9. Special K Determined to Prove Himself

Chapter nine

Special K Determined to Prove Himself

F uck him. Fuck. Fuck. Who the fuck does he think he is? Ugh!

I slammed my hand on the desk. I hadn't been this hot since my brother died. I had tried to blow off Doolittle's comments, go home, and go to bed, but I'd tossed and turned all night.

Assistant. That fucker thought of me as his assistant. His sidekick . I was nobody's fucking sidekick.

Sure, I didn't have powers, but I was smart. Fucking smarter than Doolittle. That's why SPAM hired me anyway. Well, maybe they felt for me about my brother and all, and I'm sure they would have rather had him, but he was dead, so that left me. And I was smart. Hell, my IQ was so high that it could be considered a power. Almost. Okay, not really, but I could damn sure think circles around Doolittle. And I had aced the entry test. And I didn't even know that's what it was until I was headed to basic field training.

But Doolittle? That fucker. I'd picked him. SPAM had let me have my pick of the new agents, and I'd done the research. Doolittle seemed perfect. He was smart with advanced degrees. And damn, his eyes smoldered in all his photos. Not that I was interested in that. I wasn't up for any type of relationship. But he was the most interesting. Despite my unusual sexual interest in him, I was here to help people, not fuck around.

And he thought I was his tag-a-long. Well. No. Fuck him again.

I'd gotten my ass up, showered and shaved, and into the office bright and early. And Doolittle was nowhere to be seen. Of course. I sent him three texts, still nothing. Fuck him. I knew what needed to be done.

First, those triplets had disappeared despite having a barrage of SPAM agents and support on the scene. That meant they probably had additional powers at their disposal we didn't know about. Someone had to have shielded them. Hell, they hadn't even fought back. We'd seen their weapons. They had guns, but not a shot was fired. They simply sent the victims after us as a distraction and slipped out the back.

That meant they had somewhere else in the area where they were holed up. Of course, they didn't live in the warehouse. There had to be another location, and I was going to fucking find it.

I set up several auto searches. I fed in the two photos SPAM managed to get of these guys and what we knew of them. It wasn't much, but if anyone could find them, I could.

Once that was running, I stretched, leaning back in my chair to wait. That's when I noticed a stack of papers on the corner of the desk. I could have sworn it hadn't been there before, but now it was glaringly obvious. I pulled the stack over, sliding my keyboard out of the way, and examined the top page.

Shit. Of course. Paperwork.

It was all the paperwork we had to fill out regarding our little field trip yesterday. And…were we going to be in trouble? We didn't have permission to enter the property. In fact, we were explicitly told not to. Hmm…at least I knew how to get Doolittle to do what I wanted by telling him not to.

And to get us out of trouble, I indicated that we did not go on the property. We simply looked at it from the outside when the villain caught us and dragged us onto the property. Hell, that was pretty fucking close to what happened anyway. I added the birds and dogs, saying Doolittle tried to create a distraction so we could get away, but it didn't work. The events were only slightly skewed, but I wasn't about to get in trouble on my first damn case, and I sure as hell didn't want to tangle with that April chick again, either.

It only took me an hour to get the papers finished and signed, but I needed Doolittle's signature as well. I checked my phone. Again. Still nothing. Well, fuck him.

My searches were going to take longer to run. Maybe all day. So, I looked up his records to see where that fucker lived. Oh . It was right around the corner. I grabbed my messenger bag and shoved the papers inside.

Oh. My. God of buildings. And money.

Doolittle lived in a luxury apartment complex. Luxury with a capital L. It was one of the newest complexes in the city and had a throwback Art Deco design with cream and charcoal walls on two sides. They met at the corner where the front entrance was located. And that entrance was gorgeous with a stunning rounded glass rotunda that I wanted to drool all over.

I came from a middle-class family that lived outside of Jacksonville in a small town called Green Cove Springs. It was a tiny hamlet on the St. John's River, south of the city. And not even in the city proper of Green Cove Springs, either. No. They were west of the city, off a tiny rural road. They had an old farmhouse but not the farmland. My dad still worked for the insurance company in downtown Jacksonville and probably would until they forced him to retire or he died. Mom had stayed home when we were kids. I didn't know what the hell she was doing now, but every time I called, she was busy. With that background, I never imagined I could ever live in a place like Doolittle did.

