Page 4 of Broken Wheels (CrossBow Protection Book 2)

Josh putthe document down and rummaged through his box of papers until he found the one he needed. He was grateful to—What was his name again? Oh yes, Dixon—for helping him gather up the documents. If he hadn’t, Josh could have lost what had taken him weeks and about thirty thousand dollars to acquire. As much as he loathed the thought, he was grateful to General Porter. Once Josh had discovered that people could be bought easily, he’d been able to get his hands on a few circuits from the missile they’d used to destroy his car. CrossBow had been informed the fragments had “vanished,” except it was more likely Porter had stepped in and made them disappear. Josh had gotten the pieces from a collector on the police force. Small things he’d find after a crime—stuff he knew wouldn’t be missed—made their way into his collection.

I really should speak with Gary about this.

Yeah, no. Josh was treading a fine line.

His internal voice piped up: Excuse me? You crossed that line already. His initial agreement with the government had been forty-six pages long, and it spelled out in precise terms that Josh wasn’t allowed to hack, wasn’t allowed to talk with anyof his former basement-dweller buddies—as the government referred to them—and was definitely not allowed to involve himself in any sort of illegal activities. At all.

That went out the window when someone killed Richie Brightmore, assassinated Hank and Benny, two other CrossBow agents, and tried to kill Michael Kennedy and Abbas Kazem. Then Porter had gotten his hands dirty. Gary Cross, one of the best friends Josh had ever found, who’d given him a floor for Research and Development, who let Josh tinker on whatever he wanted, almost died at the hands of a so-called rogue general.

Sure, Josh had given Gary money to buy the new CrossBow building. And yeah, he made sure there was a supply of money available should they need it. So what? Money didn’t mean a whole lot to Josh, so he was happy to do it. Still, Porter had caused multiple problems and had been responsible for too much pain.

But he can’t do that anymore, can he?

There were things Gary didn’t need to know, because they’d only upset him. So Josh kept quiet about going into some networks and finding pictures of Porter in his prison cell, his hands cuffed to a chair and a single gunshot wound to the head, execution-style. Josh studied the photos with the same degree of interest he’d employ when watching the dissection of a worm. Sure, one might feel bad for the worm, but if it had been the cause of so much anguish, then it needed to be stomped out.

With steel-toed, cleated boots.

The document forgotten, he went to a cabinet, unlocked it, and removed the recently acquired fragments from the missile. He could see why they didn’t want any of this stuff getting out. The wiring alone would have led them to Porter’s doorstep, since the serial numbers and codes imprinted on it were tied directly to the military. Even if they’d been stolen, it would have opened up the entire Abbas case to new scrutiny, which Josh was pretty sure Porter couldn’t have afforded.

He grunted. If we’d gotten this earlier, maybe all those people would still be alive. He sincerely doubted that whomever Porter was working for would have allowed that kind of slip-up. The man had been smart, though, getting cops to accept bribes to quash or even destroy evidence. Gary had said the police department rooted out sixteen people who’d been involved, and were investigating another forty.

How deep does the corruption run?

Josh didn’t have time for such thoughts. He had work to do.

He examined the debris under the microscope, making notes on his pad as he went along, fascinated by the complexity of the wiring?—

A soft thunk startled him.

Josh straightened, turned, and found Dixon behind him, smiling.

“Was there something you wanted?” He frowned. “You only just saw me a moment ago.”

Dixon bit back a smile. “That was two hours ago.” He gave a cough and inclined his head toward the counter.

Josh glanced at the apple fritter, bottle of orange juice, and fruit cup. “What’s this?”

Dixon cleared his throat. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you didn’t eat today.” His eyebrows shot up. “Or am I wrong?”

Josh cocked his head. Did I eat this morning? He’d gotten up early, eager to get to his lab. He remembered showering. Or was that yesterday?Or maybe the day before? Just how offensive was his odor? He resisted the urge to lift his arm and sniff his pit to find out, but he needed to know.

“Do I smell?” he demanded.

Dixon’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Do I stink? Be honest with me, please.”

He blinked, then leaned in and sniffed. “You smell of soap and deodorant.” Dixon straightened. “Why do you ask? Was there a particular reason why you might be particularly… fragrant today?”

The word tickled him. Then relief surged through him. So he had showered. He’d been so intent on delving into what he’d acquired, however, that he couldn’t remember what else he had or hadn’t done, and that included eating.

His stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, and there was his answer.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I love the apple fritters they serve in the cafeteria. I wish I had some butter to?—”

Dixon put down six pats of butter, and Josh’s stomach fluttered, though he was certain it had nothing to do with hunger. Maybe he was getting sick. “Thank you.”

That earned him another smile. Josh had the feeling Dixon didn’t smile a whole lot. His features were hard, craggy even, and as for his eyes? Almost emotionless was the best way Josh could describe them. And nothing like the man who’d just brought him an apple fritter.

“No problem, Doc. Listen, I have to oversee some tests Michael is having done with your new drones. Is there anything you need before I go?”

Drones?

Then he remembered. He’d given those to Gary and Michael the previous week. Well, to Michael—Gary was still working from home. Eight state-of-the-art drones, with four ARRI ALEXA 35 Production cameras mounted onto a lightweight fiberglass frame, capable of attaining speeds no other drone could match. They weren’t as small as Josh had hoped, but that was down to the cameras, which took up quite a bit of space in the chassis. Michael had asked for the devices so they could be used to check an area before agents went in. They would need at least another thirty, but Michael had mentioned wanting to know how well they’d perform.

