Doppelganger

Chapter 18

Alec rifled through the drawers in his kitchen, looking for his black gloves. Last time he had gotten back from a, er, job, he had taken them off in the kitchen. Somehow they had disappeared. His photographic memory wasn't being helpful at the moment, and he was going to chalk that up as a good ol' Manticore glitch.

"Why can't I go with you?" Quip asked. She was sitting on the kitchen counter that looked out into the living room, frowning at him with a serious pout on the side.

"I already told you no, Quip," Alec said as he slammed another drawer shut.

It was Thursday night, and Krenski and his lackeys were getting that drug shipment in. Logan had said that Matt Sung and his people were going to be there, but Alec and Max were going in as covert back-up. Knowing the superb and spectacular group of cops that this city employed, Alec was fairly certain that transgenic services were going to be needed.

"But I could help, I know what he looks like," Quip insisted, "And what he smells like. And I'll find him faster than you will." She slid her legs over the side of the counter and stared at him, daring him to contradict her. "I should get to go."

"I know what he looks like too," Alec said as he yanked open a cabinet. Logan had some grainy pictures and a couple descriptions from victims, including Quip. That was good enough for him. "And I'm pretty sure we can find him without using you as a GPS."

"But that's what I'm supposed to do," argued Quip, her eyes widening. She slipped off the counter and stomped over to lean against the refrigerator. Glowering, she crossed her thin arms over her chest. "I'm a tracker and recon, I should get to go!"

Alec closed the cabinet and turned around to look at her. She had valid points, but above everything, she was just a kid and if she needed a cherry on top of his refusal, he could always point out that she was still healing up from the gunshot wound. However, he would rather just pretend not to hear her complaints. "Find my gloves, will you?"

"Will you let me come with you if I do?" she asked, tapping one little sneakered foot.

"Gloves, now." She didn't move. "Please."

Letting out an aggravated huff, Quip shoved herself away from the fridge and stomped over to a drawer above one of his liquor cabinets. Oh, yeah, that one. She pulled it open, snatched out his gloves and tossed them to him. Damn, but she did have a good nose.

"Thanks," he said as he plucked the gloves out of the air before they slammed into his face. "You still can't come."

"Why not?" Quip whined, her arms solidly pressed to her sides and ending in clenched fists. "I'm a transgenic too!"

"You're also seven years old," he replied, "Not even Manticore would send you out yet." He pulled the gloves on, completing his cat-burglar outfit. He already had on the boots, the reinforced black jeans, the black turtleneck, the vest, the jacket and the backpack with the rest of his gear. "Sorry, Quip, but you're going to have to spend this one at headquarters." Where no one wanted to kill her.

She sent him a scathing look and stomped off toward the pantry with as much of an indignant air as she could muster.

Yesterday he had cleaned out the supply of electronics he had in the pantry by selling them off to a tech dealer. After he had gotten the prices he had wanted, he had bought a couple things with the extra cash, just some big pillows and bed stuff, and put them in the empty pantry for Quip. His efforts to get her to sleep in his bed while he took the couch had proved fruitless over and over again, so making her her own space was the only way he could think of to get her off his couch.