Once inside, that notion was doubled. It looked more like an upscale hotel than an apartment complex. The front atrium was a lavish garden with multiple sitting areas throughout. Light cascaded down from the domed glass ceiling, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere. I wanted to grab a bench to sit and read all day. But that wasn't why I was here.

I made my way along the outer walkway to the elevator. Doolittle lived on the fourth floor, so I mashed that button while admiring the modern art hanging on the back wall. I didn't know if it was a print or an original, but I had seen this one before, a lovely watercolor of a garden path. It was fitting, given the atrium décor.

On the fourth floor were more obvious displays of wealth, from the carpet to the wall texture to the Swarovski vase on a sofa table beneath another gorgeous painting. I shook my head. I didn't think I could live here if I wanted to.

I knocked on his door, ready for an escape and expecting his apartment to be lean and bare, but I was wrong about that too. As soon as he opened the door, looking a lot more trashed out than anything else around him, I saw over his shoulder that his place was just as splendid as the rest of the building.

"What are you doing here so early?" He rubbed his face and stepped back into his house, leaving the door open, so I followed him in, shutting it behind me.

"Early? Uh, no. It's not. It's nearly one in the afternoon."

"Mmm…" he crossed the foyer into the main living room. One side had a fireplace, and across from it, a set of metal stairs with wire railing led up to another floor. At the far end was a glass door that led to a balcony. Everything was done in neutral colors with plenty of warm wood to offset the industrial feel. It was all very modern. The decorations made it feel exotic with Egyptian replicas on the shelves and multiple layers of carpets. He even had a travel trunk tucked into the corner, stamped with foreign place stickers.

"Some place you have here, Doolittle."

"I need coffee." He shuffled into the dark and moody kitchen. The cabinets and obviously custom range hood were black. But instead of upper cabinets, he had open shelves in dark wood, displaying fancy dishes, probably expensive china. It would have looked like a cave, except the tile that covered every bit of exposed wall was a bright white subway and the countertops were sleek white porcelain or marble. I couldn't tell which, but it made the place all shining and spectacular. "Want some?" Doolittle asked, holding up the pot.

"No. Uh…" I refused to let myself be distracted by his wealth or his sexy, sleepy eyes. "I need you to sign off on the paperwork." I dug into my bag and pulled out the stack, slapping it on his fancy counter. I still thought he was an ass. Maybe even more so now. How the hell did he afford a place like this? I hadn't seen anything in my research that indicated this kind of wealth. Maybe I should have dug deeper.

He poured coffee into an obscenely large mug and glanced at the stack of papers. "What's all that?"

"Paper. Work. For our escapades yesterday. Since I'm your assistant . I figured I'd take care of them, but they still require your signature."

"Yeah, uh, about that. Listen, K—"

"No. No need." I held up my hand and turned my head away. I didn't want to hear another thing from him about it. Obviously, he came from money, and having assistants was normal for him. That's when a cute black and white tuxedo kitty rubbed up against my leg, purring. "Oh, look at you. You little button."

"Damn it, cat. Shut up."

"What? What's he saying?"

Doolittle gritted his teeth. "Apparently, he likes you."

"Doesn't he like you, too?" I scratched his little head. "You cutie. What's his name?"

"Cat." He set his mug on the counter a little too hard. "And no. Apparently, he tolerates me."

"You can't name him cat, that's stupid." I picked the purring fur ball up and cuddled him.

Doolittle rolled his eyes overly dramatically. "You don't name cats. They tell you their name. At least when you can talk to them."

"Aww…I don't know. We can call you Fluffy Butt. Or Mr. Wiggums."

"No. I'm not calling you either of those, cat. And stop talking in a baby voice, K. It's annoying."

"Mr. Wiggums, it is." I set the cat on the counter and continued petting him. He'd let me know when he was finished with the attention. He lay down and stretched out, letting me scratch his back. "Oh, you want a scratch-a-back, Mr. Wiggums?"

"I feed you, you traitorous beast."

