Transitory Identities

By Edward Kendrick

As an operative for Mitchell Security, Colt has spent much of his adult life being someone else. Presently, he's undercover as a bartender at a strip club to prove that its owner is part of a sex-trafficking ring. On his way home late one night, someone tries to kill him. Only Sax Lowe's fast actions save him -- which would be well and good, if Colt and Mitchell didn't suspect the whole thing was a set-up engineered by Sax as a way to insert himself into Colt's life.

Sax is a freelance photographer who often uses his job as a cover while working for the FBI. If he hadn't been following Colt, as part of his present assignment, he wouldn't have been around to save his life. A fortuitous event as it gave him a reason to stop by the bar the Bureau suspected was the center of a sex-trafficking ring.

Things escalate when Colt has a chance to obtain the final proof he needs to bring down the club's owner and the man's cohorts. When Colt and Sax's paths collide, again, the result is a surprise to both of them. Even more surprising, once the dust clears, is Sax's suggestion they work off their tensions in bed. Things don't go quite as planned, however ... But then, that's often the case for men whose jobs require them to be someone other than themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Mar 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685500450

Edward Kendrick

Born and bred Cleveland, I earned a degree in technical theater, later switched to costuming, and headed to NYC. Finally seeing the futility of trying to become rich and famous in the Big Apple, I joined VISTA—Volunteers in Service to America—ending up in Chicago for three years. Then it was on to Denver where I put down roots and worked as a costume designer until I retired in 2007.I began writing a few years ago after joining an on-line fanfic group. Two friends and I then started a group for writers, where they could post any story they wished no matter the genre or content. Since then, for the last six years, I've been writing for publication—my first book came out in February of 2011. Most, but not all, of my work is M/M, either mildly erotic or purely 'romantic'. More often than not it involves a mystery or action/adventure, and is sometimes paranormal to boot.

Book preview

Transitory Identities

By Edward Kendrick

Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2022 Edward Kendrick

ISBN 9781685500450

* * * *

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Transitory Identities

By Edward Kendrick

Chapter 1

It was close to eleven Wednesday night when Colt’s phone rang. He took it out while checking to be certain there was no traffic coming in either direction. There wasn’t, so he stepped out from between two parked cars to cross the street—frowning when he saw Blocked Number on the caller ID, which meant he had no idea who was calling. Seconds later he was being roughly hauled backwards, landing hard against the hood of one of the cars.

What the hell?

That. The man who had a grip on his arm pointed to a dark sedan driving without lights down the darkened street. One step further and you’d have been roadkill.

Fuck! Colt sucked in a harsh breath as he watched the car brake and make a fast U-turn before heading back in their direction.

Dude, I think we’d both better get a move-on, the man said. Still holding Colt’s arm, he pulled him onto the pavement and then into an alley a few feet away.

Colt decided the guy had good instincts when shots rang out, missing them by mere inches before the car vanished from sight. He started toward the alley’s entrance, wanting to see where it had gone, only to be roughly jerked back.

You got a death wish?

Not really. More like I want to know who that bastard is.

Too late. He’s probably a mile away by now.

Or coming around for another try, Colt replied tightly as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

That, too, so we might want to find a safer place to hang out.

Colt couldn’t debate that idea. He walked swiftly to the far end of the alley, hearing the man’s footsteps right behind him. Cautiously, he checked what he could see of the area. A few cars moved up and down the street—none of them black, all of them using their headlights. There was a bar across the street from him, the only place open for business other than an all-night convenience store on the corner. The rest of the area held low-rent apartment buildings, or small businesses and shops that had closed several hours previously.

Safe? he heard the man ask.

Looks like, Colt replied before leaving the alley, and rapidly crossing the street to the bar. When he opened the door, voices, music, and the smell of beer and sweat, assailed him. There were a few patrons seated at the bar and the tables scattered around the small room—primarily men dressed in work pants and shirts. Several of them turned to look at Colt and his companion when they entered before going back to what they’d been doing.

Colt pointed to an empty table in one corner, saying, I owe you a drink, and then headed to the bar. When the bartender came over, he ordered two beers, in bottles as he quickly decided this wasn’t the sort of place where the glasses would be too clean. He paid when the bottles were put in front of him, picked them up, and walked to the table to join man who had probably saved him from a long stay in the hospital—or worse.

We haven’t been properly introduced, he said, handing the man one of the bottles. I’m Colt.

The man nodded. Sax. He smiled briefly. Short for Saxton, not saxophone.

Duly noted. Thanks for the rescue, Colt said.

