15. Nick

FIFTEEN

NICK

A subpower hero's job is never done.

Nick was exhausted, even more tired than he should be without having had coffee yet that day. Did that make sense? He couldn't even think in a straight line. It was probably the aftereffects of whatever drug the henchmen had pumped into his arm.

Doug was on his cell phone, presumably talking with SPAM. He'd said something about cleanup, which Nick assumed meant someone was coming to take away The Undertaker. Really, the whole thing was sort of an emotional letdown. They hadn't destroyed a building or a single car. No explosions. What kind of superhero-ing was that?

On the other hand, he'd dragged himself out of the coffin in time to watch Doug go after The Undertaker, and that had been sexy as hell. Not that Nick found violence arousing per se, but violence to protect him? He was okay with that.

"You alright?" Doug asked. "You're being remarkably quiet."

"Yeah, just really tired."

"Hmm." Doug eyed him. "Maybe using your subpower like that took it out of you?"

"Yeah. Maybe. I guess. And I'm hot, dirty, was forced to lie in a coffin, and still haven't had any coffee this morning. Is it still morning? Did we save the day before noon?"

Doug—who, after flailing around in the dirt with an evil villain, somehow managed to hardly have a hair out of place—chuckled and then frowned.

"I don't know if we saved the day. We still don't know where Agent Carroll is and Porkpie Man isn't talking about what may have happened to the other agents."

They both glanced over at The Undertaker. Doug went and flipped him onto his back.

"They'll go easier on you if you just confess everything right away," Doug said. "Where are the missing agents?"

The Undertaker just lay pathetically in the dust and lava rocks, glaring at them but not saying a word. Nick understood the urge to kick somebody while they were down. The jerk had kidnapped him!

"Fine, have it your way. We'll find them and your flunkies. Watch him, Nick. I'm going to take a look inside. I'll be right back."

Nick and Tim kept watch over Porkpie while Doug searched the house.

"Agent Carroll isn't stashed here," Doug told them when he returned. "There's no sign of her or any other agent ever having been inside. The rest of the place is empty and clearly uninhabited. I suspect the structure was merely where The Undertaker did his personal dirty work."

Doug assured The Undertaker that SPAM would get him to talk eventually, but Nick knew that Carroll and the other agents needed to be found sooner rather than later. She'd already been missing too long. They couldn't wait for The Undertaker to spill the beans.

However, if Nick had one skill, it was getting under people's skin. He was a world record holder for annoyance. Maybe he could get him to say something.

"Pork Pie here knows more than he's letting on."

"He's not letting on anything," Doug said with a grimace, turning to look back at the house as if he could make Agent Carroll magically appear.

"I think he's got a keeper," Nick guessed wildly. "You know, someone tougher and smarter who's calling the shots, and he's scared of them. Poor Pork Pie, can't even be a proper villain all by himself."

"It's The Undertaker, not Pork Pie," the villain spat.

Doug spun in a slow circle to stare at their prisoner. "He speaks."

Pork Pie snapped his lips shut and went back to glaring at them.

"I have a question, Doug."

"Yes?" Eyebrows were raised—a very sexy look, in Nick's opinion.

"Isn't this the part where the villain tells us his evil plan?"

Doug slowly nodded. "Normally, yes. But we had him all trussed up before he could say anything. They don't like to confess unless they have us tied up. But, no worries, we have some tricks up our sleeves—so to speak—that will make it impossible for him to keep his dirty little secrets."

From afar, Nick heard tires crunching on gravel and then a very shiny black Lincoln Escalade rolled around the corner soon enough and stopped. The doors opened simultaneously. Nick wondered if the agents practiced that move but decided not to ask. In less than ten minutes, Pork Pie had been whisked away and Doug, Nick, and Tim were on their way back to the Strip.

"Oh my god," Nick gasped, "I need coffee. There's a drive-up. Please, for the love of everything that's holy, stop." He'd rifled through the glove compartment and dug out his emergency stash of Hot Tamales, but they'd melted into an inedible blob and even Nick couldn't bring himself to try and eat them.

"Yes, please stop. If I hear Agent Sedgewick complain one more time, he'll regret what might happen to the seat back here," Tim said from the back.

Nick saw Doug's smirk before he veered into the espresso stand.

