Page 27 of Broken Wheels

Doc nodded. “I know, right? I mean, we all knew she was loaded, but no one had any idea it was that much. The letter she left for me said she’d wanted to wait until I was an adult so that my parents couldn’t take anything from me.”

Dix frowned. “Seriously?”

“I thought that was weird—until I learned the truth. They were sponging off her. It was always with the excuse that I needed something, and she was more than happy to provide it. The thing was? I rarely got anything new or different, so that was a bunch of crap. They were spending it as fast as they got it. Grandma wrote in her will that if by the time I turned twenty-one, the lawyer thought my parents had learned their lesson, then they could have a bequest. He said that after what happened with them trying to marry me off, the money went to the animal shelters instead.”

“So that’s why you don’t give them any money?”

He nodded. “It hurts, you know? But it was Grandma’s wishes, and I won’t go against her on that.” Then he smiled. “She went on to say that since I was a genius, I had to have ideas for things to help make the world a better place, and that I ought to use the money for that.” He met Dix’s gaze. “All the things I give to most places? I give them away for free because someone already bought and paid for them.”

Dix stood. “I’ll say it again, Doc. You’re a good man. There’s no one better.” He gave Doc a warm smile. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll be in the other room if you need me, and if I do need to leave, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

He turned to go when Doc called out, “Hey, Dixon?”

He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Doc’s smile was almost serene. “Thanks for not killing Christopher. It would really suck if you ended up in prison.”

Dix snickered. “Good night, Doc. Sleep well.” And with that, he flicked off the light and left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft snick.

Yeah, there’s a good man in my bed.

Not for the first time, Dix yearned to be in it with him.

Chapter 9

Josh jolted awake, covered in a thin sheen of perspiration.

Something’s wrong.

It took him a second or two to pinpoint his uneasiness.

Where’s Dixon? Why am I having nightmares? What did happen to Tanner? And why are these things rolling around again to haunt me after so many years?

If he were smart, he’d release the information he’d kept for so long and bring the corruption to light. Except that wasn’t an option and he knew it. Even if he wasn’t speaking to his parents, that threat hadn’t gone away. They could still be in danger.

I need this to end, and soon.

He got up and padded into the living room. His nostrils detected the amazing aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and then he spotted a pastry on a plastic-covered plate, accompanied by a pat of butter. Josh smiled to himself. Dixon didn’t match Josh’s preconceived expectations of a bodyguard in the slightest.

He removed the covering to get at what appeared to be an apple fritter, his mind still on Dixon. What do I know about him, apart from the fact that he’s the Chief of Operations for CrossBow, next in the chain of command after Michael? Okay, so he was kind of gruff, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Josh would have paid good money to see him go after Christopher. The jerk needed to be taken down several notches. What good was it to have money if all you used it for was to bully other people?

Yeah, Dixon was a mystery, but there was something about him that Josh found comforting. He’d asked his pad to store Dixon’s extension, and besides Gary and Michael, he’d never done that for anyone else. Then again, no one else had ever rushed out to help Josh get from his car to his lab. But it had been more than once. In a moment of crystal clarity, he recalled Dixon had helped him out many times, and always with that smile on his face.

The one that warmed Josh, as though he was sitting bathed in sunlight.

Damn it. Just how long has Dixon been in my life, doing what he could to help out? And why was Josh only remembering it now? Sometimes he hated his brain. He’d forget something, and suddenly it was there, smacking him in the face once more. But the weirdest thing had to be how damned comfortable he felt in Dixon’s bed. Scents of vanilla and citrus clung to the pillowcases, and that had to be from Dixon’s shampoo. The thick comforter made him feel warm and snuggly beneath its welcome weight.

But it was more than that—it was Dixon himself, the larger-than-life man who’d strode through hell to find Josh after the explosion. The one who’d lifted concrete off bodies, who’d found several people still alive. Who’d carried him out of the mall, before bringing him back to CrossBow and tucking Josh into bed with an order to rest.

The man who’d sent Christopher away with a bug in his ear. That brought a smile.

Christopher certainly wasn’t anything like Dixon. Or maybe it was better to say that Dixon was nothing like Christopher, for which Josh was profoundly grateful. Dixon was a good, solid, decent man.

And why the hell am I still thinking about him?

He shook his head. There would be time enough later to think about Dixon. Right now, he was a man on a mission and he needed to focus. He was grateful Dixon had gone to his lab and brought down a few necessities. He pulled his pad from the charger and set the hourly alarm he used to keep his attention fixed where it needed to be. He suffered a fleeting moment of remorse at the thought of breaking that pesky “no hacking” policy, but he soon squashed it into submission. Considering what he knew about the scope and magnitude of the project, he was determined to find out what was going on and put a stop to it once and for all.

First stepping stone? Cliff Tanner’s bank account.