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Another memory surfaced amidst the junk. His uncle crying into his hands when he thought Jax slept. She’d hurt both of them in such a deep, profound way. And yet, his uncle forgave her. Jax didn’t understand it. Yet pity tugged at him, whispered to him that she couldn’t help it. A sickness, Uncle Sam called it. He’d heard of television shows dealing with hoarding, although he refused to watch any. He had no desire to visit the past. Nor did he want anyone else to witness his reaction to reminders of that past.
Jax left the room and opened the door to the upstairs. Instead of stairs, trash bags clogged his view. One of them pitched forward. He knocked it aside as if blocking an enemy’s punch. A sickening mix of emotions flooded him. He backed out of the hole that now served as the front entrance and hurried to the sidewalk.
She couldn’t care about him. It didn’t make any sense.
So why did he come here? He didn’t want her in his life. Sick or not, she’d done too much damage. Hurt him and Uncle Sam too much. And what about their cats? The vivid memory of the fear in their eyes haunted him as clearly as the day they’d been rounded up and taken away. He was certain they’d paid for her selfishness with their lives.
He needed to leave and not return. Ever.
As Jax strode to the truck, a plaintive mewling pierced the air. His blood froze, along with his body.
He heard it again.
No. No, Lord. Please don’t do this. I can’t do this.
With hesitant steps, Jax approached the junk littered across the driveway, unable to stop himself. On autopilot, he picked through the junk until he saw movement. A small cream and white kitten stared up at him, its foot caught in some trash bag ties. Its blue eyes were huge, silently begging him for help, yet fearful of him. Jax gently unwrapped the ties from its foot, revealing a swollen, bleeding cut.
Now what?
Another thought occurred to him. There must be a mother cat somewhere nearby. She wouldn’t leave her baby.
Not like some mothers, he thought, his lips pressing together.
Jax searched around. He found her crouched in fear behind a box with two additional kittens. The Siamese mix locked her luminous blue eyes on him. Jax stretched out a hand. She eventually ventured close enough to allow him to pet her. With the kitten injured and demolition scheduled soon, he couldn’t leave them there. He found the cleanest of the filthy carriers surrounding him and placed the mother and kittens inside. Afterward, he checked to determine if there were any more. Satisfied he’d found them all, Jax carried them to the truck.
Now what?
Animal Control. He’d seen the building once, so he drove toward the place on the far side of town. He’d drop them off there. While he drove, though, old memories attacked him. What would Animal Control do with them? What if they euthanized them? Jax struggled with the idea. The reminder of Reesie’s and the other cats’ terrified eyes years ago remained as a haunting picture in his head. What could he do for them, though? He was the last person they needed. Jax tightened hisgrip on the steering wheel until his muscles quivered, set on his path. Then jerked it to the left to do a U-turn on the country road seconds later.
I can’t do it. There has to be another way.
Seyla. Seyla would know what to do. If she’d talk to him. No, she would for the kittens’ sakes.
He dropped a hand on his leg. The light crunch of paper reached his ears at the same time a crinkling sensation registered in his fingertips. The recipe. He’d forgotten to give it to his uncle.
Jax drove the remaining distance to his uncle’s place and walked into the house with the carrier. Finding no sign of Uncle Sam, Seyla, or Rock, he slipped the recipe from his pocket and unfolded it. Seyla’s bold, handwritten note contrasted against the blocky, printed recipe. He smiled at the flowery writing, thankful she had the ability to write at all after the extensive damage done to her hands years ago. His thumb rubbed against a crease on the edge of the paper while he studied the recipe.
Cold-blooded apprehension slithered up his neck. He’d felt that crease before. Twice, in fact. In the threatening notes to Seyla. From memory, Jax retraced the sequence of events before she’d handed it to him. She’d printed the paper in an employee’s office near the lobby. Excitement thrummed in his veins. If he learned who the office belonged to, it would most likely lead him to the person responsible for everything.
Jax toted the carrier outside. He eyed Seyla’s rental car in the sanctuary parking lot next door. After hopping into the truck, he situated the carrier next to him on the seat and phoned her. Voicemail. Honestly, not surprising. They’d maintained their distance since their argument. Not an easy thing to do, either, because she and Ellen were still staying with them. She probably planned to stay late to avoid him.
He made the quick drive over to the sanctuary, parking behind the specialized transport van. He got out, planning to squeeze through the scant space between the truck and the van. While they shouldn’t have any animals to transport this late in the evening, he’d hurry, just in case. As Jax passed the rear doors of the vehicle, he bumped against them. One swung open with a loud creak, jolting his muscles, only stopping when it banged against his own truck. With a groan, he bent to inspect the fresh dent in his bumper. The van door, on the other hand, showed no sign of damage. At least he had that to be thankful for.
Why wasn’t it shut and locked, though?
They needed to seriously consider updating the rest of their security measures as well. Anyone could have hidden in there, waiting to attack some unsuspecting person passing by. Jax frowned, shaking his head, and slammed the door shut, making sure the lock worked.
After placing the carrier on the front porch of the building, he rattled the handles of the doors. Locked. At least she’d taken some measures to stay safe. He called again and left a voicemail saying he and the cats would be at the front door, then sat on the steps to wait. She had to come out at some point.
Jax opened a vacuum-sealed package of tuna and offered the mother cat some.
Lord, why would you put me in this position? You know I can’t do this.
He’d learned long ago to be calm in the face of a challenge because of his training. But this? He peered into the carrier. The mother cat stared back at him, her kittens nursing now that she’d finished the tuna. Was that trust in her eyes? Why? He straightened, uncomfortable with the idea. Poor cat didn’t comprehend that her kitten’s injury directly resulted from his family’s neglect. She shouldn’t trust him at all. He had to talk toSeyla as soon as possible and determine where to take the little family. They needed to be safe. Away from him.
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Seyla hid for ten minutes after the noises, but nothing else happened. Her legs cramped up in her hiding spot in the closet behind some equipment. Her side ached, the sutures pulling at the skin more and more. She hunched forward.
