Having no answers, and unwilling to ask Noel, Jax left the building. Susan was standing in the yard, still on the phone. She gave him a finger wave, so he waved back.
Talk about opposites. She’s very friendly. Noel’s not at all. I hope he does better with the people he tries to entice into adopting one of the dogs.
With that thought, he returned to the house.
* * * *
“I don’t trust that man,” Noel said when Susan came back inside.
“Good grief. Why not? He seems harmless enough. Did he say something that set you off?”
“He’s nosy. He was trying to find out if you’re available. I set him straight on that.” Not quite the truth and Noel knew it. Jackson hadn’t really suggested he might be interested in Susan. “Then he wanted to know if I was married because I said I didn’t need you protecting me from predatory women. Like that’s any of his business.”
Susan smirked. “Did you let him know in your case I’d be more worried about some man coming on to you?”
“As if. If I had, he’d probably treat me like dirt…if he even came back down here again.”
“But you’d like him to. To come back to the shelter, I mean.”
“No!”
“Noel…”
“I wouldn’t. There’s something strange about him, beyond his being nosy. I don’t know what. I can’t put a finger on it, but there is.”
“Your sixth sense kicking in?” she asked.
“Perhaps? It’s told me things before, like the time that guy wanted to adopt a couple of the smaller dogs? I knew in my gut he wasn’t looking for pets and it turned out I was right.”
“Thank God. If you’d have let him…” She shuddered. “At least the cops found out about what he was doing, so you were right not to let him have them. They’d have ended up as bait to train his fighting dogs.”
Noel nodded. “So maybe I’m not off base about Jackson?”
“Or…” She gave him a knowing look. “You’re attracted to him and afraid to admit it? He is damned good looking.”
“Like that matters…and I’m not. He’s not my type, even if he was gay, which he’s not.”
She snickered. “Your sixth sense told you?”
“You are so asking for it,” Noel grumbled. “Go…” He flicked his fingers. “Feed the dogs or something while I take Argyle, Max, and Andre for their walks.”
Laughing, she went to do what he’d said while he leashed the three dogs and left the shelter. As he walked, he tried to figure out what it was about Jackson that bothered him so much. I’m not attracted to him. I’m not. Even if I was, and he was gay, it wouldn’t matter. He’ll be gone as soon as he finishes what he’s doing for Donovan. No, there’s something odd about him. I wonder…What if there’s more to his being here than repairing some of Donovan’s books. What if he plans on stealing a couple of the priceless ones? Being a book restorer would be a hell of a front. It would get him into people’s houses so he could see what they have and what the security’s like. He chuckled. “I read too many mysteries. Still, what if?”
Chapter 5
Donovan returned from the city Wednesday evening as promised. Jax heard him coming down the stairs to workroom and turned to greet him.
“All three books are finished. I haven’t looked at the rest of your collection to see what else needs some repairing.”
“Put that on hold for a while,” Donovan replied, setting a badly battered leather-bound book on the worktable. “What do you think?”
“That if you paid more than twenty dollars for that you need your head examined?”
“Look again.”
Jax opened it and whistled softly. Despite the disrepair to the cover, the atlas itself appeared to be in pristine condition—and over a hundred and fifty years old from the date on the copyright page. He slowly paged through it, checking for any damages, missing pages, or the possibility that one or more of the pages might be forgeries, inserted to replace a page someone had cut out for whatever reason. That happened too often with atlases, when an owner wanted to frame one of the maps for display.
“From my first look, I’d say you have another worthy addition to your collection,” Jax said. “I presume it came with the proper provenance papers to authenticate its previous ownership.”
“Of course, or I wouldn’t have bought it. The man who brought it in said he inherited it from his grandfather. I gave him a fair price for it, considering the condition of the cover.”
“An honest book collector.” Jax chuckled. “Do you want me to try to restore the cover? I’m not certain that’s possible.”
“If it isn’t, then create a new one. I know that will lower the book’s value, but not to me.”
