Chapter Four“Sure, you’re fine,” Kenneth Chamberlin said, putting his free weights down on the rack with a loud clank, while watching Jax lay into a punching bag.
Several women on the row of treadmills nearby glanced over, caught sight of Kenneth, and practically purred. Kenneth had that effect on women.
“Did I ask?” Jax had been whaling on the punching bag for forty-five minutes straight. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat, he was breathing hard, and there was pure murder in his eyes. He’d barely slept the night before; visions of the slim, muscular shifter had haunted his dreams. He’d never had a dream where he could smell anything before, but last night he chased her down a dark, narrow alley, again and again, her sweet scent filling his nostrils before she finally slipped from his grasp, dissolving into smoke as his fingers closed around her arm.
“If you don’t want to talk about it…”
“I don’t.” Jax turned away from the punching bag, reached into his gym bag and grabbed a bottle of water, which he downed in several quick gulps.
Kenneth shrugged, as Jax peeled the wraps off his hands and mopped at his face and hair with a towel.
“What’s her name?”
Ouch. Right to the gut.
“Since when have you known me to get worked up about a woman?” Jax muttered into the towel.
“Since never, which is why she must be something pretty special.”
Frustration swelled inside him.
“We’re done talking about this,” he gritted out. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m a moody sonofabitch, in case you haven’t noticed before. And right now I’m in one of my moods.”
“Well, I hope things work out with her,” Kenneth said, an undercurrent of amusement running through his voice. Nothing ever rattled him. “So what did you want to talk about? That case you’re working on?”
Jax glanced around the room of the elegant gym, one of the many businesses that Kenneth owned. Toned, beautiful socialites trotted on the treadmills or bent themselves into pretzel shapes on yoga mats. Handsome men with lean, carved muscles and blow-dried hair pushed against the Nautilus machines, admired themselves in the floor to ceiling mirrors, and casually scoped out the women. The gym was ironically named Candyland. Jax preferred dirty one-room gyms with names like Sam’s Place or Joe’s Neighborhood Gym, but he came because Kenneth had given him a free membership.
Jax answered in a lowered voice. “Yeah, sort of. It could be a political powder keg. I’m hoping it gets wrapped up quickly.”
“If you need any help with it…I do have resources.”
Jax managed a half-smile. Kenneth, a billionaire investor, had many resources. Sometimes Jax was one of those resources.
“So,” Kenneth continued, “no insult intended, but with a politically delicate case, how did they decide to assign you?”
“You mean, how did they decide to assign this to a temperamental, foul-mouthed, uncouth asshole like me?” He shot Kenneth a challenging stare. Kenneth smiled back, not in the least intimidated. He was a panther shifter, big and lethal. Jax had had issues with panther shifters in the past, but he had to grudgingly admit, Kenneth was a decent enough guy. Kenneth had hired him for a couple of side jobs, and had paid him well for them.
“Exactly,” Kenneth grinned. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
It was a fair question. Ever since Jax had left his second pack, and his job as sheriff’s lieutenant, behind, he’d been mostly freelancing for Hammersmith Security, a company owned by a group of humans, based a few hours north in Los Angeles. They usually assigned him to bodyguard or extraction jobs. Jobs that required muscle, guts, and no tact.
“That’s what I need to talk to you about. It involves Caged Heat.”
A startled look flashed across Kenneth’s chiseled features.
Caged Heat was the uber-exclusive BDSM club that Kenneth belonged to. As a favor to Jax, when Jax had managed to extract one of his men from a boat where he was being held by Somali kidnappers, he’d purchased a membership for Jax.
“Now that you mention it, I do recall that Judge Galbraith was a member,” Kenneth said in a low voice, glancing around the room.
