by Mel Sterling
When two of the agents disappeared into Rare Books and came out with an armload, Lexie stood up. Jack noticed the fabric of her skirt vibrating and realized her entire body was trembling. He wasn't sure she could sustain this level of emotional upheaval much longer. She took three steps toward Agent Kastner and put her hands behind her back, where her fingers twisted tightly around each other.
"Please."
Jack saw her throat move as she swallowed.
Kastner turned to look fully at her. "You should sit down, Ms. Worth. I won't warn you again."
"The section you're searching now is full of very old books, many of them fragile, most of them rare, some of them quite valuable. Let me help you with them. I know how to handle them properly."
"Nice try," mocked Kastner. "Clever of you. However, we'll be careful." To the agents, he said, "Search these books particularly thoroughly, given Ms. Worth's very strong interest in them."
Lexie gestured to the room around her, hands shaking with emotion. "I see what you think 'being careful' means. There are books you've dropped, cracked and broken spines, bent pages, and even loose signatures. I distinctly heard paper tearing more than once. You may not care that you're destroying my inventory and livelihood, but I certainly do. My insurance company will." She took a few more strides to the closest pile of books and gathered up the topmost one.
"You agents who are doing the searching, I need you to look at me."
Jack's own eyes were riveted on her from behind. She was so prim, so fierce, and so damn hot like this. He knew he shouldn't be turned on in the face of what had the potential to become a real problem for Lexie, but he was.
"Ms. Worth—" Kastner interrupted. "Put that book down."
"You've already searched this book, and didn't find anything. Agents, look at me please." Jack was surprised when both agents paused at their work with the detector machine. Even the agent working with the laptop glanced up. Lexie continued. "There is no need to drop a book or bend its pages. The books you're searching now—"
"Sit down, Ms. Worth."
Lexie ignored Kastner, speaking over him and raising her voice. "—are old and fragile. Hold them like this as you gently fan the pages." She demonstrated, the book's spine cupped in her palm, careful not to let the book open very far. "Don't open these books flat—"
"Last chance, Ms. Worth." Kastner's hand drifted to the front edge of his jacket and slipped beneath. Jack saw the shadow of a handcuff case near the agent's fingers, and readied himself to intervene. He'd haul Lexie bodily back to her seat if need be, but he didn't think it would actually come to that. Kastner was a jerk, but Jack was betting it was just Kastner's method of intimidating witnesses and suspects. It might even succeed with a less determined woman than Lexie. Jack himself was immune to most types of personal manipulation. It took a natural disaster to impress him; blustering bureaucrats were just part of the scenery of the aftermath, promising results and delivering none.
Her pitch went higher as she rushed on, well aware of Kastner's steady, slow approach. "Above all don't grab them and dangle them by their covers to shake out the pages. You'll destroy them. You have a machine. Please use it, and not your hands. Just for these books. That's all I'm asking. The books in that aisle are irreplaceable. I can't just order fresh copies."
The agents looked at her, then at Kastner and Hazelton, who shrugged, rolling his eyes. Lexie scooted back to her chair seat and sat down. Jack noticed that the agents did use more care from that point on. One of them even shifted uncomfortably, as if ashamed that someone had noted his own unprofessional behavior. Good. He liked that they hadn't found anything. Lexie and the store were by no means out of the woods yet, but the more books the team scanned without finding anything, the less involved the store appeared.
He was thinking again about what sort of item could be stashed in a book, and why someone would bother to do that, since it seemed like an unnecessary complication, when he felt Lexie's fingers creeping over his hand. With a quick glance at her, he spread his fingers and interlaced them with hers. She was chilled and shaky. She made a swift motion with her other hand, wiping her eyes. Her hard, heated glare followed the agents systematically dismantling her business. Jack drew in a long slow breath. These people had upset Lexie, and he seethed inwardly. For now, his job was to comfort her and hopefully protect her, from her own actions if necessary. But part of him ached to land a punch on Agent Kastner's smirking jaw, and give Inspector Hazelton a bum's rush right out the front door on the way to a beautiful road rash courtesy of the sidewalk.
