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took the canvas board from Hickok, who flicked on his flashlight to better illume the painted surface.
He had never paid attention to the bylines of those articles. Hadn’t kept his press clippings. He wasn’t in this for accolades or attaboys,
Nothing like the combo of rugged masculinity and top notch tailoring to weaken your resolve.
Kennedy might be a lousy boyfriend, but he sure as hell was a loyal friend.
They’d been talking softly, but Jason’s voice rose at that. “I never asked for your help! I didn’t—and don’t—need your help.” “But here I am.” Kennedy was acerbic. “Which is why it had to stop. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All the time. Wondering how you were, what you were doing, worrying if you were being careful, if you were still struggling.”
Kennedy shook his head as though he thought Jason was a nut, but what he said was, “You’re irreplaceable.”
I think you could still be effective in your job and have some kind of personal life. I don’t mean with me. I mean with whoever. Someone who would be willing to take you on your terms.” Kennedy eyed him for a long moment. He set his glass down. “The problem is, I don’t want whoever. I want you. All the time.”
“Just giving you a heads-up.” Hickok’s normally jovial tone was flat. “No word yet on where Doody might have disappeared to, but I just learned Shepherd Durrand left for Paris last night. One way ticket.”
Clue or red herring?
Rodney Berguan was not dressed for receiving visitors. He answered the door in a silky green paisley dressing gown, sagging white briefs, and tennis socks. Berguan looked Jason and Russell up and down, propped a freckled hand on his hip, and drawled, “Whatever church you’re selling, sign me up, boys. Hallelujah!”
