Summary:
Nothing up his sleeves. Nothing but murder…
Jason West, hot-shot special agent with the FBI’s Art Crime Team, is at the Wyoming home of Behavioral Analysis Unit Chief Sam Kennedy, recuperating from a recent hit-and-run accident, when he’s asked to consult on the theft of a priceless collection of vintage magic posters.
But before Jason can say “presto change-o,” the owner of the art collection turns up murdered in a National Forest.
When the dead man is revealed to be the Kubla Khanjurer, a much-hated part-time magician accused of revealing the highly guarded secrets of professional illusionists, it seems clear this is a simple revenge killing—until Jason realizes an earlier suspicious death at the trendy magic club Top Hat White Rabbit might be part of the same larger and more sinister pattern.
Summary:
Someone is watching. Someone is waiting.
Despite having attracted the attention of a dangerous stalker, Special Agent Jason West is doing his best to keep his mind on his job and off his own troubles.
But his latest case implicates one of the original Monuments Men in the theft and perhaps destruction of part of the world's cultural heritage--a lost painting by Vermeer. Naval Reserve Lieutenant Commander Emerson Harley wasn't just a World War 2 hero, he was the grandfather Jason grew up idolizing. In fact, Grandpa Harley was a large part of what inspired Jason to join the FBI's Art Crime Team.
Learning that his legendary grandfather might have turned a blind eye to American GIs "liberating" priceless art treasures at the end of the war is more than disturbing. It's devastating.
Jason is determined to clear his grandfather's name, even if that means breaking a few rules and regulations himself--putting him on a collision course with romantic partner BAU Chief Sam Kennedy.
Meanwhile, someone in the shadows is biding his time...
Original Review April 2018:
While recovering from a hit-and-run, Agent Jason West spends some unexpected extra alone time with Behavioral Analysis Unit Chief Sam Kennedy. But the job is never very far away when he's asked to consult the local office with the theft of a priceless collection of vintage magic posters. As is Jason's luck it leads to more than just theft but will this unexpected assistance strengthen or hamper his and Sam's growing relationship?
I'm going to jump right out of the gate and say "How can you not love Jason West?" I can certainly understand Sam's desire to keep him locked away and safe. Okay maybe not locked away because with all the possible words you could use to describe Sam Kennedy, monster is not one of them. Sam's growing feelings for Jason are definitely influencing his actions, he may not be new to his heart ruling the roost, but its certainly been a long time since that organ has been doing the thinking for him. On the surface these two don't seem like they'd be right for each other but with some time and lots of arguing throughout this series, its become pretty clear that Jason and Sam are actually a perfect fit. The hemming-and-hawing, back-and-forth, secrets and realizations have finally revealed what the heart wants. Some might say I've given away a bit of the story with this paragraph but its my opinion that a well written love story isn't in the destination but the journey getting there. And what a journey it is.
Now as for the mystery part of The Magician Murders, well for that you won't get any insight from me other than to say my thoughts were the same as Agent West's at one point but frankly I'm glad I was wrong. There is just something about Magician that has a film noir essence about it, maybe its the stolen vintage posters, maybe its the cast of characters, maybe its the growing relationship between Jason and Sam, or maybe its just the amazing and mesmerizing writing style of Josh Lanyon. Anyone who has read her work before knows that she loves a good mystery but its more than that, she creates characters that you want to know, characters that you want to smother in kindness and some you just want to smother. It takes talent to take over-the-top personalities and make them seem almost everyday-neighbor-next-door types. Lets face it you won't meet them the next time you run to the store for milk and eggs but you sure would like to.
For those who are wondering if you can start The Art of Murder series with The Magician Murders I'm going to say no. If you follow my reviews than you know I'm a huge series reader and that I also firmly believe in reading them in order, whether the author writes them that way or not. If you want to split hairs than you could probably start with Magician as the case is new but you won't understand everything that Jason and Sam have gone through to get to where they are, it flows better if you start with book one, The Mermaid Murders because there are some carry-overs as for future possibilities(hey don't expect me to reveal any secrets😉). If this is a new series for you, trust me you will not be disappointed even if three books seem daunting don't worry because once you start they just fly by because you can't put them down.
The Monuments Men Murders #4
Original Review July 2019:
Mystery, murder, mayhem . . . just another day in the life of Sam Kennedy and Jason West😉. I can't lie, Sam and Jason are not my favorite Josh Lanyon pairing, nobody beats Adrien and Jake(Adrien English series) but Sam and Jason are nearly neck-and-neck with Kit and JD(Holmes and Moriarity series). Lets face it Sam can be a bit abrasive, at least in the earlier entries. Actually that is a point that I really loved in The Monuments Men Murder, both Sam and Jason continue to "evolve" but I found Sam to be the one who grew the most, he's by the book but his love for Jason is never in question, not that we the reader ever had any doubts but I can certainly see why Jason might have at times. I just love when characters aren't just more of the same, I know some think series tend to be formulaic and in some cases that can be true but I have yet to find a Josh Lanyon book that is and Monuments Men is anything but been-there-done-that.
Let's talk about the mystery, well you know I won't delve into it too much for the whole "I do no spoilers" motto I adhere to. I always love a good mystery that surrounds the past, it adds a touch of the historical flavor I love so much and in Monuments Men, it also adds a personal flare with Jason's grandfather having been one. Yeah, I know what you're saying, Jason should have recused himself from the case but I can understand his reasoning too. Nobody is going to know his beloved grandfather more than he would and sometimes when a case is steeped in the past, detectives are more concerned with what they see and marking closed to the case, afterall those who were there aren't with us so who does it really effect if they don't ask that extra question or two to verify the last link? As for the whos and whats of the case, I may not have been completely flabbergasted when the reveal occurred but I can't say I saw it coming more than a page or two before either and after nearly 45 years of watching and reading mysteries, that isn't something that happens very often to me so that alone puts this one leaps and bounds above many that I've come across in the genre.