While Jack gave Hazelton a considering stare, the postal inspector stalked swiftly to the rear of the sales floor and back. He paused near the shelves that housed mostly paperbacks, glowered at them, and returned to the front, where he caught Agent Kastner by the elbow. The two held a whispered consultation, glancing back toward the last shelves. Hazelton's glower didn't fade.
Jack felt sure he knew what the muttering was about. The searchers had turned up nothing, and most of the books yet to be searched were paperbacks, not really capable of concealing a data chip or other small device. It almost certainly needed to be a hardback book, with thick boards or a spacious gap at the spine, or a protective clear cover over the dust jacket. All places something tiny could be concealed. Paperbacks lacked such hiding places. Anything much thicker than a paperclip would fall out of a paperback, or be noticed promptly.
Kastner had a short murmured conversation with the agent who had been working at the laptop. The agent shook his head, turning the computer so that Kastner could see the display.
Lexie squeezed Jack's hand. She bit the soft, tender flesh of her lower lip to hide an eager expression. "Nothing, do you think?" she whispered, so low that even though she was practically in his lap, he had to strain to hear her.
"Yep."
Kastner said something else, and the agent closed the lid of the laptop and packed it away in its case. The agent carried the laptop out the front door to the van. Upon his return, Hazelton motioned to him, and the two of them walked to the back of the store.
When Inspector Hazelton put his hand on the warehouse doorknob, Lexie pushed back her chair, stood, and freed herself from Jack's tugging grip. "Inspector Hazelton, gentlemen, please wait for me."
"You should sit down, Ms. Worth," Kastner said. As Jack rose, Kastner's eyes narrowed at him.
"I am going to observe the search of my warehouse, just as I have observed the search of my books." Lexie stood very straight and still. The shaking and trembling were gone. Jack was glad she'd gotten control of her emotions, but now she was putting herself in harm's way again by attracting their attention.
"Lexie—" Jack began.
She turned to him, blue eyes wide and serious. "I need you to stay out here and keep an eye on the rest of them."
Away toward the warehouse door she walked, head up, skirt swinging with her swift stride.
Kastner did not move a step to stop her, which Jack found very telling. Kastner didn't think they'd find anything, even in the back room. He was letting Hazelton drive this sinking boat now. Jack caught Kastner watching Lexie from behind, an appreciative and speculative expression on his face. Jack gave the agent a dirty look and sat down at his table, staring as the warehouse door closed behind Lexie and the two men. The female agent went on ferrying books back and forth, passing them over the detector unit, but he could tell she was going through the motions.
It was almost over. He didn't like Lexie being alone back there—if they started making a mess of her files, her need for order would flare up, boil over, or explode, and then they'd have a reason to arrest her for obstruction or worse. He prayed she would keep a grip on herself, and hoped they wouldn't be there for long. The noises of drawers opening and closing, things moving on shelves, cupboard doors clicking came quietly through the closed door. Jack glanced around the room, trying to keep an eye on the two searchers left out front, and saw Gilly standing at the closed French door into The
Cup. Her brows were drawn down in a scowl. When she caught Jack watching her, she mouthed, "What's going on?"
Jack shook his head, once and briefly.
"Police?" she mouthed.
He nodded. Gilly made a square-mouthed expression of anxious dread. Jack flicked his fingers at her in a shooing motion. Gilly gave an enormous "whatever" shrug and disappeared.
It was forty-five minutes before the warehouse door opened again. Lexie came out first, curls mussed as though she'd been running her hands through them the entire time. There were small dust-bunnies clinging to her skirt and top. She stalked straight to Jack and sat down without a word. Hazelton was next, his face thunderous; black-browed with fury. Behind him came the agent, who shrugged his shoulders at Kastner.
