by Mel Sterling
The Cup was more chaotic than usual. Jack threaded through the tables to the bar, looking for Gilly, but the barista on duty was a young woman he'd seen working there before, but didn't know. His eyes sought the clock over the door; Gilly should be on shift by now.
That sick feeling in his gut turned into a knot.
Trying to keep it casual, he got in line at the register and ordered a triple tall latte, extra hot, plenty of foam. "Where's Gilly this morning?"
"Out. She asked if I'd cover her shift. She'll be in later. What's your name?" The girl held a black marker poised over the twelve-ounce paper cup, where a mystical sigil already noted his order.
"Jack. How much later?"
The girl gave him a stony-eyed stare, clearly protecting her co-worker from an over-eager geezer. "Like I said, later." Her eyes went over his shoulder to the next person in line, a student in a hurry to down the morning dose and head for classes. Jack shuffled to the side and waited.
When the barista set his triple-shot latte on the bar for him, he tried again. "I'm a friend of Gilly's. It's important that I talk to her right away. Maybe you've got a phone number for her that you could give me?"
"If you're such a friend, she'd've given you her phone number herself. No way."
"Did she sound okay when she called in? She didn't sound sick, did she?"
"Look, I don't want to be a jerk about this, but you gotta understand where we're coming from. Guys hit on us all day long. You think we haven't heard it already? Not going to happen." She turned away. "Next! How are you this morning? What can I start for you?"
Jack did the unthinkable. He reached across the bar and put his hand on the girl's wrist. "I'm serious. It's really, really important."
"Oh, man. That's it. I'm 86ing you. You've got to go now, and don't come back. I'm serious. Don't make me call the cops. Just take no for an answer, like a good boy."
"Yeah," said a jock at a table, rising to loom a little.
Jack lifted both his hands, knowing he'd crossed the line. "I'm going. I'm just concerned. My name is Jack Tucker. Just—please—tell Gilly I need to talk to her. It's really important. She can get hold of me at the bookstore—" but then he remembered that no, Gilly couldn't. He closed his eyes, defeated. "Never mind."
He was halfway down the block before he realized he'd left the latte sitting on the bar. White knight: zero, under-caffeinated, and fading fast. He had to get control of himself. Had to channel John T. Jarvis, the man who kept his cool even when a mob turned ugly or the flaming top of a tree speared down like a missile. Jack Tucker's words just weren't working for him anymore. Maybe John T. Jarvis's would.
Not really sure what his next move should be, Jack squared up his shoulders, ran a hand over his unshaven chin and through his tossed hair. He caught sight of his reflection in the hardware store's display window. He was wild-eyed and exhausted. No wonder the barista hadn't warmed up to him—he looked like a hobo. He crossed the street to the town square, heading for the bench where he could sit and have a good view of both The Cup and Horace's Books while he thought.
He arrived there just in time to see Lexie open the door to Gard, who stood outside with a drink carrier—not from The Cup—in his hands.
Jack sat down hard on the bench. It would be just like Gard to cut to the chase and take the problem to Lexie herself, but all Jack could do was wait and believe that his friend wasn't trying to undermine him. He couldn't shake the feeling that matters were coming to a head like an evil boil. At least if Gard was there, someone Jack trusted could keep an eye on Lexie.
Meanwhile, he had to make a plan. He couldn't keep charging around Camden hoping to blunder into something helpful. What would John T. Jarvis do?
He'd dig, that's what he'd do.
Jack fished his tablet out of his satchel and scrolled through his personal contacts until he located Cyril's telephone number. Sometimes courtesy networking with the locals had its pluses.
Wonder of wonders on this day full of dead ends and detours, Cyril answered his phone on the third ring.
Even better, Cyril had Gilly's telephone number, and while he wasn't willing to share it without her permission, he was willing to take Jack's telephone number and call her himself to pass along Jack's message to call.
