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“We don’t really know, but yeah, that’s our best guess.”
Yordan glared at him. “And you just let this crazy shit happen? Put out a landing pad and pray no one dies?”
Had the idiot been asleep for the last year? Of course that’s what they were doing! No one had the energy to figure this stuff out after all the craziness. Everyone was living on caffeine and their last frayed nerve.
That’s what Kit thought. What he said out loud was, “It’s on the list. Next time, call in before you arrive. I’ll let you know if it’s still happening.”
“You knew I was coming,” Yordan said, his voice accusing. “You were waiting for me.”
“I knew the van was coming.” They had trackers on all the company vehicles, not to mention sensors the moment the thing came within a couple miles of the estate. “We didn’t know who was in the van.” Though, he’d guessed. And hoped.
Yordan looked like he was about to say more, but he didn’t get the chance. Kit noticed one of their regular motor pool guys was pale and sweating. Worse, his hand shook like a leaf as he picked up a wrench. Some guys handled the daily spin cycle with boredom. They were living in a paranormal world after all. Other guys didn’t manage so well, and clearly, Rowland was one of the not-so-chill guys.
Kit glanced at Yordan. “Can you wait here a second? I’ve got something to discuss with you.” He didn’t wait for Yordan to answer but then turned directly back to the shaking mechanic. “Hey Rowland, how’s your kid doing?”
Rowland’s head shot up and his grip on the wrench abruptly tightened, but he didn’t swing. He wasn’t the violent type, but frayed nerves made even the mildest people jumpy. “W-what?”
“How’s Davy doing? Wasn’t that chess tournament last weekend?”
“Oh. Oh yeah.” The man brightened. His shoulders went down, and the haunted look faded from his eyes. “He did great, but that’s not the big one. That was just a small regional thing.”
“So, when’s the big one?”
“This weekend in Georgia.” He grimaced. “My parents are taking him.”
Kit frowned, mentally trying to sort through the lists of tasks for the motor pool. He didn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. Rowland was in no shape to be working. He’d probably hook the brakes into the air conditioning or something.
“I’ve got an idea,” Kit said. “How about you take the rest of the week off? Go cheer on your kid.”
Rowland’s eyes widened with hope, but then his expression sagged. “I haven’t got the vacation time, and we’re short-staffed.”
Kit raised his hand. “Let me worry about that. You go and enjoy your kid.” He jerked his head at the lockers. “Go on. I’ll get someone to cover your work.” Even if he had to do it himself.
Rowland didn’t need to be told twice. He was out of his coveralls and running for his truck like the hounds of hell were after him. Which, come to think of it, had been last week’s fun adventure on the estate.
Of course, now Kit had to square it with the head of the motor pool. That would not go well. Technically, the motor pool wasn’t directly in his chain of command, but as the guy in charge of all the combat packs, he outranked the person in charge of all the vehicles. Or he would, if Wulf, Inc. had anything so formal as rank. What they had was a loose structure built on packs with specialties. Since he was in charge of seven combat packs, and the alpha of the motor pool was in charge of just the motor pool, Kit won 7-1.
That didn’t mean the command went down easy. The motor pool was short-staffed. Kit had to work to convince the alpha that Rowland really needed to disappear for a while. And by “work,” he meant bribe. By the end of the “negotiation,” Kit was out $100 and had promised to fix a touchy Oldsmobile himself.
Not his favorite late-night activity, but it was worth it. Especially when a quick glance around the motor pool showed him that everyone else appeared calm as they went about their job. Hopefully, a long weekend off would help Rowland settle back into his job as well.
“I guess I’m going to have to move ‘spin cycle motor pool’ up to a higher priority problem,” he said. “I can’t give every nervous Nellie time off when things get weird…” His voice trailed away. In his head, he’d been talking to Yordan, who had waited patiently for him to finish. But of course, Yordan wasn’t someone who waited for anyone.
The man was gone, and now Kit had to waste more time searching for him like a lost puppy.
FML.
CHAPTER 3
Some Things Don’t Shrink in Water
It wasn’t hard to find Yordan. The lingering stench of swamp muck led straight to the showers. The guy probably was desperate for a long, hot soak. He probably hadn’t eaten either, so Kit stopped off in the kitchen and reheated some of last night’s pot roast. He wasn’t supposed to encourage drinking during the workday, but he figured Yordan deserved a beer. The man had driven solo up from the Everglades. So Kit grabbed a local craft brew and wished he could justify taking one for himself. He couldn’t. He never drank just one, and if he was going to repair an Oldsmobile tonight, he would need to be sober.
He settled into the bench area of the locker room, the meal tray resting beside him. As long as he was here, he threw a thick towel into the heater and waited. And by “waited,” he meant he let the steam wash over him as he imagined what Yordan looked like all wet and ripped underneath a hot spray.
What a joy to sit with his fantasy for a few minutes. He rarely got this kind of time. He’d been yanked from his combat pack when his problem with shifting appeared. They’d given him no choice in the matter, just threw him in an office and labeled it a promotion. Fortunately, he was good at logistics and quickly earned his current role. It helped that Wulf, Inc. was woefully understaffed. Still, coordinating seven combat packs was an all-consuming job and one that no single soul could manage for long.
Thankfully, work was slowing down—finally—after more than a year of mop-up from Wisconsin’s black hole of oblivion. And if he sat and dreamed about hot water, soap, and Yordan, then who would blame him except his own blue balls? He’d had fantasies about the guy since the man had taken over training during Kit’s first class at Wulf ten years ago. Back then, he’d been a horny teen, but some things never faded with time. And Yordan looked as hot now as he had back then.
