See Part One for Disclaimers

Part Three

Jonathan lay down on the bed, listening.  He heard the doors open and close.  He wondered where Caleb would go and what he was doing.  Then he wondered why he was bothering to wonder.  He needed to get some sleep and go home.  He got up and got ready for bed, then realized it wasn't 8 o'clock yet, which explained why he was tired but not ready for sleep.  He opened the first of the letters from Aaron.

Condolences on your loss.  My sister was a good woman, a loving woman.  I will not miss her as much as you will, but I am infinitely saddened at her passing.  I would come to bring you home, but am still detained by the officials of the Louisiana Prison system.  Know that there is family here.

Jonathan stared at the brief letter.  His mother had never spoken of her brother to him, not that he could recall.  And the letter had not been sent, although it had been kept for him.  His uncle had not known where to send the letter when he heard of the death.

Dear Nephew -- What a way to start a letter.  I have advised the Warden that there is a family emergency to which I would like to attend.  They do not feel that releasing me six months early to leave the country is reasonable.  I have not heard from the national officials when you will be returned to the States.  And I do not know your father's family to inquire as to their care of you.  I will be released in six months, my debt to society paid.  I will contact you then and let you decide whether your mother's or father's family best suits your needs.  I look forward to meeting you, and believe that you will weather this misfortune with the strength your parents have bequeathed you.

He pulled then next letter from the pile.  This one written just before Aaron's release, advising Jonathan that he was coming and expressing concern that after six months, his nephew had not yet been returned to his home country.  The next sounded angry and puzzled.  Aaron had located the proper authorities, had presented his credentials as the closest next of kin and run into a brick wall on locating his nephew.  The letter was three pages of elegant script expressing his frustration.  He closed promising that he would not give up on finding his nephew.

Jonathan shook his head over this.  Why had the authorities not let the man know where to find him?  He had been with his training master.  He had not yet been recruited by the Black Dragons.  He should have been easy to find.  He looked at the letter again.  He had never been aware of anyone looking for him.  He had never questioned why he had stayed in Japan instead of being sent back to the US.  Questions he had never considered began to rise in his mind.  Had he been used, even then, by a government unconcerned with the life of a child, but greatly concerned by the power wielded by the Black Dragon Clan?

He read swiftly through the rest of the letters.  Aaron had been sent back to prison on manslaughter charges.  His letter on the eve of returning to prison was odd.  

Looks like I'll be back behind bars tomorrow.  They plea bargained to get a conviction, although they are convinced I was cold blooded about the murder.  They have no proof.  They have only circumstantial evidence.  I'd laugh at them, but then they just might believe there was more evidence somewhere.  A jury trial might get me off entirely.  Or it might just fry my ass.  I suspect the plea bargain is the best for both of us.  I am sorry I've lost track of you.  I still have feelers out.  Sooner or later, I will find out where you are, who you are.  I am looking forward to that day.

There were only two during that prison stay.  Then a long gap between his release and his conviction on murder one charges.  That letter was revealing of an older, harder man.  He admitted to the murder.  He admitted to planning it carefully.  He had known there was no way to kill the man and get away.  It was an assassination, pure and simple.  That was a shock to Jonathan.  He wondered if that sort of thing ran in the blood.  The last letter was written two days before his death.  The hand was firm, the tone -- wistful?

I've settled my affairs.  I settled them long ago.  There is a lock box at a local bank in New Orleans.  It contains the past.  I still do not know where the child is, for that I am sorry sometimes, but not too often.  If he is alive, then it is possibly for the best that I do not know where he is.  That ninja clan seems to have very long arms.  No, they are not silenced.  The young have remained and they hunt you with a fervor that is frightening.  I believe you will find him someday.  I have come to believe in destiny and both of yours are very strong.

