Nothing in Common, Except…
By Edward Kendrick
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2017 Edward Kendrick
ISBN 9781634864091
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
Nothing in Common, Except…
By Edward Kendrick
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 1
The bullet tore through his flank. Brax clenched his jaw, refusing to howl despite the pain. To do so would reveal his presence to the men hunting him. Carefully, he eased deeper into the thicket, praying the slight movement of the branches wouldn’t call attention to where he was.
Two more shots rang out. He heard them strike the underbrush a few yards away and figured they were shooting at anything in an attempt to flush him out. The sound of a breaking twig under the foot of one of the hunters let him know they were moving away. Slowly, too slowly—but they did leave the area. Soon their scent was dissipated by the slight breeze stirring the leaves in the trees surrounding him.
Finally, knowing it was safe, he turned his head to lick his wound, tasting blood. He knew he’d heal fairly quickly—with sleep—and debated remaining where he was or moving to a possibly safer place. Remaining won. He curled up, closed his eyes, and slept.
* * * *
Brax woke when sunshine pierced the thicket, dappling the ground around him. He listened, every sense alert for the presence of the humans. Nothing. Cautiously he eased out from under the low-hanging branches and stood, checking where he’d been shot. There was no evidence it had happened other than an almost invisible coating of blood on his black fur. He licked it off, walked a few feet to make certain that he could move without limping, then shifted and with a thought, clothed himself.
Now all I have to do is pray they think I made it away from here last night.
He didn’t know who they were. From what little he’d overheard when they first appeared the previous evening, they had been told that there was a black wolf in the area.
“I want his head stuffed on the wall in my study,” one of the men had said.
“That’d be one hell of a trophy,” the other man had replied. “The boss said he’s pure black, except for some gray on his muzzle.”
Brax had wondered who the ‘boss’ was that they were talking about. In all the time he’d been coming to this particular part of the preserve to run, he hadn’t seen or sensed any humans while he was around—until last tonight. Nor had he seen any other wolves. He’d caught the scent of some a time or two, although they hadn’t revealed themselves to him. But then Brax wouldn’t do that, either, until he knew if they would be friend or foe. He might be an Alpha, but that did not mean he wanted to get into a territorial dispute with another wolf, shifter or otherwise.
Now, he teleported back to where he’d left his car, landing in safe space where he wouldn’t be seen, then walking the few yards to where he’d parked.
* * * *
“You’re late, O’Hara,” Judd Markham, Brax’s partner in their private investigation agency, said, coming out of his office when Brax walked into the waiting room. “Busy night?”
“You could say that,” Brax replied. He knew Judd was pissed. He never used Brax’s last name unless he was upset with him. “Did I blow an appointment?”
“Yeah, but I covered for you.”
“Thanks.” Brax went into his office, starting his computer to check his email. “Mr. Pence needs me to take a look at his security system…again.”
Judd followed him, replying, “I know. He called, too. He’s expecting you in twenty minutes.”
“This is getting old,” Brax replied.
“Just do it,” Judd muttered.
“Aye, aye, captain.” Brax saluted, finally getting a smile from Judd, as small as it was.
The two of them had been partners in the agency since they’d received their degrees in criminal justice four years ago. Brax had returned to college after leaving his previous job as a security expert for a company on the east coast. He’d had a good reason for doing that—he wasn’t aging. All shifters faced that problem and had to move on and reinvent themselves from time to time. Brax had done so by going back to school, intending to start his own agency when he finished. He’d met Judd; they’d meshed and joined forces to open Markham and O’Hara Private Investigations.
Now, it was finally beginning to pay off.
In spite of their friendship—and they were friends even when Judd was in grumpy mode—the one thing Brax had never revealed to him was that he wasn’t quite human. It wasn’t that Brax didn’t trust him—or maybe it was. Judd was married and married men sometimes had problems keeping secrets from their wives, especially when they weren’t their own secrets.
The fact that shifters existed was something very few humans were aware of, which probably was best for all concerned. People being people, what was strange or different in their eyes too often caused them to hate, rather than accept, that not everyone fit their ‘ideal’—particularly in the current political climate. So, Brax kept his secrets to himself—both of them.
* * * *
“We need to find another place to meet,” Brax said as he appeared in Caleb Pence’s office. “We’ve used the excuse that your security system had a glitch one too many times. I think Judd’s beginning to wonder what’s going on.”