The Monuments Men Murder was absolutely spot on in all the yummy goodness I want in romantic suspense: a perfect blend of mayhem and heart. As for Sam and Jason, we get to hear some things we've been waiting for but don't think its all sunshine and roses for the detectives, I wouldn't go as far as to call Monuments angsty but its no where near cutesy-sweet either. The mix of lust, mush, and drama adds just the right amount of tension to heighten the need to not put it down. Once again, Josh Lanyon has proven why she is a permanent fixture on my author-must-read list as well as why she is at the top of my automatic-without-reading-the-blurb-1-click list.
If you are wondering if you can start with Monuments my answer is no. Yes, each entry in The Art of Murder series is a new and separate case but not only do you have the growing relationship between Sam and Jason there is another factor that is growing(I don't want to give anything away for those who haven't read this series yet) so I highly recommend reading this one in order.
RATING:
The Magician Murders #3
Chapter One
Rain flicked against the apartment windows in random, off-beat splash and dissolve.
It was sort of soothing, and Jason had not had much sleep the night before, but he could not afford to drift off in the middle of a conference call with his boss.
“If the legendary West charm has failed to convince Ursula Martin to file charges against Fletcher-Durrand, maybe Uncle Sam should take a swing at her,” Karan Kapszukiewicz was saying.
Kapszukiewicz was chief of the Major Theft Unit of the Criminal Investigative Division. She oversaw the Art Crime Team agents from her Washington DC office, which was where she was calling Jason from. Jason was on his cell phone, lying on Sam’s sofa in Sam’s apartment in Stafford, Virginia. The apartment was not far from the training academy where Jason was attending routine in-service refresher training.
“Respectfully, I don’t think that’s the approach we want to take with Martin,” Jason replied. “I think there’s still a good chance she’ll ultimately come through for us, but not if we push her. Her situation is complicated.”
“Isn’t everybody’s?”
Jason waited politely.
Karan sighed. “I had a feeling you’d say that, so…okay. I’ll let you make the call. she’s your complainant. Or was.”
Jason winced. The collapse two months ago of charges against the Fletcher-Durrand art gallery was still painful. He had worked his ass off building a prosecutable case of fraud, grand larceny and forgery—only to have the rug yanked out from under him when his original complainants had agreed to settle out of court with the Durrands.
There had been a hell of a lot more to it than that, of course, but the bottom line was the US Attorney’s Office would not be filing charges against Fletcher-Durrand at this time. Especially since the Durrand most wanted by law enforcement and everyone else seemed to have vanished off the face of the planet.
Not that Jason was so naïve as to imagine hard work and determination alone ensured the successful prosecution of every case—luck always played a role, and his luck had definitely been out. At least as far as the Durrands were concerned. In other ways…
His gaze traveled to a large Granville Redmond painting of California poppies beneath stormy skies, hanging on the opposite wall.
In other ways, his luck had been very much in, which was how he came to be lying on BAU Chief Sam Kennedy’s sofa waiting for Sam to get home. Two months ago, he’d feared his relationship with Sam had run its blink-and-you-missed-it course, but against the odds, here he was.
“All right,” Karan said more briskly, her attention already moving on to bigger or more winnable cases. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
She was clearly about to ring off, but Jason being one of her protégés, Karan asked suddenly, “How’s training? You’re still at Quantico?”
“Yeah. I fly out tomorrow night. Training is…training.”
“Always,” Karan agreed gravely. “Okay. Have a good flight home.” She did hang up then. Her timing was perfect. Jason heard Sam’s key in the front door lock.
He clicked off his cell and rose as the front door swung open. The scent of April showers and faded, but still slightly jarring, aftershave wafted in.
“Hey.”
Sam was a big man and he filled the door frame. Instantly, the quiet, slightly dusty rooms felt alive again. Occupied. The stale, centrally heated air seemed to break apart as though before a gust of pure, cold oxygen.
“Hi.” Sam looked tired. He always looked tired these days. His short blond hair was wet and dark, the broad shoulders of his tan trench coat splattered with rain drops. He was not exactly handsome—high cheekbones, long nose—hard mouth—but all the pieces fit perfectly in a face that exuded strength, intelligence, and yes, a certain amount of ruthlessness. His blue eyes looked gray—but they warmed at the sight of Jason coming towards him. He dropped his briefcase and took Jason into his arms, kissing him with full and flattering attention.
Sam even tasted tired—too many cups of coffee, too many breath mints, too many conversations about violent death. Jason kissed him back with all his heart, trying to compensate with a sincere welcome home for what had probably been a shitty day.
Not that Sam found a day of murder, rape and abduction as depressing as Jason would. Sam wouldn’t be so very good at his job, if he did.
As always, the softness of Sam’s lips came as surprise. For a guy who was rumored to have a heart of stone, he sure knew his way around a kiss.
They parted lips reluctantly. Sam studied him. “Good day?”
“It is now.”
Sam smiled faintly, glancing around the room, noting Jason’s coffee cup and the files and photos scattered across the coffee table. “This looks industrious.” His pale brows drew together. “It’s hot as hell in here.”