Lexie pulled her sheet of paper out of her skirt pocket and scratched a note for Jack to read. "Made a mess back there, too. Didn't find whatever it is. Hazelton's furious."
Melville chose that moment to bail off his cat tree, and saunter to the back.
"What the hell?" Hazelton muttered, watching as the tabby strolled right past him, oblivious to the man in the suit and tie staring at him.
Lexie gave a derisive laugh. "He's on his way to his litterbox. I noticed you didn't search that; would you like to go and watch Melville dig, in case he turns up something important?"
Kastner's gaze flicked to Lexie, then back to Hazelton. The postal inspector was sweaty and angry, Jack saw, but Kastner was losing patience and was probably ready for his much-delayed lunch. "What else?" asked the FBI agent.
"Your team checked the restroom?"
"Toilet tank, spare tissue roll, towel dispenser, cans of cleanser. Everything except the sink traps. Would you like us to—"
"Never mind." Hazelton turned to the other agents, who were standing around waiting for directions. "Pack up your equipment. Make your reports at the office. I want to see them by the time I'm back from lunch."
"What happens next?" Lexie got to her feet once more. Jack knew she felt more in control if she wasn't seated. She was small enough as it was.
Kastner and his team were already pushing their equipment carts out the front door. Hazelton picked up the twin copies of Remembrance of Things Past, stormed past Kastner and turned left on the sidewalk, vanishing.
Kastner looked around at the mess in something like satisfaction at a job well done. Then he tipped her an imaginary hat and said, "Now you can reopen. The copy of the warrant is yours to keep, with our compliments. The Federal Bureau of Investigation thanks you for your cooperation. We'll be in touch."
"Wait!" Lexie hurried after him as he pulled open the door. "Who's going to clean up this mess?"
Kastner said nothing. A moment later, he climbed into the van that was now idling at the curb, and slid the side door shut.
CHAPTER NINE
THEY WERE GONE, AFTER three of the longest hours of Lexie's life. Hot-faced and speechless with fury, Lexie slammed and locked the door behind them before turning around.
There were books everywhere.
The postal inspector and his team of search goons had left a wreck. Lexie stared at the damage—books on the floor, books with bent covers, books with torn pages, books crumpled and bent. New books, used books, even the books from the rare book aisle, though it was true the two agents searching there had taken more care after she objected so strenuously to their methods.
It was a disastrous insurance claim in the making, if insurance would even pay when there was the possibility of criminal activity. Every book would have to be examined before it could be shelved, and every book that was damaged had to be documented and set aside for the insurance adjuster to review. It was an overwhelming task. She thought despairingly of the spreadsheets and documentation she would need to create and manage, and fought back a sob.
There weren't even any curtains to draw over the store windows, to hide the mess and the shame. Any passer-by could see in and wonder what had happened, and Lexie had no doubt the morning paper would run a story. Already a few people from The Cup—staff and customers both—had peered in as the drama unfolded, despite the agent standing with folded arms outside the front door. Camden's Main Street already knew.
Even though she had watched every minute of the three hours the agents had trashed the place, saw or heard every book hit the floor, every movable bookcase grating across the floor as it was moved aside, to take it all in all at once stole her breath and the strength from her legs. She sagged to her knees.
"Lexie. Honey."
She hadn't forgotten Jack was there, and yet she had. He'd sat next to her all that time, holding her hand, or with an arm around her shoulders to keep her in her seat when the agents had made an especially egregious offense to the books.
She covered her face in her hands and bawled. It was his low voice, mirroring her heartbreak, that had tipped her from fury to grief. When he scooped her up from the floor like a doll and carried her into the back room, she buried her face in his neck and clung like a baby.
Jack kicked the door shut behind them. The mess was only a little less awful here, but at least she could weep out of view of the onlookers. He sat on Horace's hideous sofa and wrapped her tightly in his arms, her legs across his lap.
"It's all fixable," he said. "All of it."
Lexie wailed, wallowing in her misery. "It'll take days. We won't be able to be open, or sell books online, till we get this mess straightened out."