“I can do that. I’ll have to do some shopping to find right leather, and go home to get more equipment, including my book press.”
“All right. How much is this going to cost me?”
“Not as much as you paid for the book,” Jax replied with a grin. He told Donovan the cost for re-covering the atlas, which Donovan accepted without blinking an eye. “All right. I’ll start on this tomorrow. If I decide to give it a new cover, and I probably will, I’ll be gone for at least a couple of days.”
“I wouldn’t object to you taking it with you, if you wish, so you can do the work in your own place, at your own pace.”
Jax considered, and rejected, that idea, telling Donovan, “I’m enjoying being here, without the stress of what you might call big city life. Bringing back what I need will only require one carrying case.”
“It’s your choice.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do.”
* * * *
After careful consideration, Jax decided replacing the cover was the better option. Repairing the original would be painstaking—if it were even possible, which he doubted. With that decided, he went looking for Donovan to let him know, and ran into Walton who told him that he thought Donovan had gone to the shelter.
As he walked down there, he used his phone to make plane and rental car reservations and call the man who, in his opinion, carried the best leathers for book covers. They made an appointment for nine the following morning. He was concentrating on what he was doing, and so was unaware that Noel was on the path with Sherlock until the younger man called out angrily, “Watch where you’re going.”
“Sorry,” Jax replied, reining in his desire to tell Noel he didn’t appreciate his tone of voice.
Noel stepped to the edge of the path to let Jax pass, nodding briefly when Jax asked if Donovan was at the shelter.
Noel, you need to lighten up. I’m not the enemy, which is how you’re treating me. As he had the previous day, Jax wondered why Noel obviously didn’t like him. He almost asked Susan, when he saw her in the yard with a couple of the dogs, then decided it didn’t matter. It’s not as if I have to work or live with him, wherever he calls home.
He found Donovan inside the shelter with a woman who had one of the dogs on a leash. “I thought I’d lost him for good,” she was saying. “I don’t know how he got so far from home.”
“He’s a lab,” Donovan replied. “They’re natural wanderers. Did one of your kids leave the gate open?”
She rolled her eyes. “Not that they admit to, but they have before. Laddie’s always come home, though, until last month.”
“I suggest you get him chipped, and for heaven’s sake always keep his collar with his tags on him, not just when you walk him. If he’d had one or the other, or both, we’d have called you the minute we found him.”
“I will. Does your vet do chipping?”
“Yes.” Donovan went into the office, returning with a business card. “She’s not far from here and she’s very good.”
The woman thanked him and left through the door to the parking lot with the dog right at her heels.
“Another happy…customer I guess,” Jax said.
“We’re all happy. Finding a dog’s owner, when it’s obvious the dog�
�s been well cared for, it the best reward as far as I’m concerned.”
“I’m sure. I wanted to let you know I decided there’s no way to successfully repair the atlas cover so I’m going to give it a new one. It shouldn’t take me more than two days to get everything I need. My flight to visit my leather supplier leaves at 2:20.”
“All right. We’ll see you when you get back, hopefully without any new additions to the shelter.”
Jax chuckled. “I’m not planning on rescuing strays while I’m gone.”
“Okay, that came out wrong. I meant by us.” Donovan looked past Jax, saying, “Laddie’s owner picked him up.”
“I hope you read her, or him, the riot act,” Noel replied sourly.
“No. I did what you do, nicely suggested she chip and collar him. And what’s got you in such a bad mood all of a sudden?”
“Nothing,” Noel told him tightly, walking past them into the office.
“Probably me,” Jax said after the door closed. “He doesn’t seem to like my being around.”
“Strange. He’s usually very friendly to everyone. I’ll have a talk with him.”
“No, don’t bother. I’ll stay away from here. It’s not like there’s any reason for me visiting the shelter unless I’m looking for you. I can always wait until you’re back at the house. Right now, I’d better get moving or I’ll miss my flight. I’ll call to let you know exactly when I’ll return.”