Jason grimaced. “Sorry. I turned the heat up. I was freezing when I got in.”
Sam snorted, nodding at Jason’s jeans and red MOMA t-shirt. “You could always try putting on a sweatshirt. Or even a pair of socks.”
“True, I guess.”
Sam grinned. “You California boys.”
“Known a lot of us, have you?” Jason was rueful. At forty-six, Sam had twelve years and a whole hell of a lot of experience on him.
“Only one worth remembering.” Sam pulled him back in for another, though briefer, kiss.
Jason smiled beneath the pressure of Sam’s firm mouth.
When Sam let Jason go, he said, “Sorry I’m late. Any idea where you want to eat tonight?” He absently tugged at his tie, probably a good indicator of what he’d prefer. Jason too, for that matter.
“We don’t have to go out. Why don’t we eat in?”
Sam considered him. “You’ve only got another day here.”
“I didn’t come for the night life. Well.” Jason winked, but that was just in play. He suspected it was going to be a low-key night. Sam pushed himself too hard. There wasn’t any good reason for it because the world was never going to run out of homicidal maniacs. There was no finish line in this race. “Anyway, it’s not like I don’t get to eat out enough.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth tugged in acknowledgment. “Yeah. But you must’ve noticed there’s nothing to eat in this place.”
Jason shrugged. Sam’s fridge reflected the state of his own—the state of anyone whose job kept them on the road most of the time.
“I did notice. Not a problem. I’ll run out and pick us something up.”
Sam opened his mouth, presumably to object, and Jason said, “You look beat, Sam. Let me take care of dinner.”
“Why, thank you.” There was the faintest edge to Sam’s tone.
He didn’t like being reminded he wasn’t Superman. Jason had learned that over the past ten months. Sam worked hard and played—when he did play, which was rarely—harder. He had the energy and focus of guys half his age, but part of that was sheer willpower.
“You know what I mean.”
Sam grimaced. “I do, unfortunately.”
“So? You must have a favorite Chinese restaurant.” Jason was smiling because he didn’t take Sam’s flickers of irritation all that seriously—and because the first meal they’d shared had been Chinese food.
Ah, memories. They’d pretty much detested each other back then. Which had made the sexual tension that flared instantly between them all the more—and mutually—exasperating.
“Sure. But…”
Sam didn’t finish the thought. Weariness vying with his sense of obligation. Their relationship was such—the nature of their jobs was such—that there was not a lot of time for dating as most of the world understood it.
Jason got it. Anyone in law enforcement got it. But Sam still suffered these occasional bouts of guilt. Or whatever. Sam’s obsession with the job was always going to be a challenge to their relationship. Initially, Jason had figured it had to do with losing Ethan, but for all he knew, Sam had always been like this.
And maybe that single-minded drive had been an issue between Sam and Ethan too. Ethan had been Sam’s boyhood love. They’d grown up together, planned to spend their lives together, but Ethan had been murdered while they were still in college. That was about all Jason knew because Sam was not informative on the topic of Ethan.
“Take out and staying in is actually what I’d prefer,” Jason said.
“Yeah?” Sam scanned his face, then relaxed. “Well, if that’s the case. The China King restaurant on Hope Road is pretty good. Tell me what you want—”
“Nope. You tell me what you want. I’ve been sitting around here for a couple of hours. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”
Sam hesitated. “You sure you don’t mind?”
Jason half closed his eyes, consulting his memory of that first night in Kingsfield. “Hot and sour soup, shrimp with lobster sauce…what else? Steamed rice or fried?”
“Steamed. Good memory,”
“You need it in my line of work.” Jason wiggled his eyebrows, as though he was involved in some nefarious occupation and not just another cop with a fancy title. He hunted around for his shoes, locating them beneath the coffee table. His leather jacket was draped over the autumn colored accent chair in the corner of the room.
He was pretty sure Sam had taken this “apartment home” furnished, because the décor had a definite Overstock.com vibe. Comfortable, attractive, generic. Other than the four paintings by Granville Redmond that decorated his living room, office and bedroom walls, the place could have doubled as a very nice hotel suite.
“Hope Road, you said?” He checked his wallet.
“Go north on US-1. It’s less than a mile.” Sam was shrugging out of his raincoat, preparing to get comfortable, and Jason smiled inwardly.
“Got it. I’ll be back in a few.”
“West?”
Jason glanced back. “Mm?”
Sam grinned. “Don’t forget the fortune cookies.”
“Roger that.” Jason touched a finger to his temple in mock salute and stepped outside.
The Monuments Men Murders #4
Chapter One
Fear was tiring.
Anger was preferable.
They were both draining.
Not that he was afraid all the time—most days he was too busy to really think about whether he was in danger, but sometimes at night, yes. Less so when he was away from home sweet home, which was ironic.
For a minute or two Special Agent Jason West of the FBI’s Art Crime Team lay motionless, eyes probing the gloom of his Bozwin Montana hotel room, absently listening to—classifying—the nearby ice machine dumping its load, the gunning of a flooded engine in the parking lot, the clicking over of one luminous number in the clock on the nightstand.
3:43.
Make that 3:44.
He could always phone Sam. Even if by some chance Behavior Analysis Unit Chief Sam Kennedy was asleep, he’d take Jason’s call.
Most likely he was awake.
Though Sam was halfway across the country, the thought of him comforted Jason. He could picture Sam, the glow from his computer monitor highlighting his craggy, not-quite-handsome face. Broad shoulders and hard, taut muscles beneath one of those severely tailored white shirts. At this time of night it would be unbuttoned, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He’d be wearing the gold-wire glasses Jason found peculiarly sexy and that distant, meditative look as he read over the day’s bad news.