I laughed. Obviously, the cat was giving Doolittle a hard time, and I approved. "Sign the papers, Doolittle. So, I can go."

He slid the stack over and glanced at it as I pulled a pen out of my bag and handed it to him. "I swear. Don't they do this electronically now?"

"Apparently not. At least not at our level."

"Fine." He started initialing and signing the appropriate spots, barely even reading it.

"You are putting your name on that. Don't you think you need to know what it says?"

"No. I trust you." He signed a few more papers, then looked up at me. "And what I said at the bar, that wasn't what I thought. That was the status at SPAM. I mean…it's only because you don't have a power. Right?"

"Oh, that's it. No power. I must be the assistant. The…what did you say? Sidekick?"

"It's not like that—"

"Look. Just sign the papers and stop patronizing me. You obviously are clueless about how things work in the real world."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"

I glanced around as if his showy apartment said everything. And didn't it? But he looked more confused than ever.

"I don't think you walk on the same streets as the rest of us, Doolittle. Take the spoon out of your mouth and get a clue."

"You're being ridiculous. I mean it. And I don't think of you as my assistant. That's not what I was saying. You only heard part of the conversation. You know you shouldn't walk into the middle of something and assume you understand—"

"I understand enough. I heard enough. Are you done?"

"Wait. Uh…and here." He signed the last paper. Then he pointed at it. "See. It says right here, and I signed it. We are partners."

I snagged the papers away from him, shoving them back into my bag. I knew what it said because I'd written it. "I don't know what you're doing, but I have to get back to the case."

"Should I come with you?" Seeing him so unsure of himself gave me conflicting emotions. Part of me liked it a lot, thank you very much. He needed to be knocked down a peg. The other part of me was sad and disappointed. I'd had my pick of agents. I'd done the research. I picked him for more than his smoldering eyes. He was smart, driven. He'd proven himself in another field before being recruited. He was confident.

Maybe that was only the story I was telling myself. Maybe he was none of those things. "Why don't you pour me a cup of coffee." I needed to find out how far my judgement was off. "Let's talk."

"Sure." He moved to the side of the kitchen, opened a glass-faced, white cabinet that I hadn't noticed before, and pulled out a normal-sized mug. "I have non-dairy creamer and sugar. I don't have milk, but there's whiskey if you want to go Irish."

"Of course you have whiskey." I snorted.

He shrugged. "I don't care for it much, but it's good to have on hand. For company."

"I'm not company. And sugar is fine."

He slid the full mug and a sugar bowl in front of me. I climbed on the bar stool in front of the big center island and dumped a scoop into my cup. After stirring, I took a sip. "This is pretty good."

"Thanks. One of the very few things I'm good at." He leaned forward on his elbows, holding his giant mug between his hands, and looked at me intently. "What are we talking about?"

"You. Look, I don't know how you feel about me, and honestly, I don't care. Much. But we have to work together. And I don't know you. I know you were an archeologist before being recruited. That's it."

He shrugged. "That's about it. But the watered-down version."

"What's the full story?"

"Uh…K. I don't really want to talk about my failures and ineptness. Not with you."

"Fine. What do you want to talk about?"

"Why are you so smug? So, uptight?"

"What?" I set my mug on the counter. "I'm not."

He tilted his head to the side as if to contradict me.

"Fine. I've had to work ten times harder at everything than everybody else, and you waltz in, late, I might add, and have everything handed to you."

"That's not entirely true."

"How I see it."

He set his mug down. "You're ten steps ahead of me all the time, K. You know what you're doing, where you're going. Even how you're getting there." He threw his hand up. "I can't compete with that. So I don't."

I was surprised by his words. "Is that how you see me?"

"Duh."

"That's not how I see myself or you. By the way. You're charismatic. Charming—"

"A has-been drunk. I'm no detective, and I'm not even half as smart as you."

"Well, I am smart." The cat jumped into my lap as if to agree. I rubbed his ears. "Mr. Wiggums?" The cat purred louder.

"For Hellenist sake." He shoved his mug across the counter away from him, spilling it all over the gleaming white counter, then crossed his arms. "Do not even try calling on Bastet, you cursed beast."

"Bastet?" I asked, not exactly sure if he meant what I thought.