"Your wish is my command."

"I don't think so, but thank you for stopping," Nick said. "Like, I might even worship you—but just for this, not any other weird stuff."

"Any time you want to worship me is fine, baby."

"Oh my god," said Tim. "My ears were not made for this. Why me?"

One twenty-ounce iced quad-shot with two pumps of chocolate later, they were back on the highway. Nick took a long draw of the magical drink.

"I think I'm seeing God," he muttered as the caffeine and sugar hit his system.

"Something anyway, with all that caffeine."

"Where are we going?"

"First the hotel and then The Ace of Clubs."

"No! Not there again! Why?" Nick whined.

"Because, grasshopper, even though The Undertaker is out of commission, the club is the center of things. The club is where the other agents went missing from, and we don't know that he took all of them, hence and therefore."

"What? Hence and therefore, what?"

"Hence, we go back to The Ace of Clubs. And therefore, we will find out where our agents are."

"That seems like a statement and not a plan," Nick pointed out.

"Agreed," said Tim. "I think I'll keep a watch on the hotel room."

"Nice work back there, by the way," Nick said, "letting the air out of the tires."

The henchmen had been apprehended a few miles away and were now in SPAM custody along with The Undertaker.

"A tortoise uses the skills he has."

"I mean, yes? Why wouldn't you? That makes no sense."

Tim lapsed into what Nick thought was a sulk. The rest of the drive back to the hotel was quiet.

"Please? Just a short nap?" Nick wasn't above begging. And by nap he meant something that wasn't sleeping.

Doug pointedly glanced down at Tim.

"We can stick Tim in the bathtub and shut the door," he whispered in Doug's ear.

"I heard that!"

"It's that or outside," said Doug.

"Fine. The bathtub it is." Tim huffed. "I'll hum God Save the Queen . I don't know why you two are suddenly shy. It's not as if I didn't hear anything before."

"Why God Save the Queen ? Never mind, I don't want to know." Lifting Tim up again, Nick stepped into the bathroom and gently set him in the tub. "You'll be fine."

"If only I could cover my ears."

"We'll be quiet."

Nick turned to leave and as he was pulling the door shut, Tim said, "I've heard that before too."

When Nick shut the door, Doug was still standing in the same spot, a bemused expression on his face.

"What?" Nick asked.

"Oh, you know," Doug replied, "I've just never had to put a tortoise in the bathroom prior to sex before."

"Obviously, you haven't lived. Just think, if you'd retired already, you never would have had this experience." Nick sauntered close enough to feel Doug's body heat. "Why are we still wearing clothes? That's the question I need the answer to."

"That was absolutely better than a nap," Nick declared, rolling off Doug and onto his back.

"It was." Doug turned onto his side. "We need to get cleaned up and get going."

Nick looked at the digital clock on the bedside table.

"It's only five. We have hours before we can go to the club."

"I was thinking that maybe we could have a nice dinner."

Nick felt a smile crease his face. "Oh, Doug Swanson, are you wooing me?"

Doug smiled too. It looked good on him. "Maybe."

"And in the middle of an op. That's the word, right?"

"Agents have to eat," Doug pointed out.

"We have to keep our energy up for other things. Especially"—Nick traced a line down Doug's impressive chest with his index finger—"for old?—"

Laughing, Doug swatted his hand away. "I'm on to you. I think this old dog has plenty of tricks for you to enjoy." He rolled off the bed onto his feet. "But we'll save them for later."

"Fine." Nick wrinkled his nose. "I stink anyway."

They managed to shower and get dressed in less than an hour. Nick was impressed. While he'd been scrubbing down, Doug called and made a dinner reservation for them. Nick had no idea where; the only instruction he'd been given was, "Wear the suit."

"I feel guilty having dinner while we're worried about missing agents."

The meal was delicious. Doug had gotten them in at an upscale Italian place and the food was incredible.

"We are quite literally in a holding pattern at the moment."

This was true. They'd checked in with SPAM again when they'd gotten back to the hotel room. Apparently, management trusted that they knew what they were doing. Nick had no idea what he was doing, but at least no one—barring Agent Schoenhut—was dead yet. As far as they knew.

"What happens when an agent dies?"

Doug stared at him, chewing the bite of pasta he'd just put in his mouth.

