Part I—Declined

"SO WHAT do you think?" Ellery asked quietly as the door closed behind their next potential client.

Jackson shook off the soul-deep chill that had been left near his heart after the interview. Eric Christiansen—probably not his real name—had been handsome in a pale-eyed, blond way, clean-cut, pleasant, cordial, empathetic, and soft-spoken.

The interview had started off well enough—the man had been helpfulness itself.

"Here's the numbers of all the people who saw me giving a speech when my business partner was killed," he'd said, producing a folder that Ellery had passed to Jackson without a word. "That also outlines the nature of our contracting business, the various contracts we've signed, and the jobs we've carried out—everything there will prove that Mike Chesney and I were completely square at the time of his death. There were no disputes, no owed money, no philosophical disagreements."

"No motive," Ellery said dryly.

Christiansen shrugged. "As long as the police see it that way, our association will be very brief." His smile then was so charming it made Jackson's blood run cold.

"We'll need to discuss it and do some digging of our own," Ellery said. He gave a nod toward the chaos Jackson was aware loomed outside the office. "As you can see, our preholiday work has been somewhat… unusual."

From the other side of Ellery's impressive oak door came the sound of kittens mewling, coupled with the frantic scratching of tiny claws on cardboard.

For the first time there was a chink in Christiansen's armor. "I, uhm, did notice," he said, sounding disconcerted. "What the… erm, may I inquire about all of our furry little friends?"

Jackson arched an amused eyebrow but let Ellery field this one. The more invisible he was to Mr. Christiansen right now, the better.

"One of our clients," Ellery said. "He was charged with taking kittens from a kitten mill. In the course of the, erm, investigation, it was determined that the mill was not run legally, and the kittens were scheduled to be euthanized. Our staff, uhm…."

"Disagreed with that assessment," Jackson supplied, taking pity on him.

Ellery nodded. "So they are in the process of, uhm, relocating the company's stock."

Christiansen cocked his head. "To where?" he asked.

Jackson and Ellery exchanged glances. "Since the shelters are all full," Ellery grossly understated, "that remains to be seen."

"Oh." Christiansen held up his hand and appeared to have a quick, quiet conversation with himself. "Well, I can see you're busy—and with such a worthy cause," he said, rising gracefully. He wore a slick business suit, and his dark blond hair was coiffed perfectly back from his stunning ice-blue eyes. "I'll take my file back, and if my concerns remain after the holidays, I'll come visit you again."

Ellery had his mouth open, probably to protest, but Jackson held out the file to Christiansen, pretending he hadn't rifled through it for most of the pertinent information.

"Allow me to walk you out," he said mildly, and Mr. Christiansen inclined his head but refused the file.

"That's kind—but on second thoughts, you keep it."

Jackson glanced at Ellery over his shoulder and tried to give him some eyeball semaphore to "Stay away from this guy, he'll gut you with a stapler," or, "This is a very bad man, and he'll never touch you again," but Ellery just scowled at him for helping a client get away. Oh well. If Jackson made it back into the office with his head and all his internal organs intact, he'd be able to tell Ellery about their near miss on their way to the cabin in Tahoe, which was their Christmas present to each other this year.

Well, and Jackson had gotten Ellery some very sturdy wooden picture frames with pictures of the cats who had broken all of Ellery's not-so-sturdy mantelpiece tchotchkes, necessitating the change in décor.

But the Tahoe cabin thing was definitely their present to each other. Four days of walking in the snow and fucking in front of the fireplace. The walking in the snow part was optional, but Jackson thought it could be fun too, as long as that other thing took priority. He wanted Ellery so liquid he forgot he had knees when they left. His poor Counselor had endured some very harrowing moments this year, and Jackson wanted to start the next year off with nothing but sex and scenery.

And he had the feeling that taking Eric Christiansen's case might have put a crimp in that plan, so he was glad Christiansen seemed to have withdrawn.

Mr. Christiansen allowed himself to be escorted down the hall and toward the front door of Ellery's nicely planned office. The place had a children's corner with toys and tablets, and magazines and books for the adult's corner. Everything was clean and comfortable, and there was even a television with children's programming in the corner.

Which nobody could hear right now due to the racket of all the misplaced kittens. Jackson had to resist the temptation to put his hand up, blocking out the sight of all those pathetic little cardboard crates as he and Mr. Christiansen passed.

Still, he couldn't resist when their would-be client paused to open one with a red X on it. He peeked inside, surprised.

