14. Special K is Bored

Chapter fourteen

Special K is Bored

F our days. No word from SPAM. I was not only bored, but I had to get out of this apartment. As much as I loved being there, being with Doolittle, I was starting to climb the walls. We started bickering more and more, and I was ready to run.

"Doolittle." I sat my spoon down after stirring my coffee. "We have to do something today. If you don't let me go into the office, fine. But I have to get the fuck out of here."

"Okay. Let's go do something. What can we do?" I could practically see his brain churning through ideas, but as much as I wondered what he was thinking, I had my own ideas.

"Maybe we go down to Curtis Hixon Park for a while, soak in some sun, and then head to the office."

"No office." He pointed at me.

"Not to look at this case, but to start lining up the next one. Eventually, this triplet kidnapping bullshit will be closed. One way or another. And we can't sit around waiting for something new to fall in our laps. We have to go find it. Like we did with this one. Right?"

He huffed. "Fine. But I'm not dressing up. If we're going to the park first, I'm wearing shorts. It's fucking hot."

"It is. And we're not officially working, so I think that's fine. As long as they aren't ratty cut-offs." I honestly wanted to see him in a pair like that. Wet denim showing off his muscular legs. Bare chest. Oh yeah… Yummy. "Maybe we can come back after and swim. Isn't there a rooftop pool here?" I needed to stop thinking about Doolittle in a speedo before we ended up back in bed. The sex was great. But I needed more than movies and fucking, though that seemed to be our thing.

"Of course. No cut-offs, but hey, do you need to stop by your place? Where do you live anyway?"

Nowhere near as nice as Doolittle's place, for sure, but I didn't want to share that after spending so much time with him. "Ybor. And no. I have stuff." I had grabbed my bag out of my locker at work before coming in, and we had barely worn clothes the last few days, but maybe I didn't have enough stuff. "Or I can stop and buy some things. My place is out of the way."

"Ybor's not that far." He held up his hands to placate me.

"Eh…" It was on the east side of Tampa, and my place was actually on the outskirts, closer to Mango than downtown Ybor. The historic district was cute with all the charm of wrought iron balconies on old brick, but I lived more out near Orient Road, near the jail. Not cute at all. My place had no character, no class. Okay, it was gated and newer, but still very cookie-cutter plain with standard construction grade cabinets and fixtures from the mid-1990s—boring. All the closets had old-fashioned plantation bi-fold doors, and all the walls were white—boring. The tub and shower had a standard fiberglass surround, and there was only one bathroom, one bedroom—also boring. Sure, it was all nice and clean and functional. I certainly wasn't embarrassed by it. Well, maybe a little. But the bigger issue was that it didn't feel like home. Like me. I had a lot more personality than my current apartment showed. There was nothing personal there, no one who made me feel warm and cozy. Like Doolittle did.

Thankfully, he didn't push it. Probably because it was in the opposite direction of where we were going. Instead, we grabbed a Lyft and headed to the park. It wasn't far, and we could have walked, but it was nice not to have to in this Florida heat, especially since we spent our time at the park walking around and talking about nothing. We shared our likes and dislikes and talked about what the hell we were going to have for dinner. Doolittle wanted to take me out, but I wasn't comfortable going anywhere fancy. I only had the shorts and T-shirt I wore, a pair of sweatpants, and the suit I'd worn to stake out the triplet's house. Plus, a few pairs of boxers. And going out to a restaurant would mean buying something or going home first. I didn't feel like doing either of those things.

We ended up deciding to walk up E Madison and grab some food from the Urban Cantina. We both discovered we loved Mexican, and I was getting hungry. We went in, and I ordered carne asada quesadilla, and Doolittle went for the El Chango, which was an enchilada and taco combo.

While we waited for our food, we munched on chips and queso and talked about SPAM, but not the case. "How did you join?" he asked me. He had to be curious since he'd been pressured to join after his spectacular artifact fail that SPAM covered up, which wasn't at all normal.

"I took a quiz. Guess they liked my answers." I shrugged it off like it was nothing, but it had, in fact, changed everything for me.

"So weird. Everything about SPAM is weird. Notice that anytime you call in, April answers?"

"I hadn't but now that you mention it…"

"And the leaders rarely tell you their rank or security level. They assume you know, and you're expected to follow orders."

I took a sip of my iced tea. Now that he was bringing this up, I realized how right he was. "Some of the things they taught us in basic training were totally crazy, too." Every field officer had to go through training from hand-to-hand and weapons to logic and critical thinking. Of course, I loved the critical thinking stuff better, but I could handle myself in a fight—unless I got hypnotized. "Maybe they'll add wearing contacts, so you don't get hypnotized to one of the courses."

Doolittle chuckled. "Maybe. You never know. They did have a lot of weird classes. I even had reaction training. Did you do that?"

"Is that the one where they throw things at you, and you have to dodge or block?"

"Yeah, that's it. Hated that." He chuckled. "The advanced class was the same only we had to dodge flying objects while going through an obstacle course."

"I never did the advanced one. That had to suck."

"Right! It did, but I really got in shape. Shit." He patted down his shorts.

"What? Oh." My phone went off only a second later. We looked at the screens, and I was sure they said the same thing: Get into the office immediately. Project Triplets is a go.

"Hm…now we have a case name."

"Nice. But I'm hungry." I glanced around the restaurant. Still no food. The place was somewhat busy, and we waited patiently, sitting across from each other at a little table in the center of the room. Big windows looked out to the street and let sunshine in, cheering the place up.