"Probably," he said.
Lexie wailed again.
"I'll help. Ben will help. A friend of mine's coming to town soon and he'll help, too."
"I don't know your friend." She snuffled hard and wished for an entire box of tissues.
"It doesn't matter. Gard's one of those guys you call when the shit hits the fan."
"I don't even know where to start!"
"We start by taking pictures. Pictures of everything. Tons of pictures. But first we call your insurance company."
"I knew that part."
"I know you did, baby."
"Don't laugh at me."
"Believe me, I'm not laughing. I've seen a lot of disasters in my life, tornadoes, floods, war zones. This isn't like that, but it's still no laughing matter. We'll get to the bottom of this. We'll fix it." His hand cupped the back of her head and lifted her face away from its hot, wet nest in the side of his neck. "Look at me, Lexie."
She did, raising a hand to scrub at her eyes and runny nose.
"We'll fix it," he repeated. "Say it."
Lexie screwed up her face to stem a fresh flood of tears. He sounded so certain. "Jack. Jack."
"Say it." When she met his gaze, he smiled, a very small, gentle smile.
"We'll fix it."
"Say it like you mean it, Alexia."
"Don't call me Alexia," she fussed. His smile broadened, and she knew he'd had the effect he wanted. She gave a huge snuffle and swung her legs off his lap. "I hate it when you call me that."
"Why is that, I wonder?" He had half risen, grinning, when she pushed at his chest and made him sit again.
"I'm going to get my cell phone and start taking pictures."
"Now I wish I had my camera from my disaster-chasing days, but it was never the same since that last wildfire got a little too close. I passed it on to the college for their techs to play with, and I haven't replaced it." He rose again. "So we'll use my tablet. It's got more storage than your phone, and we can dump all the images on a drive for your insurance agent. I'll start taking pictures; you make the phone calls."
Lexie blinked at him; every now and then Jack's offhand references to a much different life caught her attention, but right now she didn't have time to think about what he'd done before she knew him. His words confused her—disaster chasing days? Wildfire? She was too overwrought to think more about it. There was too much work to be done.
It was nearly nine o'clock at night by the time they finished taking photographs and meeting with Horace's—now Lexie's—insurance agent, who bro
ught an adjuster with her when Lexie called. The agent warned Lexie at the start that any settlement would depend on the outcome of the apparent criminal investigation. Though the Feds hadn't found anything in the store, both Lexie and the insurance agent knew this wasn't the end of the problem by any means. If the Feds could prove criminal activity had been taking place, insurance wouldn't even come into the equation. Lexie felt sick at heart. The store would not survive an inventory hit like this one if insurance did not mitigate the damages.
The adjuster had taken many more photos than Jack had, documenting specific books and piles of books in situ, taking closeups of damage. He worked in silence, moving through the wrack and ruin deftly. The agent and adjuster had left Lexie with a pile of forms to document the damaged items, and promised to email an electronic version by morning in case Lexie preferred that. The agent gave Lexie an awkward one-armed hug and mumbled something about how Horace would have hated to see his books treated so poorly. That made Lexie furious all over again, but she kept her rage locked down.
Somewhere in the long, awful evening, Gilly had knocked on the connecting door and brought in a plate of scones and mugs of hot chocolate. Then she stood awkwardly in the wreckage, wringing her hands, her fauxhawk quivering as she turned in a circle, staring. Jack had saved Lexie the trouble of having to be polite by thanking Gilly and ushering her back to The Cup. Lexie couldn't force down a single bite of scone, but she managed half a mug of cocoa.
When everyone but Jack had gone, Lexie stood at the cash register counter and began the nightly closing routine, ringing down the till, updating the bookkeeping software. The computer behaved normally, for which she was profoundly grateful. There were a few books to wrap for shipping on the table in the back room, but they could wait a day. She didn't want to take home another bag of packages only to find someone had picked the new locks at the house.