After that, there was nothing to do except wait, and stare at the front windows of Horace's Books. Gard still sat at the table up front. Lexie was nowhere to be seen, but at least she hadn't thrown Gard out.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IN THE MORNING, LEXIE'S eyes were bleary and hot from lack of sleep. Everything seemed twice as difficult as it should. Even pushing back the blankets was a chore. The first thing she did was look out her attic bedroom window. The car Jack and Gard had been spying from was gone, and so was Jack.
She wondered how long it had been before he gave up last night. Her stomach twisted. She felt hungry and sick with dread at the same time. She couldn't face breakfast or coffee, and she wouldn't be visiting The Cup later for a pastry or a latte, not until things with Gilly were resolved. She and Ben had tea bags and an electric kettle in the back room, and she'd pack a snack in case she felt like eating later. Only by moving steadily from one tiny task to the next would she get through the hours.
Today, she and Ben would finish putting the store back together. Today, there'd be no stolen kisses from Jack, or Georgia boy wisdom and wisecracks from Gard. Today, she'd contact the agents and give them her very short list of suspects and why she thought they should investigate Q and Gilly.
And Jack. Jack's name—or, rather, John T. Jarvis's name—had to be on that list as well.
The thought made her hands cold and her insides shake. She didn't want to put Jack's name on the list, but she felt she had to. The agents might think she'd concealed Jack's—Jarvis's—identity when they searched the bookstore. She'd let them think he was an employee. At the time she hadn't known his pen name, but now that she did, she'd have to come clean. Now her stomach knotted even more ferociously, sick at the idea of telling Inspector Hazelton she had reason to think Jack was possibly the bookstore connection. At the very least, Jack might be an internet muckraker with inside info looking for an angle on a hot, breaking story. She wasn't even sure she could avoid mentioning their intimate connection.
The idea of betraying the man who had made such spectacular love to her when she needed it most made her breath hitch in her throat. Hot tears welled. Before they could spill, she gathered up her underthings and hurried downstairs to the shower. She wouldn't start the day with tear stains on her face. She was tougher than that.
Ben was in the store already when she arrived with Melville skittering fluff-tailed ahead of her. The day was bright and the sky a high, clear blue. It wasn't time for Ben's shift, but he was hard at work in Nonfiction, grouping and shelving, then alphabetizing small sections at a time. "I'm off the clock," he said, when she held up his unpunched time-card.
Protestations would be foolish. Ben knew as well as she did how much overtime the business could and could not afford. "Thank you," she said, simply, and got to work herself after starting the electric kettle in the back room.
It was almost like meditation, the mechanics of organizing the shelves. She deliberately chose the science fiction bookcases to give herself a little time to think and prepare for the call she needed to make before too much longer. The alphabetizing was simple, there was no need to categorize first. All those folks who shopped the section and complained that the high fantasy shouldn't be mixed in with the space opera—well, they'd just have to tolerate elves on the spaceships a while longer. Now wasn't the time to weed through every back cover blurb to figure out what should go where.
"Gard's here," Ben said a while later. "Want me to let him in?"
Lexie poked her head out of the aisle, her hands full of John Ringo and Robin Hobb paperbacks. "No," she said, just as Gard lifted a muscled fist and rapped on the glass with a knuckle.
"No…?" Ben slid a glance to where the
man stood, wearing a track shoe on his artificial leg, and jeans instead of trousers with a cut-off pant leg. "He brought coffee."
"If you want coffee, The Cup's right there. I won't stop you."
"No, but you sure won't forgive me, either. He's brought drinks from that place over on MacArthur Street. I guess he got the memo about Gilly."
"Nothing's for sure about Gilly, Ben. I just…some things have happened that make me wonder, is all, and I'd rather not muddy the facts by patronizing The Cup just now. If you want to, it's fine, I don't mind."
Ben sighed as Gard knocked again. Gard stared right at her. He had three cups in the cardboard carrier in his hand. "Want me to tell Gard to go away, then?"
Lexie took a deep breath and set the books down. "No. I'll talk to him."