There's a new face in the prison.  He's too young to be here, not more than 20.  He is too young to be as hardened as those who are already here.  And he is not Hispanic, black or "Anglo", as they call us these days.  He's Eurasian, as they used to call it.  Oriental and Anglo mixed.  He seems far too fragile to survive here.  But there was a time when I was too fragile to survive.  Tomorrow's another day, as they say.  I hear Hawaii is beautiful.  Maybe I'll look you up when I get out, in twenty years when they believe I am too old to be a problem.

Two days later he was dead.  Jonathan pulled together the sheets of paper that shaped his image of the uncle he had never met.  He had been strong, strong willed and dangerous.  He had never mentioned Caleb.  Never mentioned a woman in his life.  He had known where Jonathan was, yet he had not sent the letters that would have reached him, had not asked for help where there might have been help to be had.  Why?  The man was more of an enigma now than he was when Jonathan got the letter telling him of his inheritance.

He yawned and looked at his watch.  Midnight.  Time for some sleep.  He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on top of the bedspread and drifted off to sleep.

"So, you came."

Jonathan Raven, in funeral black, jerked around to face the source of the voice.  The soft southern drawl was reminiscent of Caleb's, but it wasn't.  Uncle Aaron.  This was crazy.

The man smiled at him.  He didn't look a day over 40.  "Nothing to say?"

"You're dead."

"Yes."

"Did you know you have a son?"

One of the man's eyebrows crept upward as though to say  your point is?  "Do I?  And how do you know that?"

"He told me."

"Ah.  Yes.  I didn't know, not when he was born, not later, not until just before I died.  I guess my ignoring him festered on him."

"What makes you think that?" But Jonathan already knew the answer.

"He had me killed."

"Why?"

Shrug.  "Who knows.  Maybe madness runs in the line."

"Angelica's daughter?"

"Told you about that, did he?  She isn't mine."

"Then whose?"

"Hunter's."

Shock.  Silence.  "You knew."

"He deserved what he got."

"And his sister?"

Another shrug.  "I loved her.  She would not marry me.  She would not live with me.  She ran away, had the child, and came back after it was all over.  She died before I did."

"I'm sorry."

"It doesn't concern you."

"Why?"

"Didn't I mail the letters?  You have enough problems with finding your son.  It worked out."

"It worked out," he repeated.  "Assuming  your son doesn't try to kill me."

"There  isthat possibility.  You'll manage."

"Why leave everything to me?"

"Why not.  You're family."

"So is Caleb."

"Caleb has money.  Caleb is -- not torn about who he is, what he is.  Guilt.  I could not be where I should have, when I should have been.  Money isn't everything, but it's a damn fine start sometimes.  Keep an eye on that boy while you're here.  He's dangerous."

Some infinitesimal sound alerted him to danger.  He snapped awake in the darkness of his room to feel cold steel touching his neck.  A dark form stood over him, gleaming sword in hand, the edge of the blade resting against his skin.  He moved swiftly, rolling off the bed to the other side.  His assailant pulled the sword and laughed.

"What the hell was that all about?" Jonathan demanded.

"Curious, that's all," came the reply from Caleb.

"You do this all the time?"

Caleb grinned again, his eyes alight with laughter.  "Hardly, I don't usually have house guests," he replied as he sheathed his sword.  Something about his reaction to the action disturbed Jonathan, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"How did you get in here?"

"Picked the lock."

"Un-pick it and leave."

Caleb's face took on a remote look.  "All right," he came back softly.  "Sleep well."

As Caleb went through the doorway Jonathan's voice stopped him.  "How did Aaron die?"

"In prison."

"How?"

"He was stabbed to death."  Caleb looked back around at Jonathan who was looking a bit stunned.  "The report was, he was protecting someone," he added in almost a whisper.  "It's over and done with.  Go home."  The door closed with a definitive snap behind him.

Jonathan settled down again, certain that he was safe from attack again that night.  He amended that, safe from his new found cousin.  He settled into sleep.  If he dreamed, he was unaware of it when he awoke the next morning.

