After a second of mulling it over, Timber said, “That’s it, I’m taking you to the cat doctor.”
He pulled Canyon upright in his chair by his shirt, letting his head loll, then pulled the chair. It was on wheels and easy to glide across the smooth floor with Canyon’s heels dragging.
Canyon roused, saying. “No doccor.”
“He speaks!” Timber cried, sarcasm in his tone, but relief in his heart. He stopped in the middle of the floor. “Lift your head and I won’t take you to the doctor.”
Canyon’s head flopped on his neck with a pitiful attempt. Timber got moving again saying, “Yes doctor, and if not doctor, then Wade.”
Canyon groaned and lifted his head. He grabbed Timber’s hand. His eyes popped open, wide and intense. “No doc-tor,” he said, enunciating clearly, eyes locked on his brother. “No … doctor. No… Wade. Important assignment…” His eyes closed and his head flopped, and he snored a tiny snort.
Timber stared, disbelieving, not knowing what to make of it.
“Fuckin’ fine,” he finally sneered, turning the chair around and pushing it back. “I’m covering for you today, is that it? Did you get into some fucking mushrooms or something? You still owe me for thelasttime I covered for you, and the time before that.”
No response from Rip Van Winkle. Remembering the thumbtack, Timber resisted an urge to smack Canyon on the back of the head, and instead pushed him into the desk nook. He froze when he got a look at the security camera view on the monitor—Mac moving fast down the hallway toward them, looking pissed.
“Shit.”
Without thinking, Timber jumped into action. Staying out of trouble was his specialty and it always went best if he moved fast and thought about the consequences later. He grabbed Canyon, yanked him out of the chair into a fireman’s carry, kicked the chair into the leg space under the desk, and hustled Canyon into the storage alcove behind the filing cabinet, hiding him on the floor behind some old mainframes. He sprinted to the filing cabinet and yanked open a drawer, fishinginside it just as Mac came through the door with a full head of steam.
“You got a lot of fucking nerve, Tiny Tim,” Mac growled, moving past the desks on his way to Timber. “Bobbo came after me today and the last time Bobbo came after me, I told you I was gonna fuck your shit up if it happened again.”
Timber spun and ran before Mac could grab him, putting the desks between him and his Sergeant.
“Mac, take it easy—”
“Time to fuck your shit up,” Mac growled, lunging for him. Timber scooted away, edging his way around his desk, matching Mac’s movements, planning his escape if Mac went up and over, all the while resisting the urge to laugh maniacally. Mac was not as mad as he could get but a laugh would take him there.
“Mac—"
“Shut it!” Mac pointed at him. “Check your fucking email. Mission critical assignment. I want results in one hour.”
Mac pushed off the desk and backed away to Canyon’s desk and sat down. “Meanwhile, I’ll be doing an inspection.” He yanked desk drawers open then looked around. “Where’s Canyon?”
“Assignment,” Timber said, staying right where he was, not trusting this was over. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the email.
Hey asshat, you’re dead you just don’t know it yet. Find this female and maybe you’ll get to live another day or two.
Attached to the email was a work-ID picture of a young woman with wild brown hair. Another attached file revealed scanty details, and a name: Dahlia Paige.
While Timber was reading, Mac grabbed a trash can, rummaged through Canyon’s desk drawers, and started throwing shit away. A stash of five Cracker Jack boxes, somehard candy, a wrapped sandwich, a jar of pickles, a jar of peanut butter and two spoons.
“Leave the spoons.”
“Nope,” Mac grunted. “New rule. No eating around the computers.”
Timber would have rather Mac socked him in the gut. He was so traumatized by the idea that he couldn’t even speak.Speechless for the first time in his life.He had to tell Canyon—! The thought of his brother on the floor in the storage alcove helped him gather the will to get his shit together.For his brother.
“That’s whack—”
Mac looked up sharply, growling deep in his throat, daring him to say one more word.
Timber couldn’t help but grin. “—Mac.”
Mac lunged for him. Timber backpedaled straight out the door, down the hallway yelling, “Calm down, I forgot you don’t like it when I rhyme your name with shit! I won’t do it again.” Inside he was laughing non-stop, but outside he stayed somber.
He skidded to a stop, hands up placatingly, still holding his phone, just as Mac burst out the door with murder on his face. Timber waggled his phone. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I just forgot that’s all. Momentary lapse—if you kill me, I won’t be able to find Dahlia Paige.”