"These kittens are… amok," he said, and Jackson grimaced. He couldn't do it. He had to look in. Sure enough, there were the last two of the Cornish rex litter, the one that had been inbred enough to produce numerous birth defects.

"Did you hear that, Katie?" he asked a little calico with a back leg that stuck out at a ninety-degree angle from her hip. They'd done a quick consult with a friendly veterinarian, who'd assured them that the kitten wasn't in any pain, but she wasn't going to win any races either. "You're amok."

Katie was destined to roll her way between her food bowl and her litter box, and she used that skill now, flopping over to her back and kicking out uselessly with her mismatched feet.

"What's wrong with her?" Christiansen asked in wonder.

"A sense of entitlement whenever a human passes by," Jackson replied dryly. He held her unresisting little body up so he could see the hip deformity. "Her whole litter was riddled with genetic defects. The staff found a volunteer to place three of them, but this other box has a bonded pair. Katie and her brother, Oliver, tend to get very upset if they're separated."

At that moment there was a frantic, "Meow! Meow! Meow!" from the box, and Jackson reached in and picked up Oliver, Katie's twin. Oliver, as far as Jackson could see, didn't have more than three extra toes on one foot and two on the other. Unlike most polydactyl cats, Oliver wasn't particularly adapted to walking on the extra digits, and he, like Katie, was going to spend a lot of time on his side, contemplating the glory of dust motes. They still did use the litter box and could make it to the food and water—they were just not as active as most kittens.

Jackson held a kitten in each hand, close enough for Oliver to groom his sister, since she seemed to be the one who got all the attention.

"What… what are you going to do with them?" Christiansen asked, sounding almost afraid of the answer, which was funny given that Jackson had pegged him as a violent sociopath from the moment he'd entered the office.

"Well, we'll place them," Jackson said. "Somehow." He gave them both severe looks, which they ignored. "I would take them," he said, touching noses to each kitten. "I would. In a heartbeat. But we already have two three-legged cats, and they're destroying our house. I… I couldn't do that to Ellery. It's bad enough he has me. I don't want to saddle him with a whole animal shelter."

"Two three-legged cats?" Christiansen asked.

Jackson eyed him warily. "Yes. One lost a leg during a drive-by—a toaster fell on it and we had it amputated. The other one was born with a withered limb. They still manage to break the place. Why?"

Christiansen shook his head. "No reason." Something about his face shifted then, the creepiest thing Jackson had ever seen. It was like watching an alien presence drain out of all his facial muscles and a human being take its place. "I'll take them," he said, staring almost wistfully at the creatures in Jackson's hands. "Do I need to fill out any paperwork?"

Jackson glanced at Jade. "You filled out the initial consultant papers with Jade, right?" he asked, because that would have all his information. Not that Jackson trusted any of that to be true.

"Of course," Christiansen replied smoothly.

Jackson had planned to play this next part cool, to insinuate and intimidate and intimate. But as this cold-blooded man—and, Jackson suspected, cold-blooded killer—took the two kittens from Jackson's hands, Jackson realized he couldn't let the kittens go without making sure they weren't going to be used as target practice.

"We will," he said, "expect updates. This firm has worked very hard to make sure these animals haven't been sent to kill shelters or out-and-out euthanized. We need to know we're not sending them into danger."

Eric Christiansen's eyes shuttered. "I'm a simple businessman, Mr. Rivers. What sort of danger would I be?"

"The kind that uses babies as target practice," Jackson retorted, hoping Christiansen wouldn't open fire here and now in the office. Jackson hadn't seen anything provable in that file, but he'd seen enough. Christiansen had very thoroughly laid out a defense, not just for his business partner, but for a number of otherwise seemingly natural deaths that Jackson had seen in the news and vaguely suspected. There'd been no reason to set up his defense for those dates unless, Jackson supposed, he had actually done something on those dates. There'd been four that Jackson had seen, and he would put money on that being a good month for this guy.

"Only human babies," Christiansen murmured softly, and Jackson sent him a glare.

The man gave a "just kidding" smile that practically sent Jackson's balls back up into his stomach.

"Not feline?" Jackson asked, wondering how honest he could get the guy to be. Sociopaths could lie so easily.

"I've never killed an animal," Christiansen said, and suddenly the man behind the mask was meeting Jackson's eyes. "Most animals don't need killing."

Jackson stared back. "Most humans don't either," he said.

"Some do." Christiansen's eyes went to half-mast, and Jackson's stomach knotted. "You have to admit. Some do."

