Page 4 of Broken Wheels

He smiled. Malone’s luck is about to run out. Everything he knew about the man told him once Malone got the mail, he’d be too intrigued to let it go.

Which is why the boss entrusted me—his top man—to take care of him.

Lucky me.

There was no turning back now. All the basement-dwellers were dead, save one.

For the project to succeed, Dr. Josh Malone would have to die.

Chapter 2

Dixon Meeks came downstairs to the front door of CrossBow Protection at 5:58 a.m., just like clockwork.

He’ll be here any minute now.

He’d been paying Dr. Josh “Wheels” Malone a lot of attention during the past year, not that Doc was aware of the fact—Dix had taken care to ensure that wasn’t the case, especially as his attention wasn’t exactly official.

Okay, it wasn’t the least bit official, but he was in way too deep to stop now. How he’d gotten ensnared in the enigmatic Dr. Malone’s web, Dix had no clue, but entangled he was, with absolutely no idea how to get out.

Stop kidding yourself. You don’t want to get out.

He liked Josh Malone. The air of befuddlement that clung constantly to Doc was totally endearing, and cute as fuck. And if there were times when Dix’s fantasies about Doc strayed into more carnal territory, that was no one’s business but his. For the most part, he kept an eye out for the red-headed genius, and to that end, he’d gotten Doc’s routine pretty much nailed, right down to the time he’d show up for work.

Doc was a creature of habit for the most part—habits that appeared scattered to all hell, but there had to be some pattern to them, some strange, quirky method that only Doc understood.

Dix had figured it out, however. Did he understand it? Hell no.

Doc’s silver 2024 Honda Prologue came into view, heading for one of the charging stations that dotted the west end of the parking lot, a spot which put him at the farthest point from the entrance. It had taken Dix a whole week to figure out why he continually parked there, but now he got it: Doc wanted to be away from people as much as possible. Not that he was antisocial or anything. He just seemed uncomfortable in groups.

Maybe that has to do with him being one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.

Avoiding his coworkers was probably part of the reason Doc showed up so early, when most sane people were just cracking open their eyes and dreaming of that first cup of coffee, hoping it would soothe their nerves and keep them from doing unspeakable things to the people who dared attempt to communicate with them before the caffeine kicked in.

Dix understood that better than most. He needed at least three cups in him before he could deal with people. But it still perplexed him why Doc didn’t take one of the available rooms at CrossBow to be closer to his lab. He came in early and locked himself away until seven or eight at night—sometimes even forgetting to go home until Dix found him or the cleaner reminded him—so what was the sense in maintaining his own place? Dix loved his room at CrossBow. It was spacious, and it came with plenty of amenities, including housekeeping and laundry service. Best of all, it was part of his package for working for one of the best bodyguard services in the country.

He heard a car door opening and realized it was time to go outside and get ready for his morning rescue, Dix’s favorite part of the day.

Doc got out of the car, then opened the back and pulled out a box laden with papers and binders. He closed the door and started his trek to the building.

Any second now.

Sure enough, Doc came to a halt and raised his head heavenward. Though he couldn’t see clearly from that distance, Dix was pretty sure the movement was accompanied by an eye roll. Then Doc turned to go back to the car. He did his best to balance the box he held on one knee while simultaneously opening the trunk. Once he’d accomplished that, he grabbed another stack of papers and added them to the top of his ever-growing pile.

Dix shook his head. He’s a smart guy. Can’t he see how precarious that pile is? Apparently not. He appeared determined to do everything in one trip.

Dix already knew how that would go.

Doc tried four times to shut the trunk without putting the box down, which would have made a lot more sense. Finally, with his stack perched on one knee and one hand on the lid, it thankfully closed. Except Dix knew this wasn’t the end of it. He glanced at his watch—a gift from Gary Cross when Dix took the promotion to Chief of Operations after the whole Porter incident—and took note that the calamity was going to be occurring any second?—

“Damn it!”

There we go.

The box in Doc’s hand tilted and its contents fluttered to the concrete, surrounding his feet. Thankfully, it was a calm day, or those papers would be well and truly gone.

That was Dix’s cue.

“Need help, Doc?” he yelled from the main door.