“That’s understandable. What you set up here is better than most banks’, including the counter-surveillance equipment. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be meeting here, and you know it. Still, you have a point. Maybe it’s time to consider your place, if you’d break down and install cameras and motion sensors.” Caleb shot Brax a sour look, getting a rather contrite smile in return. “Or mine, now that my divorce is final. If you can fit me into your schedule on Monday, I’ll hire you to set up security at my house and install a safe, since she’s not living there anymore.”
“I can. Why the hell you married a human to begin with?” Brax shook his head as he always did when Caleb mentioned his ex.
“Love. It’ll screw a guy up every time. Love got me into it. Her jealousy, when she began looking older than me, ended it.”
“At least you had sense enough no
t to tell her why.”
Caleb nodded. “It was never an option as far as I was concerned. Any more than it would be one for you, if you found someone. We don’t do that if we want to survive.”
“Speaking of surviving, someone was taking potshots at me last night.”
“How so? And where?” Caleb’s expression darkened with worry.
“I was out running. From what I overheard, they were told that there was a black wolf in the area and one of them had his heart set on hanging its, well, my head on his trophy wall.”
“I presume, since you’re here, they missed.”
“Nope. But they didn’t do any permanent damage.”
Caleb frowned. “You’re sure they were just hunters?”
“Sounded like, and they were human.” Brax shrugged. “Anyway, back to why I’m here.”
“To fix the security system?” Caleb chuckled when Brax raised his middle finger, and then went to his safe, returning with a folder that he handed to Brax. “A client wants you to pick this up for him.”
Brax studied the photo it contained before reading the information. “Nice piece. Not so nice location.”
“If it was easy, any common thief could get his hands on it.”
“Glad to know I’m not common.” Brax smirked. “Okay, let the client know it could take a week. If he doesn’t like it, he can go elsewhere.”
“He’ll deal.”
* * * *
“Tell me you finally figured out what’s wrong with Pence’s system,” Judd said when Brax returned to the office.
“I did. It’s fixed so he can’t mess it up again. I swear the man has no common sense when it comes to technical stuff. Something good came of it, though. He’s decided he wants the same sort of security on his house. I’ll be installing it Monday.”
“So he can fuck it up, too?” Judd rolled his eyes.
Brax laughed. “Let’s hope not.”
Judd took a deep breath and said, “I owe you an apology for bitching at you earlier.”
“No problem. I deserved it.”
Judd grinned. “True. At least tell me he was worth it.”
Laughing, Brax replied, “Enough that I didn’t want to leave his nice, warm bed.” I wish that was the truth. I wish I had someone whose bed I didn’t want to leave.
It had been a long time since that had happened. Two years and counting, by Brax’s estimation. Down and dirty sex? Yes. Even thinking about some sort of commitment? The last time he’d met a man he thought he could care about, the relationship had lasted two months before the guy decided Brax wasn’t what he’d been looking for after all. He’d walked away, leaving Brax questioning what had gone wrong this time.
When it came down to it, he had known. It was hard to have a relationship when he had so many secrets he was unwilling to reveal—starting with what he was, and what he did for Caleb. One too many excuses for why he couldn’t see his lover on a particular day or evening, with no explanation other than, “I spent the night following a client’s husband,” or “I was on a stakeout,” followed by, “You know I can’t talk about it. Client confidentiality,” didn’t sit well. Once too often and a lover began to wonder if Brax was two-timing them. Inevitably, they moved on, leaving Brax behind.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday. If you’re not planning on warming a bed—” Judd winked “—Jenna said you should come by for dinner. She’s making her world-famous pot roast.”
“I have no plans, so tell her I’d love to.”
“Bring your friend, if you want. The more the merrier.”
Brax harrumphed, lying through his teeth. “My friend was just a one-night stand, I’m afraid. Nice guy but…” He waggled his hand.
“Got it. Been there, done that, before I got married.”
After that, they got back to what they needed to do to keep the agency in business.
* * * *
Brax went home right after work Friday evening to do his research on the American Civil War Museum in Richmond. Caleb’s client wanted an item that was on exhibit there—a double-barreled revolver that had been given to General Beauregard by its maker, Jean LeMat. In the morning, he’d go to Richmond to case the museum in person. Getting there would take no time at all, considering what he was. Once he had the layout and had confirmed what the security was like—and he knew it would be top-of-the-line—he’d return there again after dinner at Judd’s to get Beauregard’s revolver.
The walk through the museum Saturday morning was so fascinating that Brax almost forgot why he was there in the first place. Almost. He came away knowing getting his hands on the revolver would be a walk in the park—for him. But then he did have one advantage over a regular thief. He could get where he needed to be with a thought, as long as he’d seen the spot.
