The Monet Murders (The Art of Murder, #2)

by Josh Lanyon

Unfortunately, you could not shoot someone for spying on you, or fleeing from you, or even appearing on the scene at the very moment you were getting dumped by your sort-of-boyfriend.

Nothing like the combo of rugged masculinity and top notch tailoring to weaken your resolve.

It was the dimple that undermined Jason’s resolve. Shipka looked hopeful and boyish and uncomplicated.

But casual dress or no, he looked like the guy in charge. Of everything. Everywhere.

Not that Jason wanted to make Kennedy jealous, but that response seemed to verge on clinical. Dōmo arigatō, Mr. Roboto.

Kennedy might be a lousy boyfriend, but he sure as hell was a loyal friend.

Kennedy said quietly, fiercely, “Because I can’t do my job the way I need to do it if I’m distracted by you.”

“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.”

And even after the last forty-five minutes of bitter reflection and self-recrimination, Jason’s foolish heart still jumped around in his chest like an eager puppy when his master walked in the door. It was maddening.

Kennedy shook his head as though he thought Jason was a nut, but what he said was, “You’re irreplaceable.”

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.”