"Where's Jack this morning, anyway?"
"I don't know." She fought to keep her voice neutral. Ben's brows drew down in his trademark "thinking hard about this" expression, but he said nothing. She squared her shoulders, checked to be sure her skirt wasn't rucked after kneeling beside the shelves, and walked to the door.
"Mornin', ma'am," Gard said. She could almost see the crisp salute he was holding back. "I'd like a word, if you don't mind. I brought a peace offering."
She looked out the door behind him, scanning for Jack or the car.
"JT's busy," Gard supplied before she could ask. "It's just me."
"And you want a word with me?"
"If it's not too much trouble."
She sighed and stepped back. If Gard was anything like Jack, he was undoubtedly capable of waiting until he wore her down. She let him walk past her to Jack's table, then she locked the door again. She liked the man, she honestly did. But things were suddenly so complicated, she couldn't let down her defenses, not to anyone. Least of all to the man who seemed to be Jack's best friend.
"Mind if I take this to Ben?" Gard actually waited for her nod of approval. When he returned, he pulled out a chair and gestured for her to be seated. Then, with the innate skill of a Southern boy who had been raised right, he pushed the chair forward so it met the backs of her knees at the perfect distance from the table. He served her one of the two remaining cups. "I got a hot chocolate for you. I got a smoothie with a vitamin boost for me. I'm a growing boy." His grin was anything but tentative. "I'll trade if you'd rather have the spinach and protein blend."
"What were you doing outside my house last night, Gard?"
He rocked back in his seat, surprised, and the grin vanished. "You sure don't pull your punches. Well, all right. Since that is what I came to talk to you about." He tipped up his cup and a glutinous slide of green oozed toward his mouth.
She took a sip of her own drink and found the hot chocolate smooth and warm, sweet with cherry and lush with whipped cream. It made her empty stomach clamor for real food, and she thought of the omelet Jack had promised her but never quite managed to make the night she first took him to bed. She squared her shoulders again.
"I don't know who to trust right now, Gard. Is it you? Jack? Gilly? If you were there last night, then you saw what I saw. Two people outside my house, both of whom had opportunity if not motive, to take books from this store and return them with stolen data inside them."
"That little Mohawked gal and that poet boy."
Ben came silently out of the aisles and stood very still where he was out of Gard's view. Lexie tried not to give him away to Gard, but she wanted him to hear as well.
"Yes. Gilly and that poet boy. I know him as Q, but I think his name is Quint. I don't know his last name. I'm not really sure why they were playing out their drama on the sidewalk near my house, but I think I can guess. What I don't know is why you and Jack were there, sitting in a car where you could watch everything that happened."
"JT thinks you're in danger. I was there for tactical support."
"You mean you were spying on me."
He squared his shoulders. Taking it like a man, she thought.
"No ma'am. We were watching to make sure no one messed with you."
"Jack sent you here to plead his case, didn't he? He's angry I sent him away yesterday, but he knows if he comes here himself I'll just lock the door on him."
"He didn't send me. He's not angry. He's confused. He doesn't understand why you sent him away. I don't either, ma'am."
"If you ma'am me one more time, Gardner Dawson, I'm going to throw this drink in your face. I don't care about the mess."
He bowed his head, but she saw his smile despite his efforts. "JT just wants to help. He'd never do anything to hurt you."
"He kept his real identity from me all these weeks. I've had the country's foremost freelance journalist sitting in my store gathering information for his latest book. He's about to drag me, this store, and probably even this town through the mud, and he wonders why I'm angry?"
Ben stepped forward and spoke. Gard's head snapped around in awareness. "I think he—I think we all—thought you knew who he was. I started to talk with you about his work ages ago, but then the store got busy and it got away from me. I figured he didn't want to make a big deal about it, that's why he introduced himself as Tucker instead of Jarvis. Even a celebrity deserves privacy, right? Besides, he and Horace got along so well. I knew Jack wouldn't do anything to betray their friendship."