Caleb retired to his own room, divested himself of his sword and clothing and went to bed.  He lay there in the darkness staring at the ceiling he could not see.  He fought off the anger and hurt that plagued his existence.  He should have called one of his ladies, should have stayed out, should have --- hell.  He turned over onto his stomach and glared into the darkness.  Meeting Jonathan had thrown his life out of kilter.  He did not like having someone out there wearing his face.  

Considering this, he was not certain that he liked having someone else's face.  He knew nothing about this double, except that he was fast, intelligent and dangerous.  That meant enemies, enemies who could make mistakes.  Having his life cut short by one of his own enemies was one thing, having it shortened by someone else's enemy in error -- the thought was an affront.

He consulted the clock.  One a.m.  His eyes refused to close.  He glared into the darkness and got up.  He slid into his clothing, loaded up his two favorite weapons and left the penthouse again.  The hotel was mostly in darkness, the bars winding down, the restaurant and shops long closed.  No one saw him pad silently across the lobby and out of the hotel.

Two hours later, he found himself facing a consummate swordsman in ninja garb.  It was surprising that he was still alive, although he had learned the techniques of samurai and ninja sword fighting in the last few years.  He was holding his own, but he was losing ground steadily.  And he did not understand the comments in Japanese that were being flung at him as they fought.

He stumbled back into a wall, knowing that this was his end.  Damn.  He blocked a slice designed to disembowel him.  "Dammit, who are you?" he hissed breathlessly.  "The least you could do is let me know who's killin' me."

The other stopped, still holding his sword ready, he pulled off his headpiece revealing a middle aged Japanese face.  "You should know me, traitor," the man growled in heavily accented Japanese.

Caleb laughed, a wild sound in his own ears.  "I should?  I beg to differ, sir.  I have never seen your face before."

The man looked puzzled.  He stepped forward into a pool of light.  "Take a good look, Jonathan Raven.  I am your death."

"You may be my death," Caleb shot back breathlessly, playing for time.  "But I am  not Jonathan Raven."

"What foolishness is this?"

"The name is Caleb Moorecock.  It has been Caleb Moorecock since the day I was born," Caleb drawled, getting his breath back.

"You lie!" the other hissed.

He laughed.  "I do not lie.  I am not the man you seek.  Although, I might know where to find him," he ended thoughtfully, never dropping his guard.

The Japanese batted his sword aside and out of his hands.  Adrenalin surged through his body, making him tremble as he awaited a final stroke that would take his life.  The blade approached him, caressed his neck, but did not cut into his skin.  His opponent stepped in close to look at him.  He stared back arrogantly.  He tried to quell his reaction to the danger in which he stood.  He thrilled to the danger he stood in, the thought that death stood so close to the two of them.

"You are not Jonathan Raven.  Who are you?"

"I believe I already introduced myself."

The ninja backhanded him for that, cutting his lip, bruising his cheek against his teeth.  "You are a fool."

"Quite likely,' he agreed softly, bringing his gaze back to meet the dead black gaze of his assailant.

"Where is Raven?"

He shrugged eloquently.  "Make it worth my while."

The sword drew blood this time.  The edge slid across his throat, slicing his skin.  The pain followed in a moment.  He trembled, but not with fear.  He was close to full arousal and in need of release.  "Make -- it -- worth -- my -- while," he repeated.

He read death in those eyes, then puzzlement.  He almost laughed aloud.  He had done it again.  The man he faced was off balance.  Although the ninja had the upper hand, he recognized that there was something here he did not understand.

"You would sell him?"

"I might.  For a price."

"What is that price?" The ninja sneered at the man before him.  This was not Jonathan Raven.  The traitor would not sell a man out to save his own life.  But the resemblance was uncanny.  Perhaps it was evil.

"I don't know yet.  We can start with letting me go."

"You will go and tell him I am here."

"I might.  That  would be one way to get him to you."  The eyes glittered in his pale face.

"He is here?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"That would be telling.  I'll send him to you."

"Why?"