Tomorrow Sam would be in Montana.
Tomorrow they’d be together for the first time in three weeks. They’d met for a spontaneous (on Jason’s part) and very brief Memorial Day get-together. Before that it had been eight weeks since they’d been in the same room together.
Long-distance relationships were never easy, and this one had more challenges than most. Still, it was better than the alternative. They had come painfully close to the alternative too many times to take it lightly.
If Sam was asleep, he needed the rest, and Jason resisted the longing to hear his voice for a few minutes. He had already called him once this week. He didn’t want Sam thinking the strain was getting to him.
But yeah, of course the strain was getting to him.
Not during the day, not while he was working.
But Dr. Jeremy Kyser had the key to Jason’s dreams, and more evenings than not, he opened the door to Jason’s subconscious and strolled right in. Mostly, it was just a lurking sense of unease, worry. Jason spent a lot of dreamtime looking for Kyser’s lost case file or a missing-person report; it didn’t take a shrink to interpret any of that.
Other nights—like this one—Jason relived some version of his narrow escape from attempted abduction, and woke drenched in perspiration and gulping for air like a landed fish.
The details of the assault remained sketchy in his memory, so he was never sure which, if any, of his nightmares offered a true version of events. He just knew he woke scared and angry, and no end to it in sight.
He reached for the remote control on the bed stand and turned on the television. Late-night TV was his new best friend. There was some crazy old black and white movie on—something to do with a stage magician having marital problems—and Jason folded his arms more comfortably behind his head and settled in, prepared to occupy himself for a few sleepless hours.
The movie, Eternally Yours, reminded Jason of the last time he and Sam had worked together. Well, they had not really been working together. Jason had been recuperating from injuries sustained fighting off Kyser, and Sam had been determined to oversee the process.
Anyway, his memories of the stay with Sam’s mother were good, the movie was pleasantly goofy, and he was content with the way the case had turned out in Wyoming. By the time the Cheyenne Resident Agency had managed to get their search warrants, the magician community of Laramie County had pulled off their own Top Hat White Rabbit. And maybe that was the way it was supposed to go.
Sam did not agree with Jason’s thinking on that score, and it was a given he would not approve of what Jason was hoping to accomplish in Montana. Which was why Jason was planning to get this case wrapped up without ever having to ad—
His cell phone vibrated into life—and Jason vibrated with it. He was immediately aggravated with his jump. He swore, grabbed the phone, growled, “West.”
“Agent West,” Sam said smoothly. His voice was deep, softened around the edges by a hint of Western drawl. “Did I wake you?”
Somewhere along the line, “West,” used when they were on their own, had become kind of a pet name.
Jason relaxed into the pillows. “No. I was just thinking about you.”
“Ah.”
“You might have felt a tingle at the base of your spine.”
Sam’s laugh was quiet, intimate. “You’re in a playful mood.”
“I am, yeah. Looking forward to tomorrow night.”
“Me too.”
Jason closed his eyes for a moment, grateful. There had been a time he wouldn’t have dared take it for granted that if he and Kennedy were sharing air space, they’d be together every possible moment.
Sam sipped something on the other end. Jason smiled faintly, waiting.
Sam asked thoughtfully, “You want to talk?”
Jason admitted, “Not really.”
“You want to listen?”
“Yeah. I want to listen to you talk dirty to me.” He was kidding, of course, but not entirely. No point pretending he wouldn’t like the relief and relaxation that came from sex. Any kind of sex. Sam was not much for dirty talk, especially over the airwaves, but it didn’t hurt to ask.
“I should be in the office by noon.”
“Okay. I’ll see you there at some point.”
“Yes, you will. So save the last dance for me.”
Jason grinned into the darkness. On the flickering television screen, David Niven had just managed the ultimate feat of magic by saving his marriage.
“Safe travels,” Jason said. He did not want to hang up. Did not want to sever this tenuous connection.
Sam answered, “Sweet dreams, West.”
“Hey, isn’t that Martinez?” J.J. asked.
They were having breakfast in a restaurant not far from the Holiday Inn while waiting for their complainant, a Dutch investigator specializing in stolen art. The plan was to compare notes before heading out to interview Bert Thompson. Thompson, who ran a dude ranch in the next county, was the nephew of the recently deceased Roy Thompson, prime suspect in the theft of priceless art treasures during the final days of World War II.
“Hm?” Jason looked up from his coffee mug. Another cup and he might feel almost human. Or at least awake. His sleepless nights were catching up to him—although last night there had been a bright side to the insomnia.
He followed J.J.’s gaze to the café’s hostess stand, where a man and woman dressed in that particular brand of budget-conscious business attire that proclaimed law-enforcement officers! waited to be seated.
Jason’s mind was mostly on the upcoming meet with Hans de Haan, their contact. He vaguely remembered being introduced to Special Agent Martinez at the Bozwin resident agency the previous afternoon. She was a petite woman, probably early thirties, with very short dark hair and big brown eyes. Certainly attractive, though not J.J.’s usual type. Typically, Jason’s partner went for statuesque blondes whose life ambition was a full page in Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.
“Is it?”
“Yeah.” J.J. slid out of the booth. “I’ll ask them to join us.”
He didn’t wait for Jason’s reply, leaving the table and going to greet the newcomers.