For a moment it looked as if Donovan wanted to pursue what he apparently thought was a problem. He didn’t, however, merely telling Jax to have a good trip. Jax hoped that would be the end of it. He meant what he’d said. From now until his job was over he would play keep-away from the shelter.
* * * *
Jax checked into the hotel where he’d be spending Wednesday night, but not as Jax Martel or Jackson Martin. He used the same ID, and face, he had when he flew to and from visiting Donovan.
After unpacking, he headed out to one of his favorite restaurants in the city for dinner. When he finished, he returned to the hotel, planning on going straight to bed despite the fact he wasn’t really tired. He debated heading to a club instead, but decided he wasn’t in the mood. Before undressing, he stepped out onto the balcony and crossed to the railing, resting his hands on it to look out over the lights of the city.
He saw movement on the roof of the building directly across from him an instant before a bullet hit the wall behind him. “Fucking A,” he spat out. Dropping to the ground, he crawled to the door, pushed it open, and slithered inside. Another bullet hit the edge of the doorframe; a third put a hole in the glass when he closed the door, imbedding itself in the side of the dresser.
Staying low, he crossed the room and hit the light switch, throwing the room into darkness. Only then did he stand, easing back to peer out the balcony window. He figured whoever had been shooting at him was gone by now. He would have been if it had been him. If they were still up there, they were keeping a low profile.
“So who’s after my hide this time, and more to the point, how did they find out I was staying here since I’m not ‘me’ at the moment?” He hadn’t planned on becoming Jackson Martin again until the following morning when he went to see his supplier.
They were questions he needed answers for, but not right then. First he had to pack and get the hell out of the hotel, find another place, and lay low until morning. Leaving the lights off, working with what came in through the window, he got his bag, set it on the bed, and quickly filled it with his clothes and personal items. Then he got what he’d stored in the room safe—cash and IDs which went into a hidden pocket in the bag, and his pistol in its holster, which he hooked onto his waistband in the small of his back. Closing the bag, he slid his laptop into the front pouch, and did a thorough check to make certain he hadn’t forgotten anything.
Hoisting the bag over his shoulder, he left the room, taking the emergency stairs down to the ground floor. By then it was close to ten P.M. He debated checking out and decided it wasn’t necessary. They’ll know I’m gone when the maid goes in to clean the room in the morning. He smiled dryly. The info they have on file will be void by the time they try to bill me for the damages the shooter caused.
He walked down the hallway to the service door at the end, opening it a bare inch to check the parking lot. Seeing nothing that pinged his radar, he stepped outside, moving quickly away from the light over the door into the darkness next to the wall. Another check, this one more thorough, told him it was safe to move on. He crossed to his rental car, unlocked the door, tossed his bag on the passenger seat, and drove out of the lot.
Fifteen minutes later he’d checked into a sleazy motel on the other side of the city, having changed his identity again to match another of the IDs he had with him. He sprawled on the bed, wearing only a T-shirt and his boxers, and thought about the questions he’d asked himself after the shooting.
He was very certain he knew who had shot at him. It had to be his mortal enemy, Keegan. None of the crooks he’d double-crossed had any idea the man he’d been when he worked with them wasn’t exactly who he had seemed to be.
There were two possibilities on how Keegan might have found him, and they both had to do with his Jax Martel persona.
“There’s no reason Fairchild would have told anyone I was coming out here.” Fairchild being the man he got his leather from. “Besides, I only let him know this morning.”
He knew it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that Keegan might have found out that he, Jax, was also Jackson Martin, and that he ran a business restoring books. It was something Jax had done in the past and Keegan knew it. He’d almost managed to kill Jax soon after he’d learned about his new profession, only failing because he’d been cocky and had approached Jax openly, figuring he’d be so frightened he wouldn’t react until it was too late.