Before he could finish and answer with some well-deserved snarky remark, Nick clarified.

"Do agents have life insurance? Something for family? Does family ever find out what happened to them?"

Doug set his fork down. "As much as I hate to say it, it depends. If their entire family is powered, then yes, they are told what and how things went down. If, like you, only one family member has a power, then SPAM comes up with something believable and leaves it at that. And just like other places, benefits are dependent on time served."

"Huh." Nick dug into the baked pasta. If something happened to him, his aunt would never know the truth. "Is your family powered?"

A large bite passed Doug's lips and he didn't hurry to finish before answering.

"Maybe that was a bad question."

"No, it's a good one. Some of my family is powered, but we don't speak, not since I quit the business."

"Do we want to talk about that?"

"No, we definitely do not. Not right now anyway."

"Alright then. What's the plan for tonight?"

"I think we'll have to play it by ear."

"What if Velvet Elvis is there?"

One thing they'd confirmed after checking in with SPAM was that, along with being a known subpower holder, Velvet Elvis was not such a great guy. Things happened when he was in the room. Cash went missing while he was on the stage. Things disappeared—like SPAM agents. Did he have a partner? They weren't sure but suspected the answer was yes. They just hadn't identified who it was and had no real leads.

"He doesn't affect you. Much like the drug The Undertaker gave you wore off faster than he expected." Doug eyed Nick. "I think you're onto something. Your unique metabolism keeps certain things—powers, drugs—from affecting you or, at least, not affecting you as much as they do other folks."

"So I just, what, keep my eye out? I can't play poker to save my life or yours."

"We'll have to wait and see what happens."

By the time they made it to The Ace of Clubs, there was a much longer line than there had been the last few times, but when the bouncer spotted them waiting, he waved them through. Nick adjusted his tie and grinned at the guy as they stepped past him.

"Have a good night," Nick said followed by, "Whoa," when he realized just how packed it was inside. The dance floor was wall-to-wall writhing bodies and something awful was playing over the sound system. Was that Justin Timberlake? Did the DJ have no taste at all?

Grabbing Nick's hand, Doug pulled him through the heaving crowd. There were no free tables or spots at the bar in the main area. Nick was ready to leave and rescue agents another day, but Sven stepped into their path.

"Gentlemen, lovely to see you. There's space in the next room," he said over the din of too many conversations and the supposed music.

The middle room was, thankfully, much less crowded and much quieter. After his experience earlier in the day, Nick was still tired and strung out, like someone had rolled him too thin. He figured it was the time thing, but it could have been the drug Pork Pie had given him.

Sex with Doug had helped, but what he needed was a good night's sleep and no Sven hanging around looking like he wanted a sample of Doug for dessert. Or maybe even as the main dish. Nick scowled in the server's direction.

"What's that look all about?"

"Oh, nothing," Nick said airily. "Just making sure Sven understands the score."

Doug's signature smirk crossed his lips. Tipping his head, he pressed his mouth against Nick's before licking inside and tangling their tongues together. When he pulled away, Nick legitimately felt dizzy.

"There," Doug said. "I think the message is clear now."

"Yes, whatever you say. As soon as I can think again, I'll let you know."

They took a table that had opened up near the small dance floor. Presumably, they'd be invited to the secret room at some point. Nick's spine tingled with anticipation and not, as Doug insisted, from the huge iced coffee he'd had earlier. Something was going to happen tonight. He felt it all the way to his bones.

"What's the plan, boss?"

"I like it when you call me boss."

"I bet you do, but don't get used to it."

The way Doug smiled at him made more than Nick's spine tingle.

"What would you boys like to drink tonight?"

Ugh, Sven was back. Seriously, could he just not? Doug ordered drinks while Nick ignored Sven and looked around the room, taking in the various groups of people. He didn't see anything he considered weird. Lift You Up , by Ministry of Sound started playing. Nick couldn't stop himself from tapping his fingers against the tabletop.

"Shall we take a turn on the floor after we finish our drinks?" Doug asked.

"A turn on the floor?" Nick repeated. "This isn't ballroom dancing, old man. I thought we established this a few nights ago."

Doug's response was to roll his eyes.

"Very mature."

"As you keep pointing out."

"Yes, I would like to dance with you, Mr. Swanson."