"Yes. He's threatening to curse me in the name of Bastet or something."

"The Egyptian goddess?"

"Of cats. Yes." He glared at Mr. Wiggums, who peeked his head over the counter at him. I had a feeling the cat was laughing at Doolittle.

I laughed a little too, then Doolittle relaxed a bit and chuckled. "Okay…" He opened the counter under the sink, pulled out that whiskey bottle, and poured a bit into his mug. "If I'm going to tell you my story, I need a little encouragement." He held up the bottle, showing me. I waited, still petting the cat who curled up and went to sleep across my thighs. He took a swig of the now-doctored coffee. "That's cold now. Whatever." He put it back on the counter and fidgeted with it, staring at the mug instead of looking at me. "You're right that I was an archaeologist. It happened on my first dig."

"What happened?"

"I found an artifact. Something new, unlike anything this world has ever seen. It was one of the greatest discoveries in history."

"Why don't I know about that? Why doesn't the world know?" I looked at him, suspicious of his so-called discovery.

"Because SPAM had to cover it up. I, uh, I fell. And touched the artifact. And that's where I got this power. Before that, I was like you. I didn't have any abilities. And honestly, I liked it that way."

"Oh."

" Oh is right. And well, the discovery linked the first civilizations of the world together. Showed they had some kind of control over abilities like this. There was a link. And a lot more to be figured out. SPAM swept it under the carpet. Hid it and forbid us from continuing our research. I think they paid off half the crew and one or two went missing. My oldest colleague, well, she won't talk to me. In fact, no one in the archeology field will talk to me. They spit when they say my name. That career was over in one fell swoop. Literally."

"I'm sorry." I could totally understand his attitude. Something he loved was taken from him, and he was forced to work for the organization that had done it. But wait. "Why are you working for SPAM? Obviously, you don't have to. Come on. How do you afford this place? You have to be filthy rich."

"Yeah. I am. I was independently wealthy. Came from money." He rolled his hand. "Whatever. It was never about the money. I loved what I did."

"I figured that." I could tell by how his eyes lit up when he spoke about it. "So why?"

"Why work for SPAM?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to say I had nothing else to do. And maybe I thought I could use this background to work on similar cases or something." He shrugged. "Turns out that they don't want me anywhere near archaeology, even behind the scenes. And they sort of, uh…" He scratched his head. "Not sure what the right term is, but they made me join. It was mandatory when they did their whole cover-up. Actually, I'm probably not supposed to be telling you this."

I hated hearing all of that and seeing how sad it made him. "So, that explains your attitude and lack of professionalism."

"Yeah."

And probably the drinking.

"So. What's your story?" Doolittle asked, standing straighter.

"That is a tale for another day." I looked at my watch. "I have things to do back at the office."

Doolittle made some kind of rude noise.

"Hey, why don't you meet me at the office in the morning?" That would give him plenty of time to sleep his shit off, clean up, figure out what he was doing with his life. Maybe. "I should have something by then."

"Whatever." He flicked his hand. "I don't know why I bother. But fine. Sure. See you tomorrow."

He'd gone right back to his shitty attitude. I wasn't sure how I could get him to shake that off for good, but maybe solving this case would help.

I headed back down to the archives department and the little room in the back I'd started thinking of as my own. I hadn't been assigned an official office yet, but this one worked, so I would keep using it until the librarian showed up and kicked me out. I settled in and pulled up my prior searches that I'd started. There were some results, but they needed to be cross-referenced. I tried to imagine Doolittle doing that but couldn't. At least he'd agreed that I was the smart one. I wouldn't be sitting here if I wasn't.

I might have understood him a little better, but he was still an asshole who didn't think I was worthy. Oh sure, he said I was smart and that we were partners, but I didn't believe he actually thought I was his equal. I'd show him though. I'd show him right here and now.

Bingo.

I found a location that had an eighty-nine-point-six percent chance of being the location we needed for the terrible triplets as I'd started thinking of them. The three blond hypnotist kidnappers. I couldn't be totally sure, though. If I was going to prove I deserved to be an equal partner with Doolittle, I needed to be sure. I needed to go check it out for myself.