Sax shrugged. Right place, right time. He took a pull on his beer.

Colt took a drink as well while studying the man. He already knew Sax was close to his own six-one, but from his muscular build he figured he outweighed him by at least twenty pounds. He had a small scar on his temple, partially hidden by his brown hair. His eyes were dark brown, or so they appeared in the dim light of the bar. If he were to guess, he was in his late twenties to early thirties. Like Colt, he was wearing jeans and a button-down shirt—in his case blue as compared to Colt’s dark green—making them better dressed than most of the other men in the place.

Done checking me out? Sax asked, lifting an eyebrow. If so, I’ve got a question. Who wants you dead?

I have no clue. Hopefully it was a case of mistaken identity.

It wasn’t. The moment I saw you reach the curb, I heard him rev his engine. It didn’t really register what he planned until he pulled out from where he’d parked, with no lights. Sax stared hard at Colt. He was aiming right for you. Your phone lit up your face so I’m real sure he knew it was you. So, again, who has a hard-on for you?

Before I answer, if I do, what were you doing there? There aren’t any clubs or restaurants on the street you could have been visiting. You don’t look like someone who would live in the neighborhood and all the businesses in the couple of the buildings that don’t house apartments are closed for the night.

Same thing holds true for you, Sax retorted.

Colt tipped his head in acknowledgement. I was visiting a friend, he replied glibly.

You might want to take him off your friends’ list because unless someone followed you there, he set you up.

Colt leaned back, rolling the beer bottle between his hands. "How do I know you didn’t set it up? That you weren’t the person who called to get my attention just before everything went down?"

You don’t. Think about it, though. If I had, would I have saved your life?

Possibly, if you wanted to become— Colt smiled slowly, —my new best friend.

Could have, but no, I didn’t call. How could I? I don’t know your number.

Colt frowned. So you say. He looked long and hard at Sax, shrugged, and said, "Back to my original question. Why were you there?"

Looking for a restaurant a guy told me about that is supposed to have an excellent menu. I’m very partial to fish, which he said they do to perfection.

It’s pretty late for dinner, Colt replied with a trace of suspicion. And boy are you in the wrong neighborhood, no matter the hour. You eat fish around here you’ll get food poisoning that’ll lay you out for a week.

I went to a movie and was starving when I got out. It took me a while, but I figured that out. I mean that I must have had the wrong address. Then I saw you, and seconds later the car.

Your bad luck was my good luck, Colt replied with a brief grin. Not that he believed Sax, if that really was his name, but for the moment he figured he wasn’t going to get the truth out him no matter how hard he pushed.

Who wants you dead? Sax asked, reiterating his question from earlier. A pissed-off husband? A business contact who thinks you screwed him over?

I don’t mess with married women, and I don’t do the kind of work where someone could think I took advantage of them.

What do you do?

I’m a bartender, Colt told him—which was the truth at the moment, although not the full truth.

Where? Sax asked, resting his elbows on the table after taking another drink.

A club on the west side you’ve probably never heard of.

Try me.

Vertex.

Heard of it, Sax said. Never been there, but then I don’t hang out in that part of town. It’s only two steps up from this neighborhood. Sax shook his head. Why I thought that restaurant would be around here…Well, other than the address I was given.

Never trust friends. They’ll steer you wrong half the time, intentionally or not.

Sax lifted an eyebrow. Like the one you were visiting?

Perhaps, Colt replied with a pensive frown. He didn’t think the man would have, but then he’d been known to be wrong before. Leaning back, he asked, Turnabout and all that. What do you do to keep food on the table?

I’m a freelance photographer, primarily for the local newspapers at the moment.

There’s more than one? Colt asked as if he didn’t know the answer. He did, because there was damned little he didn’t know about the city, but he wasn’t about to let on to Sax. I thought there was only the Observer.

That’s the daily. There’s a couple of weekly ones, and the Chronicle, which is monthly.

Okay, I guess I should have paid more attention. But then I rarely follow the news. I’ve got better things to do if I want to stress out.

Sax chuckled. Like deal with drunks on the job?

"You have no idea."

Then why work at a bar?

Colt shrugged. It pays the bills.

Maybe whoever tried to run you down, and shot at us, is someone you kicked out of there? Sax asked.

I think that’s a bit of overkill for being eighty-sixed.

True. Sax gave Colt a thoughtful look and then said, Maybe the guy thought you overheard something he said to someone that could have gotten him in trouble.

How so?

"I know for a fact there are dealers in that neighborhood. Perhaps he was setting up a