A Man of Many Parts

Chapter 1 Jax stood next to the front door of the jewelry store, a gun in one hand, his gaze scanning the area. While two terrified employees watched, his accomplices were busy emptying trays of jewelry into the messenger bags they carried, secure in the knowledge that the store’s security had been disabled. Or so they thought. Jax had been responsible for taking care of it and he had—with the exception of the camera outside the store that scanned the recessed entryway, photographing anyone who went in or out. He’d left it running so that it would catch the faces of the two men he was working with. That he’d be on the video as well didn’t bother him in the least. The man he was at the moment looked nothing like what he did in reality. “Let’s move it,” Patterson said as he slung his bag over his shoulder before heading to the door. “Now!” Jax and Dan followed him outside, where the three men paused in the entryway to pull off their masks as quickly as they’d put them on before entering the store—and in Jax’s case, to holster his gun. Then, casually, they strolled down the sidewalk as if they were just another set of pedestrians returning to work after lunch. Behind them, they heard the jewelry store’s alarm shrieking, meaning the store’s manager had turned the security system back on as soon as they’d left. When they got to the corner of the block, they turned onto the side street, walking to the lot where they’d parked their car. Patterson grinned while unlocking the doors. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to us, Cal. Too bad we didn’t meet you a long time ago.” ‘Cal Morse’ was the name Jax was using—the man a mutual acquaintance thought he was when he’d introduced him to Patterson two weeks previously. The acquaintance had told Patterson that ‘Cal’ was an expert at disabling any type of security around—which he was—and that he was looking to hook up with someone who needed his particular skills. Patterson had jumped on the offer. “I agree,” Jax replied as they got into the car, Patterson in the driver’s seat, Dan next to him, and Jax in back. “We make a good team.” Jax bided his time, waiting until they’d driven to the outskirts of the city. Only then did he reveal the real reason he’d joined up with them. Pulling out his gun, he pressed the muzzle to the side of Patterson’s head. “Pull over,” he ordered. “What the hell?” “I mean it,” Jax told him. “Dan, put your hands behind your neck or I’ll shoot you both right now.” With obvious reluctance, the men did as they were told. When the car came to a stop on the side of the highway, Jax told Dan to hand him the messenger bags. “And don’t try anything stupid,” he added at the same time that he used the butt of his gun to knock Patterson out, shoving him so he landed against the door, not the steering wheel—and the horn. “You won’t get away with this,” Dan growled, picking up the bags from the floorboard to pass them over the seat to Jax. “We’ll find you and then you’ll be dead.” Jax smiled as he took the bags. “Good luck with that.” He opened the car door, slammed the butt of his gun against Dan’s temple, and was out of the car before the man’s head hit the dashboard. The spot he’d chosen was a large stand of trees, separated from the highway by a small area of dead grass. Casually, he walked to them, disappearing from sight of the cars on either side of the highway. When he exited, several minutes later, he no longer looked like the man they had known as ‘Cal’. It was an identity he would never use again. Or, to be more precise, it was a face and body he’d retire permanently. On the other hand, he didn’t look like himself, either. At this point he was a slim young man with blonde hair, wearing the same clothing as before, but now the hoodie swam on him and he had to tighten the belt of the jeans to keep them from falling off. The contents of the two messenger bags were crammed into the larger one, along with the second, now empty, one. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he hiked down the service road which paralleled the highway. After several miles he came to a convenience store. By then, it was beginning to get dark. He waited in the shadow of a nearby tree until he saw what he needed—a lone car left idling at the gas pump while the owner went inside to pay. He was in it and had taken off before anyone was the wiser. Fifteen minutes later, back in the city, he left it in a parking lot a block from the hotel where he was staying. It didn’t matter that he didn’t look like the man who had registered there. He had the key card for his room and no one thought anything of it when he crossed the lobby to the elevators and went up to the fifth floor. The first thing he did, after locking and bolting the door, was to put the messenger bag in the room safe. Then he stripped and went to take a shower. When he left the bathroom, he was three inches taller, much more muscular, and had light brown hair. In other words, he was the man who had checked into the hotel under the name Jonathan Malloy.