Page 5 of Broken Wheels
The poor guy knelt in the parking lot, looking at the mess around him. He seemed so goddamn bewildered and lost.
He glanced up at Dix and shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”
Dix knew otherwise. He approached slowly, not wanting to spook the already-flustered Doc. “You know what? I think I’ll give you a hand anyway.” He crouched and began to gather the papers into a pile. He snuck a peek at Doc, and for a second there, he thought Doc was close to tears.
How frustrating must it be to have a genius-level IQ and fail at something so basic?
“You okay?”
Doc peered up over his glasses, his pale blue eyes large and round. “I said I’m fine,” he answered, his tone clipped.
Okay, Dix didn’t have a sky-high IQ, but even he knew that wasn’t true. Doc might be many things—an inventor, a genius, not to mention cute as a fucking bug—but he couldn’t lie to save his life. Dix finished scooping the papers up. He placed them on top of the box, then took it from Doc’s hands.
“I’ve got it.” Doc’s gaze flitted to his car.
“I’m on my way back inside,” Dix told him. “Would be a waste to go empty-handed.”
Doc bit his lip. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” And don’t do that again. Doc’s biting-lip thing had the power to reduce Dix to a hot mess. “Do you need to get something else from your car before we go?”
Doc gave his car another glance. “I left my jacket in the back, but it’ll be warm today, so I should be fine.”
Dix wasn’t about to let Doc take any chances with his health. “It might rain this afternoon. Best to have it if you need it.” Besides, he didn’t want to picture Doc drenched from the rain. Now, if it were Fantasy Doc, still wet from a shower after he and Dix had spent a torrid night together?
Hell yes.
He did his best to banish those thoughts. Doc was brilliant, rich—at least that was the word around CrossBow—and what use would a guy like that have for a former military grunt?
The web that Dix was already snared up in got a little tighter, only this time he was certain of one thing.
Getting out was not an option.
Doc grabbed his coat from the car, then led the way to the building. He keyed in his code and opened the door, holding it for Dix. He gestured to the box.
“I can take that.”
Dix shook his head. “You could, but I have it all balanced, so it would probably be a lot better if I held on to it for now. I’ll go up with you to the lab and put the stuff on your table.”
“Okay. Thank you.” He smiled. “What was your name?”
Dix bit back a sigh. Oh, Doc. Here we go again.
“Dixon Meeks. I’m the Director of Operations, remember? After that whole thing with Porter when Mr. Cross got… hurt, he promoted me so I could help out Mr. Kennedy if necessary.”
Hurt didn’t even come close to what had happened to Gary Cross.
Dix’s stomach lurched at the memory of that airstrip where they’d tortured him. A kneecap blown off, a broken arm, broken fingers, a beating so bad that he lost six teeth and a percentage of vision in one of his eyes….
While Dix appreciated his strength, he wasn’t sure he could have survived what Gary had.
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry.”
“It’s no problem.” Dix smiled internally. How many times had he said this?
They got to Doc’s floor and the door slid open. Inside the lab, the air conditioning was on high, which caused Dix’s skin to pebble. “Where would you like this?” he asked, knowing what the answer would be before Doc opened his mouth. It was always the same response.
“Oh, on the table, please.”