The clerk at the motor pool was reluctant to let me check out a car. "I'm only going to scope out a location. Not going on property. Probably only doing a slow drive-by." I made a driving motion with my hand. The dude scowled at me. "I mean. Here's the address." I tapped on the clipboard I'd handed him with the paperwork clipped. "Says exactly where I am."

"Also says if you get yourself in trouble, it's not my fault." He smirked and stretched his arm across the counter, holding a set of keys.

"Exactly." I snatched them and headed toward the garage. I hadn't even asked what the car was or where it was parked. I clicked the fob until one in the far back corner went off. It was tiny. A compact-compact. Damn clown car. It probably wouldn't go above fifty miles an hour, so I hoped like hell I didn't get into a car chase. Fuck this.

There were only two choices: Get in and go check out the house or go back and complain and take another hour or more before I got a decent vehicle. Ugh. I got in the car.

Perhaps the car wasn't that bad. I wasn't a tall guy, so I fit in the driver's side without much trouble. I had to scoot the seat back a little. There were only twenty-seven miles on the odometer. It was brand new and still had that smell. I pulled out and headed into traffic. It didn't have a lot of get up and go, but once it finally, finally got up to speed, it was fine. And it was a deep azure blue that mirrored the sky, which seemed to stretch forever. And what a gorgeous day for a drive.

I'd spent most of the day in a damn dungeon. The only time I'd left was that trip to Doolittle's apartment, which had been a beautiful but bitter thing. Now, I was cruising in the opposite direction, heading toward West Shore. I was almost surprised they weren't on Davis Island, but that was where the richest of rich lived and maybe too conspicuous a place. Though, West Shore wasn't much better.

I got off the highway at Kennedy and headed down Southwest Shore Boulevard. Then, the GPS took me down the backroads until I passed the house. Well, house wasn't a good description. McMansion was better. It took up an entire corner of two roads. All the houses in the neighborhood had black picket fences, but this one had big hedges growing up over them, so you could see a lot less of the manor. I turned the corner on Beach to see the other side. It had less visibility with big trees in front of the gate until you almost reached the driveway. Then I got a good view of not only the three-car garage with a big dually truck parked in front of it but also the second story that included a row of balconies with wrought iron railings and the exquisite Spanish tile roof. But it wasn't enough to go on. I needed to see what was on the property, or rather who was there.

The solution was simple. I could park around the corner and walk over and get a peek between the bushes. With luck, I'd catch sight of one or more of the triplets and then take off before anyone knew I was even there. So that's what I did.

I turned the little blue car around and headed back, past the house, and around the corner. The house next door had a slightly smaller estate but with a big horseshoe driveway in front of the huge gate. And a couple of cars were parked along it. I backed the compact-compact right in front of them. It was so much smaller than the other vehicles that they might not even see it parked there from the house. And better yet, it appeared that it couldn't be seen at all from the estate I was scoping out.

After getting out and squatting down as I edged over to the shrubs separating the houses and hiding the place from the road, I stood and walked slowly, as inconspicuously as possible. Since I wore my office attire with khakis, loafers, and a tie, I thought I fit in with the neighborhood. At least, I hoped so.

Glancing up and down the street and seeing no one else around, I got closer to the gate and tried to peek through the shrubs, but I couldn't see anything. I would have to go around the corner and get closer to the driveway. As I approached, I heard a voice. Deep and angry, but I couldn't tell exactly what he was saying. I leaned this way and that, trying to get a better look and trying to hear better. There was only one voice, so I guessed they were on the phone. He said something about getting away and merchandise. None of that proved anything, but I could guess what it meant if it was indeed one of the twins.

Engrossed in hearing more and trying to get a better look, I didn't realize how far I'd gone until I stood at the driveway's edge. The man on the phone was behind the big truck, but he turned before I could ease away. I saw his blond hair through the truck windows. It was him. I took a small step back, but it was too late. He saw me. We made eye contact.

He came around the truck, never taking his eyes off of me. The old deer in the headlights idiom couldn't have been more true. Oh, Gawd. I couldn't move. The man's eyes flashed an odd color, and I was pretty sure I couldn't move for a far better reason than fear.

Everything went a little fuzzy. Damn, he got me. Hypnotized. Again.