“He’s not the only member who went crazy,” Jax said quietly. “I was going to suggest that you don’t go back to the club until we figure out if it’s just a coincidence. Right now we have no idea what the connection might be. Untraceable drug, some kind of new virus that’s somehow spreading among members…”
“Hmm.” Kenneth looked thoughtful. “I’m not generally one to shy away from danger…”
“I know you’re not, but we have no idea what we’re up against here. I’m going to be briefed at police headquarters tomorrow. Caged Heat won’t be open again for another couple of days anyway, and I’m going to be going there myself to do some snooping around.”
“It wouldn’t kill me to stay away for a bit, I suppose. If you need any help with the investigation, call me. If it turns out to be some kind of virus, this is a danger to all shifters – in more ways than one.”
Jax nodded. Humans were too quick to rally into mobs when it came to the shifter community, and overall, shifters only represented ten percent of the population. Although individually, shifters were many times stronger and faster than humans, they were also vastly outnumbered by them. Shifters constantly found themselves having to reassure humans that they were no threat to them; humans didn’t labor under the same burden.
“If I can figure out how to gain access to the manager’s office, I wouldn’t mind hacking into their computer,” Jax said. “That’s the only way we’d get access to their client list without a warrant, and we’re not ready to tip the club owners off to what we know, yet, in case any of them are involved. By the way, are you making any progress with that little problem of yours?”
Among Kenneth’s many interests was fine art. He was an art investor. Someone had broken into houses that he owned in Spain and in Italy, and stolen priceless art work from him. This was despite Kenneth having the best security system known to man or shifter…and oddly enough, the thief hadn’t bothered to steal other items that were not only more valuable, but that were easier to carry.
“Nothing yet. We’ll find him,” Kenneth shrugged.
“Or her,” Jax said, remember how easily Bobbi had turned the tables on him. “Bitter ex-girlfriend?”
Kenneth threw back his head and laughed. “You’ve met my ex-girlfriends.”
That was true enough. Kenneth tended to date the beautiful and the vacant, movie starlets, socialites, women who looked good on his arm.
“Tell you what,” Kenneth continued. “Meet me at my house tonight, say 7-ish, and I’ll have one of my computer surveillance experts meet us there. Tyler. He’s a new guy, and he’s very good. He’ll tell you how to get into their system.”
Jax nodded, and headed off to the showers.
Twenty minutes later, he was on his way to his favorite diner for breakfast, when his cell phone rang. It was his younger brother. He answered immediately.
“Colt? You in trouble?”
“Why do you always ask that?” Colt laughed at him, and Jax felt the tiniest bit of tension uncoil in his gut.
“Because you’re a total screw-up,” he said affectionately. “And kind of a dumbass. You’re not flunking out of school, are you?”
“Of course I am. Every class. Straight F’s. My professors say they’ve never seen anything like it.” He could practically hear his younger brother’s grin.
“You better be glad that’s not true, because I’d make your hide into a wolf-skin rug,” Jax growled. His brother, despite all the odds, despite their upbringing, despite the fact that he was a Mackenzie, was in medical school. The money from Jax’s dangerous but very lucrative assignments was funding it, although Jax made sure Colt never knew how dangerous those assignments were.
“Yeah, yeah. How are things with you? Listen, I heard about that case up in your neck of the woods, with the judge. They don’t think it
’s the Rab-X virus, do they?”
Rab-X was a highly contagious virus which affected all species of canine shifter. Wolf, coyote, hyena, jackal…it made them go mad, sending them on killing sprees before they died.
“I’ve heard of it,” Jax said. “According to the coroner’s report, there’s no sign of Rab-X.”
“A new virus, then? One they can’t detect? I know it’s just one case, but maybe…maybe you should think about leaving town for a little while. You could come visit me.”
It hadn’t just been one case…but thank God the public didn’t know that yet. The reaction to one apparently rabid shifter had been bad enough.
“Quit being such a baby. I don’t get sick, ever.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. All right. Just be careful, will you?”
“Man up, little brother. And send me a copy of your grades so I don’t have to come out there and tan your hide.”