The first thing he did, once he got done playing tourist, was to chat up one of the museum guards after telling the young man that he was the security expert for a large company—which he proved with ID he’d kept from when he had worked for them. Brax asked innocuous questions about the various types of protections on the glass-fronted cases that held many of the exhibits, and whether they were monitored in-house or by a hired security company. Although the young man, rightly so, said he wasn’t allowed to answer the questions, he did think about them. Being an Alpha wolf-shifter, Brax had mind reading abilities. Ergo, he was able to pick enough out the young man’s head to learn what he needed. It was all in knowing the right questions to ask while seeming curious and nothing more.
He returned home much the wiser about how to approach retrieving the revolver. Ergo, he was relaxed during dinner with Judd and Jenna, although, as always, he refrained from drinking the wine they served with the meal. Soon after meeting Judd the first time, Brax had explained that he grew up with two alcoholic parents, and had vowed that he would never give himself the chance to find out if he was one as well. The real reason was that alcohol could be toxic to canines, be they a house pet or a wild animal—or a shifter. Brax preferred living safe rather than taking the chance that he could be adversely affected. It had been drummed into his head from childhood by both of his, definitely not alcoholic, parents.
Brax left Judd’s home just after eleven. At eleven-thirty he was standing in the shadows of a building across from the Civil War Museum, dressed in black from head to toe, including a ski mask covering his head. A bag was slung over one shoulder, containing what he might need for the night’s job.
He brought up the memory of the case holding the revolver and with a thought he was standing in front of it. The only light in the gallery came from the various display cases, which were all two to three feet deep, imbedded into the gallery walls. Some were only a couple of feet tall. Thankfully, as far as Brax was concerned, the one he needed was a good five feet from its floor to the top—to accommodate the various items it contained, including a uniform and a long-rifle. There was just room enough inside for him, if he ducked down. He thought himself into it, used one of his tools to quickly remove the revolver from the display board, put it in his bag, and seconds later was standing outside the museum again. The whole operation had taken two minutes, if that. He was tempted to stick around, just to see how long it would be before the police arrived, since he knew he’d set off some motion detectors during his foray.
But he didn’t. He was back home soon after midnight, and on the phone to Caleb ten minutes later—after storing the revolver in his safe—to tell him, “Mission accomplished.” With that done, he went to bed, glad at the moment that he lived, and slept, alone, since it meant he didn’t have to come up with a lie to explain where he’d been.
* * * *
“What do we have?” Kyle Grayson asked John Tagert, the museum’s head of security.
He’d arrived less than ten minutes after the police, flashed a badge that proved he was a member of the Art Crime team, and had taken over the investigation. The fact that the officers presumed that meant he was FBI was neither here nor there, as far as he was concerne
d. As always, he wasn’t about to disabuse them of that idea.
“We have the impossible, Mr. Grayson,” Tagert replied dourly. “One missing historical revolver, with no explanation on how it disappeared.” He gestured toward the display case.
Kyle saw the empty space where the revolver should have been. “How do you get in there to change exhibits?”
“From the back. The problem is, the door wasn’t opened. Come on. I’ll show you.” Tagert led the way to the hallway behind the cases. “You need the proper code to access each case. Each code is different and when a door is opened, it’s recorded in the system. We have motion detectors for each case, and saturation ones on each hallway. We also have a CCTV system that monitors every area of the museum, day and night.”
“I take it none of the motion detectors went off, and nothing showed up on the monitors.”
“Wrong. The detectors did go off, but when the guards arrived, which only took a couple of minutes at best, no one was here, or anywhere close by.” Tagert shook his head. “No one could have gotten the door open, removed the revolver, and escaped in that timeframe, even if they had the access code. And, the system didn’t show that the door to this case had been opened.”
“Did anything show up on the CCTV monitors?” Kyle asked.
“Yes, but…”
“But?”
“Let’s go to the security office so you can see for yourself.”
When they got there, Tagert had one of the men bring up the video from the time of the robbery. “There. See?”
Kyle saw. One frame showed a figure dressed in black standing in front of the case. In the next one, he was inside it, removing the revolver from its display board. Then, he was gone. “Are you certain no one tampered with the video?” Kyle asked.
“There wouldn’t have been time to.”
“Even if there was an inside accomplice?”
“Well.” Tagert hesitated. “Possible, I suppose, but he’d have had only ten minutes at most to do it. Besides which, all of our people are thoroughly vetted before we hire them.”
Nothing In Common, Except ... Page 1