"You knew? All this time, you knew, and you didn't tell me? You weren't even concerned what a story like the kind Jack—Mr. Jarvis—produces could do to Horace's Books?"
Gard spread his hands on the table. "I think, if you'll just let JT explain, you'll see it's not like that."
Lexie shook her head. "I got a glimpse of what he's writing. He's laying this all in the bookstore's lap. Give me one good reason why I should let a snake back in the house now that I've shut it out."
Gard was silent for a long moment. He leaned back in his chair as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard, then leaned forward again. When he spoke, his voice was low and quiet. "How about three? Because JT's not a snake, because I would trust him with my life—hell, I have trusted him with my life—and because he's damn stupid in love with you."
I love you, Lexie. Love you.
"He was in your unit. I get that bond between soldiers."
"More than that. Our Humvee got hit by an IED. JT's the one who got a tourniquet around my leg and stayed with me till the medic came. I'm alive because of him."
Suddenly all Jack's faraway, bleak looks made sense, as did the flailing nightmare he'd awakened her with the first time they slept together. Her palms flattened on the tabletop, one either side of her hot chocolate. She drew a long, slow breath. Before she could speak, Gard continued.
"Too much to think about, I know, on top of everything else you've got going on in your life. Here's one more thing to chuck in the hopper. JT's made sure this new leg of mine was more than just a broomstick with a shoe at the end."
Gard extended his leg and pulled up the cuff of his jeans so she could see the gleam of metal between shoe top and pants leg. He stared at her until she met his gaze at last, then he said one final thing. "He doesn't need me to defend him. But he hides his light under a bushel basket when it comes to the little things that mean so much. If he was writing about you, it's because he wants to help. It's what he lives for."
It was on the tip of Lexie's tongue to shout, "Don't tell me what to feel!" when she realized she was already feeling exactly what he wanted her to feel. Her face flushed hotly. Gard wasn't manipulating her, he was just pouring gasoline on the fire already burning in her heart.
She pushed away from the table and went to the back room, closing the door softly behind her. Then she fished in her bag for Inspector Hazelton's card, and made the call using the extension in the back room. She told him all she suspected about Gilly, about Q. Then, her heart thudding, she told him Jack Tucker was also known as John T. Jarvis.
Gilly didn't telephone Jack as he was expecting. Instead, she walked to within a dozen paces of him and stood, half turned away as i
f to run, and said stiffly, "What do you want to talk to me about? Because I have to say, Jack, my week has turned to something worse than cold black coffee on an empty stomach."
"I might know a little something about how you feel." He heard the caution in his own tone.
"Yeah, well. You're probably not looking at jail time."
Jack cocked his head. As far as he knew, Lexie hadn't spoken to Gilly, but somehow Gilly was already on the page with him. "I don't know. Depending on how far this reaches, I might be considered an accomplice."
That broke Gilly's ice a little. Her eyes narrowed and she took two steps closer. "Cyril said you wanted to talk to me about books. Special titles. So how about you talk, and I stay over here."
"How much do you know about what's happened at Horace's Books the past few days?"
"I know they were searched. The cops want something they think is in that store." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I like you, Jack. But I can't afford to be splashed all over the internet like one of the people you interview about disasters or war. So if you're recording, I'm gone. If you're not, you'd better tell me why I'm here, and you'd better do it fast. I'm too exposed in the middle of the town square."
"Is somebody after you, Gilly? Because if they are, let's go to the cops."
"Aren't you listening? I might be looking at jail time."
"I'm listening. I promise I'm not recording."
"So talk." Gilly moved to a brick planter a few feet away and perched on its edge in the relative concealment of a sculpted boxwood shrub.
"Lexie and Ben—and maybe even me, since the Feds think I work at the bookstore—might be in trouble for using the US mail to smuggle stolen financial data in books. The reason I wanted to talk to you is because most of those books are ones you borrowed from the store." He held up a hand. "Hear me out. I don't think you knew about it."