He hung up and walked into the coffee shop, and as he did, he felt the tension start to ripple in his body again, right under the surface. He glanced around; was his stalker back? He didn’t see her anywhere, but that didn’t mean anything. She was apparently more resourceful than he’d realized, and this place was packed as usual. It was very popular with shifters, because the diner cooked meals to order for them, with vegetarian meals for vegetarian shifters like zebras, and near-raw meat for the carnivores.
Unsettled, he ordered his usual breakfast; half a dozen hamburger patties, lightly singed, a bowl of fruit, and a coffee. He settled down at the table and was about to dig in when his cell phone rang.
Grimacing, he answered it. It was his boss at Hammersmith Security, Reginald Ven Der Mere. Of all the people in the company they could have forced him to report to, they’d picked the worst possible match for Jax’s admittedly hot-tempered personality. Stupid fucking desk jockey, Jax thought, sitting in his swivel chair behind a big mahogany desk and constantly micro-managing Jax out in the field. The only reason Reginald even had a job at the company was because it was owned by his cousin. If Reginald ran into a stray cat he’d scream like a bitch, but he never failed to criticize Jax’s work.
“Jax? What is going on out there?” Reginald’s voice, aggrieved and irritable, was like a nails on a chalkboard. Jax forced himself not to answer with a snarl. I need this money, he reminded himself.
“Everything’s going great,” he said, trying to sound cheerful and friendly and not like he wanted to rip open Reginald’s throat with his claws.
“You never showed up at the police station yesterday to meet with your Enforcer liaison.” The National Enforcers’ Council had offered a substantial reward to Hammersmith for the swift resolution of what was being referred to as the Shifter Rage cases. Unfortunately, when the Enforcers had offered the reward to Hammersmith Security to assist them in solving the case, it had come with conditions. Jax would have to work under the direct supervision of a member of the Enforcers’ Council.
Reginald paused. “Did you just growl at me?” His voice went up a notch.
“What? No,” Jax bit out out. “It’s the static. Really bad reception in here. Gotta call you back!” He clicked his phone off with an angry stab of his thumb.
Damn it, this was ridiculous. What they didn’t understand was, Jax never worked with a partner, and if they wanted him to succeed in this investigation, the only smart thing to do was let him work it alone.
“You shouldn’t lie to your boss,” a low, amused drawl came from behind him.
Jax started in his seat. It was her, walking up to his table. His personal stalker. Today she was wearing black tailored pants, low-heeled flats, and a red blouse that set off her black hair perfectly. A quilted black purse with a gold chain for a strap hung on her shoulder. Gold leaf-shaped earrings dangled from her earlobes. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders in a glorious ebony waterfall, and her green eyes sparked with amusement.
“What the hell?” he spluttered, furious at her for sneaking up on him, and furious at himself for letting her.
She sat down at his table, looking over his plate of food, and grabbed a handful of raspberries. With a grin, she stuffed them in her mouth.
He stared at her in astonishment. She was insane. It figured. Of course she was a total lunatic. She was his fated mate; she’d have to be, wouldn’t she?
The morning’s frustration boiled up inside him, and he felt his ears start to go pointy as he struggled to retain his human form. “Stalking is illegal. Do you want me to arrest you?” he snarled, whipping the handcuffs out of his jacket pocket. Although he no longer worked for the sheriff’s office back in Florida, he was deputized in the state of California.
“Oh, I’ve heard you like handcuffs,” she drawled, grabbing another handful of berries as she held up her cell phone and pointed it at his face.
It was one of those huge smartphones. It had a video feature. And glaring at him from the screen was Reginald Ven Der Meek.
“Jax, if you do not cooperate fully with your liaison, you will no longer have a position at this company. Do you understand?”
The woman looked at him and smiled smugly. . “Roberta Jo Simpson. My friends call me Bobbi. You can call me RJ. Delighted to meet you.”
His stalker was RJ Simpson. His liaison. The universe continued to laugh at him.
Chapter Four
Jax swallowed hard, his anger swelling up inside him, raw and red.