Jason mentally sighed. Technically, J.J. was still a first office agent. Not probationary, but still pretty green—although he’d had one hell of a first year, even excluding the time partnered with Jason. They’d been paired since February. Four long months. At first, Jason had been sure one of them was going to end the year in jail on homicide charges, but they had eventually settled into a functional and not unfriendly partnership. They were very different personality types, and J.J. believed his talents were wasted by his being shackled to the LA Field Office’s Art Crime Team agent—and Jason wholeheartedly agreed, though for different reasons.
He lifted a hand in greeting when the two agents looked over at the table.
J.J. ushered Martinez and her partner through the crowded dining room. Jason rose. Martinez, smelling of Vera Wang (which Jason’s sister Sophie wore) slid into the empty booth, her partner slid in beside her, and Jason waited so that J.J. could position himself across from his quarry.
The male agent, who introduced himself as SA Travis Petty, looked to Jason to be a bit younger than him, tall, blond, and muscular. He could have commanded his own SI layout.
“Good to meet you, West,” he said. And then, “You were with Sam Kennedy in Massachusetts.”
Jason studied him. “I was.”
Yes, Petty was very good-looking. Blue eyes, square jaw, boyish thatch of springy light hair. As a matter of fact, he looked like a 1950s poster boy for the manly-occupation-of-your-choice.
Petty’s smile was white and rueful. “What an opportunity. To work with Sam on his last case as a field agent.”
“It was a learning experience.”
Not BAU Chief Kennedy, but Sam Kennedy. In fact, just plain old Sam, which, given Sam’s general reputation in field offices and resident agencies, seemed to imply an unexpected social connection. Or, at the very least, an out of the ordinary interest in the legendary BAU Chief.
“I was part of the Deerlodge Destroyer task force he headed two years ago. It was really enlightening.”
“I bet,” Jason said.
The disturbing case Petty was referring to was why Sam happened to be in Montana at the same time as Jason. The capture of a serial killer who had been using the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest as his personal hunting ground had been one of Sam’s final field assignments and, being Sam, he was following it to its final conclusion, helping the local team finalize their court case. Delegation was not and had never been his default setting.
“You’re also Art Crime Team?” Martinez asked J.J. She had a pretty smile, but then tall, dark, and handsome Russell brought out the pretty smiles in women, young and old.
“God no.”
Jason said, “It’s more of a hostage situation in Russell’s case,” and the others—including Russell—laughed.
“He thinks he’s kidding,” Russell said.
“Yeah, no I don’t.”
Petty said, “I can tell you one thing, if there’s ever an opening on his team, I’m going for it.”
Jason smiled politely. Back to Sam, because no way was Petty talking about signing on with Jason or the ACT. It was doubtful he even registered on Petty’s consciousness beyond being someone who had spent significant time with Sam.
He glanced at Martinez, who was eyeing her partner with affectionate resignation.
J.J. said, “You know, you’re talking to Kennedy’s BFF.”
BFF could have meant exactly that—best buds—but Martinez’s instant, “Oh,” indicated she’d interpreted correctly. As did Petty, given his almost comical change of expression.
Jason directed a look at J.J., who said, “Hey, it’s the truth.”
Petty’s mouth curved, but that was as far as the smile went. “Lucky you,” he said.
Chapter One
Rain flicked against the apartment windows in random, off-beat splash and dissolve.
It was sort of soothing, and Jason had not had much sleep the night before, but he could not afford to drift off in the middle of a conference call with his boss.
“If the legendary West charm has failed to convince Ursula Martin to file charges against Fletcher-Durrand, maybe Uncle Sam should take a swing at her,” Karan Kapszukiewicz was saying.
Kapszukiewicz was chief of the Major Theft Unit of the Criminal Investigative Division. She oversaw the Art Crime Team agents from her Washington DC office, which was where she was calling Jason from. Jason was on his cell phone, lying on Sam’s sofa in Sam’s apartment in Stafford, Virginia. The apartment was not far from the training academy where Jason was attending routine in-service refresher training.
“Respectfully, I don’t think that’s the approach we want to take with Martin,” Jason replied. “I think there’s still a good chance she’ll ultimately come through for us, but not if we push her. Her situation is complicated.”
“Isn’t everybody’s?”
Jason waited politely.
Karan sighed. “I had a feeling you’d say that, so…okay. I’ll let you make the call. she’s your complainant. Or was.”
Jason winced. The collapse two months ago of charges against the Fletcher-Durrand art gallery was still painful. He had worked his ass off building a prosecutable case of fraud, grand larceny and forgery—only to have the rug yanked out from under him when his original complainants had agreed to settle out of court with the Durrands.
There had been a hell of a lot more to it than that, of course, but the bottom line was the US Attorney’s Office would not be filing charges against Fletcher-Durrand at this time. Especially since the Durrand most wanted by law enforcement and everyone else seemed to have vanished off the face of the planet.
Not that Jason was so naïve as to imagine hard work and determination alone ensured the successful prosecution of every case—luck always played a role, and his luck had definitely been out. At least as far as the Durrands were concerned. In other ways…
His gaze traveled to a large Granville Redmond painting of California poppies beneath stormy skies, hanging on the opposite wall.
In other ways, his luck had been very much in, which was how he came to be lying on BAU Chief Sam Kennedy’s sofa waiting for Sam to get home. Two months ago, he’d feared his relationship with Sam had run its blink-and-you-missed-it course, but against the odds, here he was.
“All right,” Karan said more briskly, her attention already moving on to bigger or more winnable cases. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
She was clearly about to ring off, but Jason being one of her protégés, Karan asked suddenly, “How’s training? You’re still at Quantico?”