"You call an Uber. I'll get the food." Doolittle went to the bar that acted as the front counter. It looked like he slid money across to the young man, who took it, nodded, and went to the back. He looked hot standing there like he'd stepped off the pages of a magazine. Khaki shorts, a lighter color than you'd expect, and they looked super soft and tight in all the right places. He had great legs for shorts. And his golf shirt was a soft hunter green. He paired his outfit with white sneakers that looked brand new and no-show socks. There was nothing about his physical appearance I didn't like. He made my head spin. Made me question what I'd thought about my sexuality. If I had to be honest, I'd wanted him before I even met him, and I normally didn't do insta-lust.

I had to force myself to ignore the sexy doctor-turned-agent and order a ride. That would get us across town faster for sure, and hopefully, we'd have food in hand. A minute or two later, Doolittle returned to the table with a to-go bag. "Got it." He tugged my shirt, a white short-sleeved cotton, tucked into my peach-colored shorts. My old tennis shoes were no longer white, but at least they were comfortable. I didn't look as good as Doolittle, but I was no slouch. Like him, field training had me in great shape, physically, even if my muscles weren't as big and pronounced as his.

"Car is on the way."

"Good." Doolittle smiled at me appreciatively. "You ready to save the world, sweetheart?"

"Let's do it."

Back at HQ. Back in the conference room, office 345. This time, more agents stood behind the table, maybe twenty—and all of us bored. Finally, Leader One entered the room and dropped a thick file on the table. "Agents. We're ready to roll out. Here's the target." He clicked a remote control, turned the screen on, and brought up a map of Tampa Bay that focused on the eastern side of the Bay. "They didn't have time to go far, but they relocated here. Seaport Manatee." He clicked again and the map zoomed in to an area south of Tampa, south of Apollo Beach and Ruskin. But still north of the interstate and Skyway Bridge.

Leader One clicked the remote again and an aerial view of one of the ports came up. It looked similar to the last one, but heavier fencing circled the place, making it militaristic. "It's believed they still have approximately twenty to twenty-three hostages. The objective here is to infiltrate, rescue hostages, and capture the triplets. We'll have three distinct teams in place. One to distract and disrupt. This team will also circle around and act as a second wall of defense. Team Two will locate and rescue any hostages. And Team Three. Any guesses?"

Someone in the back snapped his heels together and barked out, "Capture triplets."

Leader One pointed the remote toward the voice in the back, apparently at the speaker. "Exactly. And we want at least one of them alive. They have critical information we need."

"What information is that?" I asked, unsure how this case connected to anything else SPAM was working on, but quickly deducing it must.

"Classified," Leader One answered. "But I can say this. These triplets are not acting alone. They have support. And perhaps an ulterior mission. They're trafficking people. Selling them. To pay for something. It's bigger than simply lining their pockets."

I wasn't so sure about that. People did terrible things for money. This was proof, but I wouldn't argue with the team leader. If there was a larger connection, that didn't change our mission.

Leader One changed the screen again. This time, bringing up a blurry picture of one of the triplets. It looked like it was taken at a distance and while he was moving. "This is the best picture we could get of one of the three suspects. They all have a similar look. White-blond hair down to the shoulders. Pale skin and eyes. Those eyes glow when they tap their power." That bit of information had come from Doolittle who had noticed that during our first encounter. "It shouldn't matter, though. Everyone—and I mean everyone—will be wearing the specially developed contacts. Thanks to Agent Special K." He nodded toward me. I didn't want the credit, though. I wanted the capture. I wanted to put these creeps behind bars or in a grave. They scared the crap out of me, pissed me off, and made me think violent thoughts that I'd never thought I was the type of person to have.

"We move out in five minutes. Transports are waiting in the garage, Bay One. You'll be given assignments at that time. Move out." He waved his hand and turned the screen off while everyone headed into the hall. "Doolittle, K. One moment."

We nodded and stood but waited for everyone to clear the room. "Sir?" Doolittle asked when the last agent left.

"You're both on the rescue team. Are you okay with that?"

"Of course," Doolittle answered, and I nodded. I totally wasn't okay with that. I wanted to be in on the takedown. I wanted payback.

"You're rookies. The guys I have on Team Capture have been doing this for years. But I realize this is your case. You will certainly get a lot of credit for finding these characters and potentially stopping much worse from happening."

"Thank you, sir," Doolittle again answered. I pursed my lips and gave a curt nod.

"Special K?" Leader One asked.

"I'm good."

He stared at me for a minute but took my words at face value. Whether he chose not to look deeper or didn't realize what was brewing beneath the surface, I didn't know, but he moved on. "Great. Doolittle. I want you to try to contact those birds again. If they can help distract or provide more intel on the ground, it would be helpful."

"I'll try, but birds are fickle. Docks hangs out around Port Tampa. I'm sure he won't be around, but maybe—"

"Whatever you can do. We have a few other supers on the team. A fire-thrower, a strong man, a few shields, and another gal who can do all sorts of weird things that are hard to categorize. They're professionals who have been SPAM for years. Please defer to them. Especially in the heat of the moment. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Doolittle answered, but this time I echoed my agreement. I could hardly go against that order. I wanted to be the hero, and I knew Doolittle did too. Or at least, he wanted to make a difference. If we were hurt or worse the first time on a mission like this, we wouldn't get another chance.

Leader One gave me an intense, searching look. But I reassured him before he could say anything else. "I'm not a hot head. I understand." And as much as I wanted to punch one of those triplet fuckers in the face, I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the overall mission or our safety. I felt like Leader One had knocked the wind out of my sails before I even left the dock. I would have to be okay with it, whether I liked it or not.

"Good. Dismissed."