He needed this job. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars was at stake. Enough to completely pay off his younger brother’s medical school.
And if he were fired from the security agency, he had to admit to himself, he didn’t have too many other options out there. Unfortunately, Jax was too blunt and outspoken to make many friends.
Kenneth would throw him the occasional freelance gig, but he couldn’t count on Kenneth’s employees to get kidnapped in remote ports of call often enough to provide him with a steady paycheck. “I understand,” he bit out the words. Bobbi Jo hung up and put the phone back in her pocket.
“Our next stop is the police department, where they will be holding their briefing,” she said calmly.
“Why were you following me?”
“Because I wanted to see if you were any good. I wanted to see how you operate.”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
He’d show her how he operated, all right.
Because he’d just had an idea. He was going to make her an offer she’d have to refuse, one which would get her off his back. Oh, it would appear innocent enough. It would look as if he was cooperating. It would look as if he was ensuring that his liaison was included in every single god damned aspect of this operation.
But there was no way she’d agree to what he was proposing.
“What are you so happy about?” she asked suspiciously as he settled back in his seat, a wolfish grin spreading across his face.
“Nothing,” he said, shoving his plate of nearly raw hamburger patties, across the table at her. “Have one.”
Looking at him skeptically, she speared one of the patties with a fork and was about to take a bite when somebody slapped it out of her hand and knocked it back onto the plate. She let out a growl and her eyes blazed amber as she and Jax both turned to see a skinny, pretty goth girl with purple hair and a pierced lip.
“What the hell?” Bobbi snapped at the purple-haired girl. “How did you find me, and why are you slapping my food off my fork?”
“Are you crazy? That’s raw! You’ll get food poisoning!” the girl said indignantly, pulling up a chair and plopping her skinny butt down. “So…what case are we working on?”
“Jax, meet Pixie. And watch your wallet. Number one, Pixie, you are not included in this. Number two, shifters don’t get food poisoning. We always eat our meat raw or nearly raw. Number three. How in the hell?”
“I followed you to the police station yesterday,” Pixie said proudly. “Then I followed you back to your hotel. Then I followed you from your hotel this mo
rning. I wanted to see if you were legit, or if you were working some kind of scam. Like luring me into white slavery by pretending to be my friend. Well, I’m half Puerto Rican, I’m pretty sure, if my mom was telling the truth about who my real dad was. Luring me into half Puerto Rican slavery.”
“If you think this is me pretending to be your friend, you need a better class of friends.”
“You got that right,” Pixie said, helping herself to a handful of raspberries from Jax’s bowl.
Jax glanced from Bobbi to Pixie with astonishment. Bobbi flashed him a cheeky grin.
“I am surrounded by crazy women,” he said.
“Yes, you are. Tread carefully,” Bobbi said, and turned back to Pixie. “How much did you overhear? I’m trying to decide if I have to kill you. And no, you are not working on a case with us.”
“There is no us,” Jax growled.
“I could be your informant,” Pixie said, looking hurt. “I know every kind of dirtbag in the warehouse district, from drug dealers to pimps.”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be an informant?”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot, I’m much safer picking pockets and turning tricks.”
“God damn it.” Bobbi buried her face in her hands. “I do not need this now.”
“This could be my new career,” Pixie said hopefully. “Police informant.”
Bobbi leaned back in her chair with a sigh, and when she did the fabric of her shirt stretched across her breasts, which were the perfect size. Not too big, not too small. Nice and round. Jax tore his gaze away, focusing on her face instead. On her beautiful, full lips, lips that he wanted wrapped around his…
Nope. That wasn’t working either. He stared over her left shoulder, disgusted with himself for his lack of self-control.
“Okay,” Bobbi said to her odd Goth friend. “Listen up, and listen good. If you want to work with me, the first thing that you have to do is give me the name of your useless, scumbag pimp so I can go back to the warehouse district and take him out.”
“What’s it worth to you?” Pixie leaned forward and held out her hand.
The Alpha Meets His Match Page 3