“Yeah. I fly out tomorrow night. Training is…training.”
“Always,” Karan agreed gravely. “Okay. Have a good flight home.” She did hang up then. Her timing was perfect. Jason heard Sam’s key in the front door lock.
He clicked off his cell and rose as the front door swung open. The scent of April showers and faded, but still slightly jarring, aftershave wafted in.
“Hey.”
Sam was a big man and he filled the door frame. Instantly, the quiet, slightly dusty rooms felt alive again. Occupied. The stale, centrally heated air seemed to break apart as though before a gust of pure, cold oxygen.
“Hi.” Sam looked tired. He always looked tired these days. His short blond hair was wet and dark, the broad shoulders of his tan trench coat splattered with rain drops. He was not exactly handsome—high cheekbones, long nose—hard mouth—but all the pieces fit perfectly in a face that exuded strength, intelligence, and yes, a certain amount of ruthlessness. His blue eyes looked gray—but they warmed at the sight of Jason coming towards him. He dropped his briefcase and took Jason into his arms, kissing him with full and flattering attention.
Sam even tasted tired—too many cups of coffee, too many breath mints, too many conversations about violent death. Jason kissed him back with all his heart, trying to compensate with a sincere welcome home for what had probably been a shitty day.
Not that Sam found a day of murder, rape and abduction as depressing as Jason would. Sam wouldn’t be so very good at his job, if he did.
As always, the softness of Sam’s lips came as surprise. For a guy who was rumored to have a heart of stone, he sure knew his way around a kiss.
They parted lips reluctantly. Sam studied him. “Good day?”
“It is now.”
Sam smiled faintly, glancing around the room, noting Jason’s coffee cup and the files and photos scattered across the coffee table. “This looks industrious.” His pale brows drew together. “It’s hot as hell in here.”
Jason grimaced. “Sorry. I turned the heat up. I was freezing when I got in.”
Sam snorted, nodding at Jason’s jeans and red MOMA t-shirt. “You could always try putting on a sweatshirt. Or even a pair of socks.”
“True, I guess.”
Sam grinned. “You California boys.”
“Known a lot of us, have you?” Jason was rueful. At forty-six, Sam had twelve years and a whole hell of a lot of experience on him.
“Only one worth remembering.” Sam pulled him back in for another, though briefer, kiss.
Jason smiled beneath the pressure of Sam’s firm mouth.
When Sam let Jason go, he said, “Sorry I’m late. Any idea where you want to eat tonight?” He absently tugged at his tie, probably a good indicator of what he’d prefer. Jason too, for that matter.
“We don’t have to go out. Why don’t we eat in?”
Sam considered him. “You’ve only got another day here.”
“I didn’t come for the night life. Well.” Jason winked, but that was just in play. He suspected it was going to be a low-key night. Sam pushed himself too hard. There wasn’t any good reason for it because the world was never going to run out of homicidal maniacs. There was no finish line in this race. “Anyway, it’s not like I don’t get to eat out enough.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth tugged in acknowledgment. “Yeah. But you must’ve noticed there’s nothing to eat in this place.”
Jason shrugged. Sam’s fridge reflected the state of his own—the state of anyone whose job kept them on the road most of the time.
“I did notice. Not a problem. I’ll run out and pick us something up.”
Sam opened his mouth, presumably to object, and Jason said, “You look beat, Sam. Let me take care of dinner.”
“Why, thank you.” There was the faintest edge to Sam’s tone.
He didn’t like being reminded he wasn’t Superman. Jason had learned that over the past ten months. Sam worked hard and played—when he did play, which was rarely—harder. He had the energy and focus of guys half his age, but part of that was sheer willpower.
“You know what I mean.”
Sam grimaced. “I do, unfortunately.”
“So? You must have a favorite Chinese restaurant.” Jason was smiling because he didn’t take Sam’s flickers of irritation all that seriously—and because the first meal they’d shared had been Chinese food.
Ah, memories. They’d pretty much detested each other back then. Which had made the sexual tension that flared instantly between them all the more—and mutually—exasperating.
“Sure. But…”
Sam didn’t finish the thought. Weariness vying with his sense of obligation. Their relationship was such—the nature of their jobs was such—that there was not a lot of time for dating as most of the world understood it.
Jason got it. Anyone in law enforcement got it. But Sam still suffered these occasional bouts of guilt. Or whatever. Sam’s obsession with the job was always going to be a challenge to their relationship. Initially, Jason had figured it had to do with losing Ethan, but for all he knew, Sam had always been like this.
And maybe that single-minded drive had been an issue between Sam and Ethan too. Ethan had been Sam’s boyhood love. They’d grown up together, planned to spend their lives together, but Ethan had been murdered while they were still in college. That was about all Jason knew because Sam was not informative on the topic of Ethan.
“Take out and staying in is actually what I’d prefer,” Jason said.
“Yeah?” Sam scanned his face, then relaxed. “Well, if that’s the case. The China King restaurant on Hope Road is pretty good. Tell me what you want—”
“Nope. You tell me what you want. I’ve been sitting around here for a couple of hours. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”
Sam hesitated. “You sure you don’t mind?”
Jason half closed his eyes, consulting his memory of that first night in Kingsfield. “Hot and sour soup, shrimp with lobster sauce…what else? Steamed rice or fried?”
“Steamed. Good memory,”
“You need it in my line of work.” Jason wiggled his eyebrows, as though he was involved in some nefarious occupation and not just another cop with a fancy title. He hunted around for his shoes, locating them beneath the coffee table. His leather jacket was draped over the autumn colored accent chair in the corner of the room.