A negligent shrug answered him.  "I have no love for a man who carries my face," he said softly, almost more to himself than to the man he faced.  "Tomorrow night.  Here.  Let me go."

The ninja backed away.  He sensed the wrongness in the man he faced.  He would release him, but he would watch him.  "Go.  Do not betray me."  The black clad man faded into the darkness.

Caleb pushed away from the wall.  He was still hyped on his own adrenalin and in need of release.  He checked his watch.  It was late.  He walked away, took a quick bearing and then headed for Royal Street.  He found the townhouse he wanted.  With a look of mischief, he climbed up the outside wall to a wrought iron balcony.  The lights were off inside, but the door onto the balcony was open.  He slipped inside.  His quarry seemed to have fallen asleep on the couch.  

She was tall, although not as tall as he was.  Slender built with nice hips and surprising breasts.  He leaned over her, trapping her wrists in his hands.  She came awake with a soft cry, both frightened and startled by his presence.  He covered her mouth with his.  She struggled against him, then recognized the kiss.  She softened, she pressed against him, responding to his kiss, his mouth and tongue.  She moaned deep in her throat.

He pulled her into his arms, his need pressing against her belly.  She chuckled.  "Out raising hell again," she murmured.  "Facing death.  Almost getting killed."

He pushed her back onto the leather-covered couch, pulling her clothes away to reveal her nakedness to him.  She let him tear the cloth away, reveling in the controlled violence the action implied, the abandon she fantasized.  Soon, they were fully engaged in satisfying their needs with each other's sweat slicked bodies.  

He left her sleeping on the couch, her clothes scattered on the floor.  He slipped out the front door, locking it behind him.  He looked back at the door and frowned.  Something was lacking, some indefinable something.  He sighed.  He'd have to find another playmate; this one was becoming predictable.  

He let himself back into the penthouse at the Marriott just as the sun came creeping into the morning sky.  He was surprised to find his "guest" already up, sitting in the middle of the communal area, meditating.  He regarded Jonathan curiously for a moment, allowed himself a quick grin and slipped silently into his own bedroom.  He stripped out of his clothes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Jonathan was aware of the entrance of his double.  He was trying to quell his curiosity about where Caleb had gone after they had parted.  There was something about the man that both annoyed and intrigued him.  They were, by Caleb's admission, related to each other.  Caleb was the only family he knew he had outside of the son he had yet to find.  Yet the other man was disquieting, unsettling.  There was something -- wrong -- with him.  

Jonathan continued to meditate, trying to calm his mind, to find a center that would not yield to the turmoil he found in his thoughts.  Finally, hunger brought him out of his near zen state just as there was a discreet knock at the door.  He opened it to admit a waiter and a small cart.  

A door opened behind him.  Caleb, looking not much rested, stepped out of his room wearing a black brocaded kimono.  It bore an uncanny resemblance to the ones Jonathan usually wore.  He waited while the waiter set up the table, this time for two.  He took his seat before the waiter was ready and waved the man away.  He looked around at Jonathan.  "Hungry?"

"Yes."

A gesture invited him to join Caleb.  "I thought you were leaving."

"I am.  I'll be out of your way today.  I may be staying in New Orleans for a few more days."

"Why?"

The covers were removed to reveal sashimi, miso soup, peppered eel and an assortment of Japanese side dishes and condiments.  Jonathan shot his host a curious look.  "You enjoy Japanese cuisine?"

"On occasion."

"And assumed that I would also?"

"Was I wrong?"

"No.  I grew up in Japan.  I sometimes find American foods -- confusing."

Caleb actually smiled at that.  "Yes.  There is an entirely different philosophy between a largely agrarian island population and one that has an entire continent to play with.  I find the -- austerity of presentation intriguing.  Although I was raised on more Cajun/back bayou cuisine as a child."

"Cajun?"

"Yes.  Alligator.  Rabbit.  Fish.  Crawdads.  Cooked over open fires.  Made into etoufees, jambalayas, gumbos.  This is an intriguing change."