Jackson swallowed. "I know people who can take care of that," he threatened, and Christiansen's eyes widened.

"You mean that outfit down south?" he asked. "I'd heard rumors about you and Mr. Cramer, but do color me impressed. Are you going to tell them that I came and… adopted kittens?"

"I repeat," Jackson said, his voice flinty, "do you plan to hurt the kittens?"

"No," Christiansen said, and Jackson got the feeling he was telling the truth. "And not your precious little law firm that would sacrifice its holiday rescuing the kittens. Are you satisfied now?"

Jackson nodded. "I am. Sir, I'm afraid we can't take your case, but you are very welcome to take your furry little friends there." Katie and Oliver seemed to have found a second mother—Katie was nursing on the guy's $1000 suit.

Christiansen smiled thinly. "Will you keep my file private?"

Jackson gave him a level gaze. "I'm afraid I'm going to share this with my friends down south. Will that be a problem?"

Christiansen sucked in a breath. "No," he said after a shocked moment. "My new friends and I shall simply need to make some travel arrangements." He had big, capable hands, but the tenderness he used stroking the fur between Katie's ears made Jackson feel better somehow. "We'll enjoy some open spaces and greener pastures," he said gently, before giving Jackson his own level look. "Of course, they'll be kept indoors—the greener pastures are only figurative for our little furry friends."

Jackson nodded… and hoped.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "Would you like to take their cardboard crate?"

Christiansen nodded. "That would be kind, sir," he said. "Don't worry about escorting me outside. In fact, I'd rather you wouldn't."

That, Jackson thought, was a direct threat.

"I have plenty to do in here," he said, offering the crate to his new enemy.

Christiansen tucked the two kittens into the crate, cooing to them and stroking their little whiskers through the vents in the sides, and bid Jackson good day.

Jackson watched him go for a few heartbeats after the door clicked before turning back to Jade, who had been staring at the two of them with her hand on the gun she kept under the counter.

"Who in the fuck is that?" she asked, her voice low and level and frightened.

"I do not know," Jackson said, handing over the folder in his hands. "But I need you to scan this to Jason Constance yesterday, because whoever he is, I think the only thing that saved mine and Ellery's asses was kitten rescue."

Jade sucked in a breath. "On it, boss," she muttered, which reassured him because she was just as scared of Christiansen as he was.

"Excuse me," Jackson told her, "while I go tell Ellery why that man wasn't a good bet for a client."

She made the sort of humming sound in her throat that alpacas use when they're trying to calm themselves down. "I'm surprised he didn't take Ellery with him since he seems to like helpless creatures so much."

"Let go of the gun, darlin'," Jackson told her soberly. "We don't want to accidentally kill any real clients, right?"

He heard the distinct sound of the gun getting locked back into its little safe.

"Understood," she said.

"Now let me go tell Ellery why we're giving each other our Christmas present a day early."

They'd been planning to spend Christmas Eve with Jade and Mike and then go up on Christmas Day, and her grimace let him know that she understood—but she'd miss him.

He paused to hug her and kiss her temple. "We'll do New Year's up right," he promised. "Maybe even get your brother down here. I plan to visit him while we're up there."

"How'd you know what I wanted for Christmas?" she asked, and he smiled before turning back down the hallway.

"I always know! We'll drop your gifts off on our way out!"

"So, what do you think?" Ellery asked when Jackson closed the door behind him.

Jackson had never been shy about telling Ellery exactly what he thought.

Ellery remained unimpressed with Jackson's assessment, but he did concede to leaving for Tahoe early, although he claimed that was mostly to get ahead of the traffic. Ha! Traffic to Tahoe had started during Thanksgiving and hadn't let up yet. But given that the entire office had been busy redistributing the kittens from the busted kitten mill, they really didn't have any other clients to worry about until after the New Year's holiday.

"SO TELL me again why we ran screaming from Sacramento a day early?" Ellery asked as he piloted the Lexus—outfitted with chains after their stop in Auburn—up the hill.

"Because that Eric Christiansen guy was terrifying," Jackson told him. "And I wanted to be far away when he decided that two kittens that somehow melted his icy heart were not enough to compensate for the contract on our heads I think he dropped."

"He was hired ?" Ellery squawked.

"Oh yeah," Jackson confirmed. He and Jason and Burton had initiated a tense three-way conversation, during which Burton and Jason had an active argument about whether or not to send a man—Burton—to go defend Jackson and Ellery while they were at the cabin.