He was pretty sure Sam had taken this “apartment home” furnished, because the décor had a definite Overstock.com vibe. Comfortable, attractive, generic. Other than the four paintings by Granville Redmond that decorated his living room, office and bedroom walls, the place could have doubled as a very nice hotel suite.
“Hope Road, you said?” He checked his wallet.
“Go north on US-1. It’s less than a mile.” Sam was shrugging out of his raincoat, preparing to get comfortable, and Jason smiled inwardly.
“Got it. I’ll be back in a few.”
“West?”
Jason glanced back. “Mm?”
Sam grinned. “Don’t forget the fortune cookies.”
“Roger that.” Jason touched a finger to his temple in mock salute and stepped outside.
The Monuments Men Murders #4
Chapter One
Fear was tiring.
Anger was preferable.
They were both draining.
Not that he was afraid all the time—most days he was too busy to really think about whether he was in danger, but sometimes at night, yes. Less so when he was away from home sweet home, which was ironic.
For a minute or two Special Agent Jason West of the FBI’s Art Crime Team lay motionless, eyes probing the gloom of his Bozwin Montana hotel room, absently listening to—classifying—the nearby ice machine dumping its load, the gunning of a flooded engine in the parking lot, the clicking over of one luminous number in the clock on the nightstand.
3:43.
Make that 3:44.
He could always phone Sam. Even if by some chance Behavior Analysis Unit Chief Sam Kennedy was asleep, he’d take Jason’s call.
Most likely he was awake.
Though Sam was halfway across the country, the thought of him comforted Jason. He could picture Sam, the glow from his computer monitor highlighting his craggy, not-quite-handsome face. Broad shoulders and hard, taut muscles beneath one of those severely tailored white shirts. At this time of night it would be unbuttoned, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He’d be wearing the gold-wire glasses Jason found peculiarly sexy and that distant, meditative look as he read over the day’s bad news.
Tomorrow Sam would be in Montana.
Tomorrow they’d be together for the first time in three weeks. They’d met for a spontaneous (on Jason’s part) and very brief Memorial Day get-together. Before that it had been eight weeks since they’d been in the same room together.
Long-distance relationships were never easy, and this one had more challenges than most. Still, it was better than the alternative. They had come painfully close to the alternative too many times to take it lightly.
If Sam was asleep, he needed the rest, and Jason resisted the longing to hear his voice for a few minutes. He had already called him once this week. He didn’t want Sam thinking the strain was getting to him.
But yeah, of course the strain was getting to him.
Not during the day, not while he was working.
But Dr. Jeremy Kyser had the key to Jason’s dreams, and more evenings than not, he opened the door to Jason’s subconscious and strolled right in. Mostly, it was just a lurking sense of unease, worry. Jason spent a lot of dreamtime looking for Kyser’s lost case file or a missing-person report; it didn’t take a shrink to interpret any of that.
Other nights—like this one—Jason relived some version of his narrow escape from attempted abduction, and woke drenched in perspiration and gulping for air like a landed fish.
The details of the assault remained sketchy in his memory, so he was never sure which, if any, of his nightmares offered a true version of events. He just knew he woke scared and angry, and no end to it in sight.
He reached for the remote control on the bed stand and turned on the television. Late-night TV was his new best friend. There was some crazy old black and white movie on—something to do with a stage magician having marital problems—and Jason folded his arms more comfortably behind his head and settled in, prepared to occupy himself for a few sleepless hours.
The movie, Eternally Yours, reminded Jason of the last time he and Sam had worked together. Well, they had not really been working together. Jason had been recuperating from injuries sustained fighting off Kyser, and Sam had been determined to oversee the process.
Anyway, his memories of the stay with Sam’s mother were good, the movie was pleasantly goofy, and he was content with the way the case had turned out in Wyoming. By the time the Cheyenne Resident Agency had managed to get their search warrants, the magician community of Laramie County had pulled off their own Top Hat White Rabbit. And maybe that was the way it was supposed to go.
Sam did not agree with Jason’s thinking on that score, and it was a given he would not approve of what Jason was hoping to accomplish in Montana. Which was why Jason was planning to get this case wrapped up without ever having to ad—
His cell phone vibrated into life—and Jason vibrated with it. He was immediately aggravated with his jump. He swore, grabbed the phone, growled, “West.”
“Agent West,” Sam said smoothly. His voice was deep, softened around the edges by a hint of Western drawl. “Did I wake you?”
Somewhere along the line, “West,” used when they were on their own, had become kind of a pet name.
Jason relaxed into the pillows. “No. I was just thinking about you.”
“Ah.”
“You might have felt a tingle at the base of your spine.”
Sam’s laugh was quiet, intimate. “You’re in a playful mood.”
“I am, yeah. Looking forward to tomorrow night.”
“Me too.”
Jason closed his eyes for a moment, grateful. There had been a time he wouldn’t have dared take it for granted that if he and Kennedy were sharing air space, they’d be together every possible moment.
Sam sipped something on the other end. Jason smiled faintly, waiting.
Sam asked thoughtfully, “You want to talk?”
Jason admitted, “Not really.”
“You want to listen?”
“Yeah. I want to listen to you talk dirty to me.” He was kidding, of course, but not entirely. No point pretending he wouldn’t like the relief and relaxation that came from sex. Any kind of sex. Sam was not much for dirty talk, especially over the airwaves, but it didn’t hurt to ask.