They ate in silence.  

"You're staying?"

"For a day, or so.  I'm curious about my uncle."

"He was a petty criminal.  Surely that does not require further investigation."

"A three time murderer is hardly petty.  I'm curious as to what he did when he wasn't in prison.  And how he kept getting out."

"He served his time and was released," Caleb said softly.

"Did he?"

There was something very unpleasant in the dark eyes that met Jonathan's gaze.  "He did."

"Did he know about you?"

"Does it matter?  He's dead."

"And he left all he had to me, not his own son."

"It doesn't matter.  You should leave."

"Why?"

"New Orleans can be very dangerous to those who don't belong here," the other drawled.

"I can be very dangerous."

"How dangerous?"

For a long moment they held each other's gaze.  Then Jonathan looked away from that almost reptilian look.  His heartbeat seemed unreasonably inclined to accelerate.  A part of him wanted to shake his cousin and find out how much he really knew about Aaron Acton.  Another part of him wanted to get away from the man and his unsettling looks and behavior.

"I disturb you."

"What?"

Caleb chuckled.  "I said 'I disturb you.' It was a statement, not a question.  What do you see that unsettles you so badly?" He asked leaning forward.

Jonathan smiled.  "Your lack of control," he answered easily.  It was partially true, but only partially.

A snort of laughter greeted his answer.  "I lack no control," Caleb told him.  "That is the one thing I have never lacked.  You see too much of yourself in me, that's what disturbs you, that's why you want to leave and it's why you want to stay as well.  Aaron Acton is only a part of what keeps you here.  You need to know more about family,  your family.  Such as it is."

"Then tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"You're a liar."  Jonathan's face had grown cold at the response.

"Of course.  I thought you already knew that.  Now, I really must dress."  He disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Jonathan stood there for a few moments, frowning at the door.  He felt he had missed something in the exchange, but he wasn't certain what.  He stepped back into the room he occupied, showered and changed into more appropriate clothing for going out.

In the other room, Caleb leaned back against the door and trembled for a moment.  Damn.  It would be a pleasure to get Jonathan Raven out of his penthouse and out of his life forever.  At the same time, he did not appreciate being threatened by foreigners on his own turf and he was not wholly certain he wanted them dealing with Jonathan.  If his -- cousin -- was adept at fighting, and there were some indications that he might be, perhaps he could dispose of both the unwelcome intrusion and the cousin at the same time.

He bathed and dressed carefully.  Small sounds from outside told him that Jonathan was still there.  He heard muffled words of a phone call.  He wondered who his cousin had called.  Someone who cared about him?  A woman?  No.  The tones were quiet, but not that private.  A friend?  An associate?  A partner?  Perhaps he should find something out about his cousin before he turned him over to the sword carrying hunter.  Well, he had the rest of the afternoon.

Jonathan had called Hawaii to let Ski know he was delaying his return a day.  Ski had wanted to know all about it: how Aaron had died, what he had left him and why he needed to stay in New Orleans.

"You ain't plannin' on staying in New Orleans, are you?"

"No," he answered with a laugh.  "I am not staying in New Orleans.  But there are some questions I need to get answered.  Ski, he had a picture of Hikari."

"What?  How old?"

"Newborn."

"That ain't gonna help much, Jonathan."

He laughed at that.  "No.  But the birthmark is clear and -- Ski, it proves he existed, that there is a reason to continue to look for him.  I need to make certain he hasn't been killed already, that he has a chance at a life."

"And that's what's keeping you in New Orleans?"

"No."

"So what is?"

"A cousin."

"A what?  All right, I know what a cousin is.  Be careful."

"I am."

"Jonathan, that's the kind of statement that is inclined to make me question who I'm talking to."

Jonathan laughed.  "I'll be careful.  I'll be back the day after tomorrow."

"I'll meet you at the airport."

"I'll see you then."

Continued

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