Jason was the one who'd eased Jackson's mind a little by saying, "Look, there was a hit on you two, but now there's not. The chatter is… weird. And a little scary. It's like Assassins 'R' Us has a product it can't sell."

"Our heads?" Jackson asked, appalled.

"Yeah," Jason said. "Basically. We'll send somebody up there tonight—no, Burton, not you. I promised Ernie—but we purchased a cabin in the area as a safe house, and I've got some guys who'd love a week in the woods. We should have this sorted before you go back to Sacramento, so nobody you know will be in danger. As long as you save your visit with your brother—"

"How'd you know?" Jackson asked, surprised, because he hadn't mentioned it.

"Please," Jason said, and Jackson could hear the rolled eyes. "Do you not remember I've been there before? Twice? Save the visit until the end of the stay, when you get the all clear, and let Burton hook you into the security system. I'll let you know who your bodyguard team will be, and as long as you don't tell Ellery, nobody will be the wiser."

"Why wouldn't I tell Ellery?" Jackson asked, suddenly very unsure on this point.

"Uhm, Jackson?" Burton said, and Jackson could picture Burton having eyeball semaphore with his friend and superior officer. "I assume this was a… uhm… romantic getaway?"

"Yeah," Jackson replied slowly, suddenly seeing where this was going.

"How romantic do you think things will be if Ellery knows what may or may not go down?"

Jackson swallowed. "Gotta be honest here," he said. "I'm not sure how romantic they can be now that I know what may or may not go down. I'll tell him. If it kills the romance but keeps the lawyer safe, it's a fair trade."

"Ugh," Burton said. "So healthy. You'd make a lousy assassin."

"Sweet talk will get you nowhere," Jackson said. "'Cause I'm taken. Now about that security system…."

Burton had helped Jackson transfer the entire thing onto his phone, and now Jackson was in the car with Ellery wondering if maybe not mentioning the whole thing might have been better for their planned Christmas weekend.

"How do you know ?" Ellery challenged. "You can't just call somebody an assassin based on your gut, Jackson. Not that I don't trust your gut because it's kept both of us alive."

Well, better for romance, Jackson decided with a sigh, but not better for their relationship.

"See," Jackson said, "I had Jade scan that file he gave us to compare dates of events and of people he knew etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, and each date was the date of something shady that went down in the part of the state he was in. Nothing too obvious: One politician died of natural causes the same week he was there. Another lobbyist drove his car off the road. The only reason I recognized some of the dates is because he claimed to be in town for a couple of concerts that I really loved—like when U2 was in Las Vegas in the dome thing, right?"

"Yes," Ellery said hesitantly.

"Well, the chief of security for the concert got food poisoning that night and almost died. But the key there is almost , and he was well enough to foil a kidnapping plot on a political speaker the day after the concert. It made the headlines because U2 was so impressed, and, you know. Bono. The Edge. I'm a fan."

"They're not Kylie Minogue," Ellery said dryly, and Jackson rolled his eyes. Every now and then their tastes clashed like this, and it had stopped outraging Jackson, but it still took him by surprise.

"She was playing too, by the way," Jackson said with a sniff. "Anyway, Burton's crew put together a lot more dates with a lot more potential hits, and they came up with a handle. Not a real name, but a handle of someone who is mentioned a lot but not discussed. It's like all the people who look the guy up and pay him then stop talking about him. They show up on forums to talk about other things, but never this guy. He scares the bad guys."

Ellery gasped a little. "And he's after us ?" he asked, and Jackson couldn't blame him for the slightest little bit of panic.

"Maybe?" Jackson replied. Then he relayed Burton's and Constance's assessment that he'd declined the hit and called off the contract, but they weren't exactly sure if it was cancelled or not.

"The person who issues the contract is supposed to call it off," Jackson said. "They're afraid somebody might ignore Christiansen's protective order on us."

"Why did he issue that again?" Ellery asked, and while his hands were steady on the wheel, his voice pitched a little.

"I think," Jackson said slowly, "because we were rescuing kittens?"

Ellery groaned a little. "That? The whole kitten rescue debacle? That's what's going to save our asses?"

Jackson had no good answer to that. "Maybe?" he said.

"Oh God," Ellery muttered. "So much for a romantic getaway."

"We could still have sex," Jackson told him. "That security system Burton set up there while Jason and Cotton were using the place is top-notch. You can see a beaver getting beaver from a mile away."

"Charming," Ellery muttered. "Can you see a hitman in the snow? 'Cause that would really impress me."

"Only one way to find out!" Jackson said cheerfully. "Who's ready for the weekend?"