“I should be in the office by noon.”
“Okay. I’ll see you there at some point.”
“Yes, you will. So save the last dance for me.”
Jason grinned into the darkness. On the flickering television screen, David Niven had just managed the ultimate feat of magic by saving his marriage.
“Safe travels,” Jason said. He did not want to hang up. Did not want to sever this tenuous connection.
Sam answered, “Sweet dreams, West.”
* * * * *
“Hey, isn’t that Martinez?” J.J. asked.
They were having breakfast in a restaurant not far from the Holiday Inn while waiting for their complainant, a Dutch investigator specializing in stolen art. The plan was to compare notes before heading out to interview Bert Thompson. Thompson, who ran a dude ranch in the next county, was the nephew of the recently deceased Roy Thompson, prime suspect in the theft of priceless art treasures during the final days of World War II.
“Hm?” Jason looked up from his coffee mug. Another cup and he might feel almost human. Or at least awake. His sleepless nights were catching up to him—although last night there had been a bright side to the insomnia.
He followed J.J.’s gaze to the café’s hostess stand, where a man and woman dressed in that particular brand of budget-conscious business attire that proclaimed law-enforcement officers! waited to be seated.
Jason’s mind was mostly on the upcoming meet with Hans de Haan, their contact. He vaguely remembered being introduced to Special Agent Martinez at the Bozwin resident agency the previous afternoon. She was a petite woman, probably early thirties, with very short dark hair and big brown eyes. Certainly attractive, though not J.J.’s usual type. Typically, Jason’s partner went for statuesque blondes whose life ambition was a full page in Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.
“Is it?”
“Yeah.” J.J. slid out of the booth. “I’ll ask them to join us.”
He didn’t wait for Jason’s reply, leaving the table and going to greet the newcomers.
Jason mentally sighed. Technically, J.J. was still a first office agent. Not probationary, but still pretty green—although he’d had one hell of a first year, even excluding the time partnered with Jason. They’d been paired since February. Four long months. At first, Jason had been sure one of them was going to end the year in jail on homicide charges, but they had eventually settled into a functional and not unfriendly partnership. They were very different personality types, and J.J. believed his talents were wasted by his being shackled to the LA Field Office’s Art Crime Team agent—and Jason wholeheartedly agreed, though for different reasons.
He lifted a hand in greeting when the two agents looked over at the table.
J.J. ushered Martinez and her partner through the crowded dining room. Jason rose. Martinez, smelling of Vera Wang (which Jason’s sister Sophie wore) slid into the empty booth, her partner slid in beside her, and Jason waited so that J.J. could position himself across from his quarry.
The male agent, who introduced himself as SA Travis Petty, looked to Jason to be a bit younger than him, tall, blond, and muscular. He could have commanded his own SI layout.
“Good to meet you, West,” he said. And then, “You were with Sam Kennedy in Massachusetts.”
Jason studied him. “I was.”
Yes, Petty was very good-looking. Blue eyes, square jaw, boyish thatch of springy light hair. As a matter of fact, he looked like a 1950s poster boy for the manly-occupation-of-your-choice.
Petty’s smile was white and rueful. “What an opportunity. To work with Sam on his last case as a field agent.”
“It was a learning experience.”
Not BAU Chief Kennedy, but Sam Kennedy. In fact, just plain old Sam, which, given Sam’s general reputation in field offices and resident agencies, seemed to imply an unexpected social connection. Or, at the very least, an out of the ordinary interest in the legendary BAU Chief.
“I was part of the Deerlodge Destroyer task force he headed two years ago. It was really enlightening.”
“I bet,” Jason said.
The disturbing case Petty was referring to was why Sam happened to be in Montana at the same time as Jason. The capture of a serial killer who had been using the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest as his personal hunting ground had been one of Sam’s final field assignments and, being Sam, he was following it to its final conclusion, helping the local team finalize their court case. Delegation was not and had never been his default setting.
“You’re also Art Crime Team?” Martinez asked J.J. She had a pretty smile, but then tall, dark, and handsome Russell brought out the pretty smiles in women, young and old.
“God no.”
Jason said, “It’s more of a hostage situation in Russell’s case,” and the others—including Russell—laughed.
“He thinks he’s kidding,” Russell said.
“Yeah, no I don’t.”
Petty said, “I can tell you one thing, if there’s ever an opening on his team, I’m going for it.”
Jason smiled politely. Back to Sam, because no way was Petty talking about signing on with Jason or the ACT. It was doubtful he even registered on Petty’s consciousness beyond being someone who had spent significant time with Sam.
He glanced at Martinez, who was eyeing her partner with affectionate resignation.
J.J. said, “You know, you’re talking to Kennedy’s BFF.”
BFF could have meant exactly that—best buds—but Martinez’s instant, “Oh,” indicated she’d interpreted correctly. As did Petty, given his almost comical change of expression.
Jason directed a look at J.J., who said, “Hey, it’s the truth.”
Petty’s mouth curved, but that was as far as the smile went. “Lucky you,” he said.
Author Bio:
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
SMASHWORDS / iTUNES / SHELFARI
EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net
The Magician Murders #3
The Monuments Men Murders #4
Series
AMAZON US / AMAZON UK / B&N
KOBO / iTUNES / AUDIBLE
iTUNES AUDIO / GOOGLE PLAY
SMASHWORDS / GOODREADS TBR
KOBO / iTUNES / AUDIBLE
iTUNES AUDIO / GOOGLE PLAY
SMASHWORDS / GOODREADS TBR
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