A different server returned with their drinks. While Nick sipped at his, Doug ran his credit card.

"What's SPAM going to think of all these charges?"

"That I'm at a damn club late at night doing my job. Nobody ever asks Bond about his business expenses."

"Oh, that's where I think you're wrong. Q is always getting after him for destroying things."

"That's different."

"How is it different?"

"It just is."

"So, you're not a night owl?" Nick wasn't really either. Staying out late had never been fun for him. He was easily overstimulated and ended up wanting to go home before the shows got started.

"Nope. I'm a middle of the day eagle. And I like being at my house where I can control the environment."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Spoiler alert, it wasn't. Nick liked that Doug was a homebody.

"Have you ever heard of an eagle out at night? No. Eagles are also birds of prey."

"Technically, eagles are opportunistic scavengers, but whatever floats your boat."

Waggling his eyebrows, Doug set his glass down and stuck out his elbow like a man from the very olden days. "Shall we take our disagreement to the dance floor?"

"Absolutely," Nick agreed, abandoning his drink and accepting Doug's arm.

Once again, Nick brought out Flailing Man while Doug swayed back and forth. Doug was the planet and Nick was the wobbly moon. Whatever, it worked for them. They were both sweaty by the time the song was over and, amazingly, Doug still had a smile on his face.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw the pocket door to the back room slide open. He'd kept an eye on it while they'd been dancing, and he'd noticed that the door didn't shut right away. There was a slight hesitation and then it would slowly slide closed. If they were subtle—not one of Nick's skills—and quick, they might be able to sneak back there.

The immediately recognizable first beats of Can't Get You Out of My Head began to play, and Nick began to slowly dance them toward the entrance to the back room.

"What are you doing?" Doug whispered.

"The door. It doesn't close quickly and the staff isn't paying attention. We'll wait until someone is coming this way and then zip inside."

"And then what?"

"That's up to you, boss."

Nick wrapped his arms around Doug's shoulders, pressing his body against his partner's. "The only other option is to seduce Sven."

"Sven is out of the question."

"Are you positive? I think he's interested. Don't get me wrong, I'm a one-man man, but he could be useful."

"No Sven," Doug growled.

"Hmm, I like it when you growl."

"The door's opening."

Nick did his best to be subtle about watching who was emerging from the back room. This time it was Ginny. She was focused on getting her order in at the bar.

"Let's go."

As nonchalantly as possible, they stepped into the room. Very James Bond.

"I'm surprised there's no bouncer or door guard," Nick commented.

"Oh, we're probably on camera somewhere. Hopefully, it will take a few minutes for them to notice we weren't escorted."

"That's excellent news. Not . Now what?"

Turning to face Nick, Doug reached out and tugged on his tie before running his hand down the front of Nick's suit jacket.

"Just making sure you're presentable. Now you do the same for me."

While Nick straightened things that did not need it, Doug glanced around.

"Follow me."

"Boss."

"Yes."

The first thing Nick noticed was that Velvet Elvis wasn't playing; he was nowhere in sight. Maybe it was his night off. Or he could've played earlier, Nick supposed. The second thing he noticed was that the older woman he'd seen the other times they'd been at the club was again seated at the table Doug chose.

Nick sat down next to Doug but did not ask to be dealt in. The dealer shot them a blank look. She wasn't expecting them, but she didn't hesitate to flick seven cards in Doug's direction.

Almost immediately, the itchy feeling Nick experienced the other night had returned. Since he didn't see Elvis, Nick doubted he'd been the cause. Unless he wasn't in costume, of course, but Nick didn't think that was the case. The common denominator was the elder in the sequin-festooned tracksuit.

Reaching over, he ran a hand down Doug's thigh, leaned close, and whispered in his ear. "I think it's the old woman." He squeezed the massive thigh for good luck and because he wanted to. "She's been here each time we have. The first night I spotted her because she slipped past the line outside and no one else seemed to notice. Yesterday, the day before, whenever—I've lost track—she was at our table, and here she is again. My skin itches." Nick nipped Doug's earlobe, grinning when he was rewarded with a shiver.

"Babe, the things you say," Doug responded with a sexy rasp. "We're just getting started tonight. Don't you worry, we'll take care of that itch as soon as we get back to the hotel."