“Hm? Oh, no. Thank you for asking, but I don’t need anything.” He paused a second. “You could let me know how the drones do, though. Especially if there are any problems. I mean, there shouldn’t be, but just in case, I want to be aware if any issues arise.”

“Of course, Doc. Happy to do that.” He headed for the door, but paused before opening it. “If you ever need me for anything, my extension is one-three-five-one.”

“Oh? All right. I can’t imagine I’d need you, but thank you for letting me know.”

Dixon blinked. “You’re welcome. See you later.”

And then he was gone.

Josh went back to his perusal of the fragments, but for some reason, he couldn’t focus. Something tugged at his consciousness. On impulse, he turned to where his pad sat in its charger.

“Pad?”

“Yes, Josh?”The programmed voice was deep and masculine.

“Please add a note to my personal file that Dixon’s extension is 1351.”

“Dixon’s extension is 1351. Note made, Josh.”

Josh had no reason to call Dixon. None. Yet, he added it to the list of things he really wanted to remember.

He just didn’t know why.

It wasn’tuntil two in the afternoon that Josh remembered to check his email. He’d made a note to do that at some unearthly hour of the morning. For some reason, Cliff Tanner had been on his mind lately, probably because of that mysterious email Josh had received a while back, asking if they could meet. Josh had been surprised to receive it, but he’d replied, telling Cliff to send details of time and location.

That was the last he’d heard from Cliff.

Maybe he changed his mind.

Maybe he found help from someone else.

Whatever the reason, the lack of a response had irritated Josh at first, and he’d fired back a terse email he regretted writing the minute he pressed Send. But when he heard nothing more, something began to gnaw away at the back of his mind. In the wee small hours, he’d opened that first email, and one glance told him why he couldn’t get Cliff out of his mind.

One line, actually.

I think I’m running out of time.

Josh hadn’t slept much after that.

He opened his email and heaved a sigh of relief when he saw he’d received a reply.

Thank God for that.

Then he saw the time it had been sent. 8 a.m.?

He clicked on it.

Dr. Malone,

I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you right away when you emailed me. Unfortunately I was correct in my assumptions, and now I’m really scared.

We have to meet.

I’ll be coming to Roswell today. Could you meet me at the Roswell Mall on North Main Street at 3 p.m.? There are four benches in the mall near the entrance to J.C. Penney’s. You can’t miss them. They’re by the fountain. We can go someplace more private after that, but I think it’s best if we meet somewhere public at first.

If you need to reach me for any reason, use this email address.

I must stress the urgency of the situation. Please be there. I know it’s short notice, but you’re the only one who can help me now.

Cliff Tanner

Josh’s stomach roiled.What on earth is going on? The desperation in those few lines was unmissable. He glanced at the time on the screen. Damn. It was already 2:15 p.m. He’d have to move it if he was going to get there in time.

And Cliff said he’s running out of time.

Josh grabbed his car keys and headed for the door.

This had better be life or death, Cliff.

The way Josh drove when he was flustered, death was the more likely outcome.

Josh keptboth hands on the wheel, focusing on the road. He really wished the whole self-driving car thing had worked out. His mind drifted too much for him to drive safely, and he knew it. And the light pole, mailbox, and Buick LeSabre he’d taken out that one night proved that. Maybe he should hire a driver.

That way I won’t accidentally kill someone.

Yeah, he could see Michael having a field day trying to help him out of that mess.

Michael….

“Damn!” Josh slammed his hands onto the steering wheel. He’d meant to call Michael to let him know what was going on. I should have left a note on my pad. But he’d been in such an almighty hurry to get to the mall by three o’clock.

Call him now. There’s still time.

He pressed a button on his steering wheel. The tone played, then waited expectantly. “Call Michael.”

“Calling Michael,” a voice intoned.

A few moments later, Michael answered. “Josh, where are you?”

Shit. He knew that tone. “Don’t be mad.”

“Mad? I’m not mad. No, mad was twenty minutes ago when I went to your lab and found you weren’t there. Mad was eighteen minutes ago when I had Dixon check the cameras and found you’d left the building. Mad was twelve minutes ago when I sent him to check your pad for any idea where you might have gone. Mad was eight minutes ago when he found your mail about meeting someone at the mall. Mad was five minutes ago when he rushed out of the building saying he’d go after you. Those were mad, but I’m way past that. Now I’ve moved into furious mode.”

So they knew his destination. That made it easier. “I know I should have told you where I was going, but there was no time. This guy was someone who worked in the same place I did. He’s afraid and reached out to me for help. I have to go see him.”

There was a pause. “And that’s fine. But you’re right, you should’ve come and told us. We would have sent someone with you.”

Josh snorted. “Michael, we’re meeting in a mall full of people. I’m pretty sure it’ll be safe. I just wanted you to know.” What was the big deal? It wasn’t as if he was in any danger.

“You wait for Dixon before you set foot in there, do you hear me?”

Michael might have been blowing things up out of all proportion, but his tone let Josh know this was the only viable option. Then the mall came into sight.

Josh glanced at the clock on the dash. He was already cutting it close. Not that he’d be late, but he wanted to make sure he didn’t arrive on the dot either. One thing was for sure—he wasn’t about to go over the speed limit. Josh hated driving at the best of times, especially when it was all too easy for him to get distracted while doing it.

“I can’t wait for Dixon. If I’m late, Cliff might leave. And I need to know what’s going on.”

“Josh—”

“I’ll be fine,” he promised. “Have to go. I don’t want to be late.”

“Josh, don’t you?—”

He disconnected the call. There would be hell to pay when he got back to CrossBow. But by then at least his curiosity would be satisfied.