and seeing that whiteboard and those files… It makes me feel like I don’t know you.”
“I don’t talk about Ethan because it was a long time ago. Not because it’s too painful to think about or because he was too important to share my feelings about him.”
“You went into the FBI because of Ethan.”
“Yes. Ethan’s death changed my life. But that happened twenty years ago. We were very young. My life was going to change anyway.” He observed Jason for a second or two, then continued reluctantly, “To some extent, I’ve used Ethan as an excuse not to get too involved, not to care too much for anyone. Until you. I was a man on a mission. Emotionally, that’s a safe place to be.”
That was unexpectedly honest. It surprised Jason.
Watching Jason’s face, Sam said, “I know you don’t believe this, but what happened to Ethan is not a factor in our relationship.”
Jason opened his mouth, and Sam amended, “It was a factor in my decision as to whether there would be a relationship. We’re past that now. From my perspective, we’re past it.”
“Okay.” He wanted to believe it.
Sam must have read his uncertainty because he gave another of those pained grimaces, and said, “If it does factor in, it’s only in that Ethan’s death taught me how quickly everything can change. People are…fragile.”
“Yes.” Jason understood. He worried about Sam. Worried about some psycho coming after him. Worried about the emotional and mental toll of working the cases Sam specialized in.
“Which is why it is…” Unexpectedly, Sam’s voice shook. “…unbearable…to think…” He stopped. Jason looked closer, saw the impossible too-bright shimmer of Sam’s eyes.
His heart stopped, speared in place like an unlucky fish, and he left the window and went to Sam.
He didn’t know what to say, but words were not needed. Sam’s arms locked around him. Jason held him tight. Sam said into his hair and collar, “If I opened that door… If I made you a target…”
It was the last thing Jason had expected to hear. That Sam felt responsible? Guilty?
“Jesus, Sam. This isn’t your fault.”
&nbs
p; “If you’re— If something happens—through me—”
Jason pulled back, trying to see Sam’s face. “Don’t. What happened to me is not your fault. You can’t think like that. You can’t take that on yourself. We don’t even know who came after me.” He remembered who he was talking to and added doubtfully, “Do we?”
The softness of Sam’s mouth straightened into its usual hard line. “Not yet. We don’t. Jonnie has photos of Kyser in Toronto.”
“Kyser was at his conference in Toronto?”
“It looks that way.”
“It was not Kyser who came after me?” It was a jolt. Jason had been almost convinced Kyser was his assailant.
“It doesn’t appear so.”
