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Chapter Two
The elevator was crowded.
This was Washington DC, and the hotel was full of government employees. Sam and Jason stood silent, shoulders pressed against each other, hands occasionally, furtively brushing, as they slowly returned earthward. Floor by floor, they patiently waited each time the elevator lurched to a stop, doors sliding open, people crowding in, people crowding out, doors sliding closed.
Each time the elevator doors dinged, Jason prayed they didn’t run into someone they—or more likely Sam—knew.
Not because they were violating any rules. The Bureau did not have a non-fraternization policy for employees. But because running into someone they knew would mean delay.
Seven slow-motion stops before they reached Jason’s floor.
At last, they stepped into the hallway with its iron sconces and crimson-olive-gold pseudo art deco carpet. The air smelled of cleaning supplies and pleasant, strategically diffused citrusy scent. The muted light threw a greenish cast over everything, including Sam and Jason. They exchanged quick, slightly self-conscious smiles.
The elevator doors closed behind them, and less than a minute later they were finally alone.
Jason’s room offered still more panoramic views of the now twinkling Washington DC skyline: the Washington Monument, Jefferson Memorial, Lincoln Memorial, and, of course, the White House, iconic silhouettes against the sunset. There was the usual functional work desk, flat-screen TV, and, crucially, a fairly comfortable king-size bed.
The bed being the actual only point of interest.
Jason tossed his keycard onto the desk, unclipped his pistol, and laid that aside as well. Sam flipped the deadbolt on the door, tossed his briefcase and jacket onto a corner chair. He loosened his tie as he moved to the bed, tossed his tie onto the pile of jacket and briefcase. He laid his weapon on the bed stand.
By then Jason was out of his shirt and trousers. He smiled, reaching for Sam, unfastening his shirt buttons with the speed of practice. Sam nuzzled the curve of Jason’s neck, hands going to his own trousers’ fastening. Jason shoved Sam’s crisp white shirt off his shoulders and kissed the fierce jut of Sam’s jaw.
“Not that I’m complaining, but why did you stay over?”
Sam stepped out of his trousers, arms circling Jason’s waist, pulling him close. “WWWD.” Sam’s smile was mocking, but the mockery seemed to be directed at himself.
“World Wide Wrestling Day?”
“What Would West Do.”
“What would…” Jason laughed. True enough. If he’d thought Sam needed his support, he’d say to hell with everything else and be there for him. But it was hard to imagine Sam ever needing his support, not in any significant way, and Sam had warned him early on not to look for, well, too much. Granted, Sam had proven himself wrong numerous times on that one. Even in Montana, as angry and disgusted as he’d been—and with the future of their relationship in serious doubt—he’d tried to intercede on Jason’s behalf. And that meant everything.
“You’re a nice guy, Kennedy,” Jason said gravely.
Sam’s mouth twitched in a half-smile. “I know.”
“I don’t care what anybody says.”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, well, neither do I.” And that was absolutely the truth.
But yes, Jason was happy about anything that delayed their inevitable goodbyes. This goodbye would not be nearly as crushing as their goodbye in Montana, though, and he was grateful for that.
They stretched out on the bed, holding each other, gazing into each other’s eyes. In the elevator, Jason had felt this moment would never come, but now that it was here, now that they were once more in each other’s arms, he felt that he wanted to savor every second.
Sam too seemed in no hurry, kissing him in soft, slow nuzzles, gentle kisses, cherishing kisses.
The unexpected sweetness of stolen kisses on a workday afternoon.
Technically, it was evening now. Through the large windows, Jason could see clouds gilded rose gold by the sunset.
He said dreamily, “Kapszukiewicz even assigned me a new case.”
“Did she?” Sam raised his head, his breath warm against Jason’s face. “What’s the case?”
“Undercover gig at UCLA.”
Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Undercover. You’ll enjoy that.”
Jason agreed, though at this point he’d have gratefully accepted stakeout in Siberia.
“The Bureau is doing a solid for a former California senator. Francis Ono.”
“Francis Ono? That’s a blast from the past.”
“Literally. He was one of the big proponents of nuclear energy, back in the day. Old-school conservative, for sure. Which is why it was a big deal when he endorsed Clark’s reelection campaign.”
Clark Vincent was an ambitious Republican congressman married to Jason’s sister Sophie. In fact, Sophie would be hurt if she knew Jason was in DC but choosing to spend the night in a hotel rather than her home. As much as he loved his sister, Jason detested Clark and strenuously avoided spending even a minute more in his company than he had to.
“So you’re acquainted with Ono?”
“Me? No. I’ve never met him. His granddaughter was a film studies professor. She died six months ago in what LAPD deemed accident-possible-suicide. The family insists there’s no way.”
Sam said wearily, “The family usually does. Cause of death?”
“Autoerotic asphyxiation.”
“Fun stuff.”
So true. Deliberately strangling yourself while attempting to heighten the sexual experience was not the most dignified exit.
“It could have been an accident, but the senator is convinced his granddaughter was murdered.”
“And why would anyone want to take out a film studies professor?”
“I guess that’s what I’ll find out. I haven’t seen the case file yet.”
Sam seemed to mull it over. “UCLA. That’s your old alma mater, isn’t it?”
“Mm-hm.”