If the shooter was Keegan, and Jax was almost certain it had to be, he knew he would have searched for anyone who might supply Jackson Martin with what he needed to carry out his business, from tools to leather to what was needed to repair damaged book pages, and etcetera.
“That should keep him busy,” he murmured wryly.
It didn’t make sense, however. “If he knows Jackson Martin and Jax Martel are one and the same, then he’d have to know where I live. He could have come after me anytime in the last five years. Unless…” He nodded. “Maybe he just found out. Even so, and if Fairchild is the leak, there’s no way Keegan would know the man he shot at tonight was me. Or would he?”
He frowned deeply, not liking where his thoughts were going, but it was the only explanation.
“Perhaps he discovered I’m working for Donovan. I suppose any competent hacker, and he might be after all these years, could get into my email. If he did, and found the letter from Donovan…Found it, went out there, and followed me when I left the estate. For him that would be easy enough, no matter what I looked like. But, again, why wait until now to try to eliminate me?” Jax gave that question the consideration it deserved and came up with an answer that worked for him. “Maybe that wasn’t what he was trying to do. Cat and mouse, Keegan? Will you be waiting for me at Fairchild’s shop and take some more potshots at me there, and at my condo when I get home? Has age made you more sadistic and into playing games instead of attacking outright?”
Knowing his enemy, he thought that was very possible. Not that it would keep him from completing his work for Donovan. As of this evening, it had become a point of honor to do exactly that while avoiding Keegan’s attempts to frighten him to death—before finally killing him for real. That will not happen, Keegan. If it’s you or me, I will come out the winner. I’m tired of running scared.
* * * *
Jax slept fitfully, waking when early morning sunlight came through the window and hit his face. After a hot shower, followed by a cold one, he felt as if he could face the day.
He left the motel looking the same as when he’d checked in and stayed that way as he drove to Fair
child’s shop. When he was two blocks away, he parked the rental car, got out, and with his bag over his shoulder, entered a small breakfast restaurant. After eating and paying for his meal, he went into the restroom and one of the stalls. Ten minutes later he exited—as Jackson—and walked out the restaurant’s rear door. Although he looked like himself, he wasn’t stupid. He wore a light jacket with the hood pulled up to hide his hair and shadow his face. Even so, he was cautious as he went down the alley, crossed the street, and entered the one behind Fairchild’s shop. There was no sign that Keegan was around, either on the ground or the rooftops above him, but then there wouldn’t be. The man was well versed in how to stay hidden.
When he got to Fairchild’s doorway, he phoned to let him know he was there. Moments later, the door opened and Jax stepped inside.
“I didn’t expect you for another half-hour,” Fairchild said.
Jax nodded. “I know you’re not open, yet, which is why I came to the back door. I hope that’s all right.”
“Of course. Come, tell me what you’re looking for and we’ll see if I can help.”
It took a while, but Jax eventually found what he needed. After paying Fairchild a substantial amount for the leather, the man rolled it up and put it in a carrying tube so that it wouldn’t get creased.
“If you don’t mind,” Jax said, “I’ll leave by the back door. I’m parked at the end of the alley.”
Fairchild let him out and Jax heard the locks snick shut. He didn’t move until he’d thoroughly checked the alley in both directions and saw no one, not even the ubiquitous homeless persons. Which didn’t mean a damned thing and he knew it. Keeping his hand at the back of his waist so he could draw his gun quickly if he had to, he went to the far end of the alley, away from where he’d left the rental car. He had no intention of returning to it—or returning it, as far as that went.
When he got to the sidewalk he rolled his shoulders to ease their tension, and started down the street toward the cabstand in front of a hotel two blocks away. He heard the pop just before chips of pavement flew up beside him. Swearing, he jumped into a store’s entryway, pushed open the door and went inside. Any other time, he might have been amused that it catered to women looking for sexy underwear. At the moment all he noted was a hallway at the back. Hoping there was at least one restroom, or storeroom, off it, he walked swiftly in that direction. His luck, if he could call it that, held.
A Man of Many Parts Page 5