“Hey,” he called in greeting.
“Hey,” Sam returned. He took the chair in front of the fireplace, dwarfing the fragile arms and spindly legs. He was too big for the chair, for this room with its pseudo Queen Anne furniture—button tufts, wingbacks, and scallop-edges—the mirrors and throw rugs. The décor both here and in the main house was more formal than Jason would have expected, but really, his expectations just exposed his own biases. What had he imagined was Ruby’s style? Wagon-wheel tables and deer-antler chandeliers?
“Did I wake you?” Sam regarded him with that all-too-discerning gaze.
“No, no.” A yawn caught him off-guard. He admitted, “Maybe.”
Sam smiled faintly. “Sleep is exactly what you need. How did your meeting with Dreyfus go?”
“She’s a probie for sure. Very disappointed to be stuck pursuing lost art works instead of chasing bank robbers with all the other kids.”
“An FBI agent’s life is full of disappointments,” sa
id the guy with a practically unbroken string of successes to his name.
“I want to do this, though. I want to help her recover this art collection because these pieces are largely irreplaceable.”
“And you love magic.” The corner of Sam’s mouth was tugging toward a smile he seemed determined to suppress.
“Well, I used to. Magic is about uncertainty and possibility, and when you’re an adolescent, uncertainty and possibility kind of defines you. So yes, I loved magic. But also, yes, these works are of historical and cultural significance, and they deserve to be protected and preserved. But because they’re ‘magic posters’”—Jason made air quotes— “there’s a good chance they’ll fall into the hands of people who won’t recognize the value of what they’ve got.”
Sam said, “You don’t have to justify your interest to me. The minute I heard about this case, I knew you’d want to be involved.” He seemed to consider his words. “I like that you care so much. I admire your dedication.”
They had touched on this before, briefly.
Jason said, “I’m not catching killers. Usually. But I think what I do matters.”
Sam said seriously, “No question.”
It felt like a weight lifted. Why did Sam’s praise mean so much to him? Jason had not been conscious of any defensiveness with Sam about what he did. But yeah, maybe. Maybe he did deep down in some unacknowledged corner of his psyche fear that Sam still viewed him as a pretty dilettante. Because certainly at the beginning of their acquaintanceship that was how Sam had regarded him.
Nearly getting nabbed while getting takeout hadn’t done wonders for his self-esteem either.
Sam was still watching him in that thoughtful, assessing way. He said, “I have some news.”
Jason automatically sat straighter, bracing himself. “Okay.”
“From everything we’ve been able to find out so far, Dr. Jeremy Kyser has been in Canada for the past four days, attending a conference on forensic psychology.”
Jason digested that slowly. “Is that for sure?”
“It looks that way on paper.”
“What does that mean?”
Sam made a sound that was closer to a growl than a laugh. “It means, he booked the conference and the plane flight months before you were scheduled to return to Quantico for training. It means someone flew to Toronto and attended that conference under his name.”
“Someone.”
“I’m not convinced either way. I’d like to see some event photos featuring everyone’s favorite mad scientist and amateur artist.”
“That doesn’t seem likely.”
“Jonnie’s on her way to Canada now.”
“The conference must be over.”
“Yes. The conference is over, but Kyser is currently MIA. So Jonnie’s going to meet with the organizers in an attempt to verify whether he was ever there or not.”