Page 111 of Shrapnel

“Nothing.” It was automatic. Too fast. Noah caught onto it and his grin deepened.

Truthfully, therewasn’tanything going on with Jamie. They might have been…something. A relationship that wasn’t entirely animosity. But that was it. They slept togetherone time,and Jamie had this annoying habit of knowing things about him. It was hardly salacious. If Jackson felt anything toward the mouthy asshole, it was trepidation. He couldn’t trust someone who knew so much. And he definitely couldn’t trust someone who could get under his skin like that.

And now there was this geek. Coming at Jackson with his tiny fists raised. Who even did that? Jackson might have found it funny if it wasn’t so infuriating. This kid assumed that Jackson was hurting Jamie. The opposite was true. He was the one who pestered Jackson into sex. He was the one who kept showing up in Jackson’s life.

He didn’t even particularly like rough sex. Jamie asked for it. Jackson even felt a little bad about it.

Maybe if he was more comfortable with any emotion besides rage, he could admit that Jamie was the first person who scraped past the surface. Who laughed in the face of Jackson’s scowl and looked a little deeper. Maybe they could have had something. Not a relationship. Jackson didn’t do that.

He scrubbed at his face roughly. The fact that he was thinking this kind of thing meant he had spent too much time with humanity. He would rather chew batteries than think about things like Jamie’s nipple piercing, or the way his dark hair curled at his temples.

He needed to get the fuck out of this country.

Noah pushed himself up, pulling his phone from his pocket. He thumbed through some screens before finally squinting.

“Owen sent some stuff,” he told Jackson. “I’m going to call him.”

“Oh, please do,” he groused. “Give you someone else to yammer at.”

Noah ignored him and Jackson grabbed the two guys he had knocked out by the back of their belts, dragging them toward the front door. Where the hell was Harvey? Wasn’t he supposed to be babysitting this kid?

When he got back Owen’s voice was coming out of the speaker.

“…I contacted this social worker who had a relationship with Mateo. She’s a bigFortnightfan. She said he’s got a bit of a sweet tooth.”

Jackson rolled his eyes.We knew that.

“And, she said he suddenly started showing up to their appointments in new clothes. Designer brands. Things foster kids don’t have. He confided in her that he had some sort of benefactor. A mentor who was going to support him. She never found out much about him, but Mateo was clearly getting something from him.”

Noah met Jackson’s eyes. “Must have been Luther.”

“That’s what I figured,” Owen answered with a long sigh. “Which might explain why he took the…uh…promotion so poorly.”

That tracked. For people like them, those who lived on the wrong side of the law, everything was in extremes. There was no grey. There was just loyalty. If Mateo felt like Luther gave him something, he would repay him with his life.

“The question is,” Jackson grunted, refusing to speak into the phone like some sort of dumbass. “Where he ran into Luther.”

Owen was silent for a moment. “Didn’t know you were there…” he mumbled, the phone shifting. “Um. I can’t answer that. Nothing in either of their files to indicate it. I did speak to some of Mateo’s professors—he was charismatic, but shallow. People were drawn to him but once they got to know him, they didn’t want anything to do with him. Smart but unable to form attachments or maintain interpersonal relationships.”

“Perfect for Luther to manipulate.”

“Right,” Owen answered quickly. “He was arrested once or twice. Petty theft and one drunken brawl, simple misdemeanors. He made bail and then skipped town.”

Jackson perked up. “Who posted the bail?”

“Not Luther.” Papers rustled and he could hear frantic key tapping. “For the three arrests it was two different shell corporations paying cash. I can’t trace the money, but I looked into the corporations. Flimsy covers at best. I did get a name.”

“My uncle,” Noah mumbled grimly.

“No, I didn’t find any traces back to Luther or White Sand Mesa. Not that it means anything…” Owen sounded like he was shrugging. “The name was Dominic Renard.”

Jackson and Noah exchanged another look. “I haven’t heard that name.”

“Yeah, well, it’s probably bullshit. The arrests are old, and the corporations haven’t been used for anything since. I’ll look into the name some more.”

Noah slid off the arm of the couch, moving quickly towards his room. Jackson knew he needed his emotional support murder board. The guy couldn’t go ten minutes without looking at it.

“Thanks, Owen,” Noah said as he hung up the phone. “We need to go through all our existing data to see if that name appears anywhere. We might have missed it or dismissed it as unimportant. But if he’s a player he might not cover his tracks as well as—”