The Duplicate

Chapter Fifteen

Almost in time with the ticking of the clock, my spoon clinks against my bowl of instant oatmeal. The noise has earned several irritated glances from the devil standing next to the window. And though he hasn't uttered a word, with each glance he shoots my way I see his patience wearing thinner.

I try to slow my gorging. Judging by the dark purple half-moons which have returned under his eyes, this is not a morning to piss Trip off.

Only God knows what time he returned to the apartment this morning. Seven o'clock, under the bluish hue of early sunlight, my eyes had dragged open. And I discovered him sitting, sleeping at the end of the couch, at my feet. He must have dozed off by accident, because the back of his hand was resting on my calf. The moment I stirred, pulling my legs up to give me some distance from him, he snapped awake.

His fingers had closed around the gun resting in his palm. And his eyes had fixed on the door then on me. He'd been on high alert.

And whatever was making him restless hasn't worn off yet.

Dax comes wandering into the kitchen, hair still dripping wet and glasses a bit fogged from the shower he's just taken. Slowly, cautiously, he creeps around Trip and edges towards me. The small smile that brightens his eyes as he approaches makes me feel like we're friends now. "Where did you find that?" he asks, nodding down at my oatmeal.

"In the very back of your cabinet," I say around a mouthful. I'd been lucky to find it at all—behind an empty jar of peanut butter, accompanied by a packet of gravy. After much scrounging, the oatmeal was the only edible thing I could find in this place.

As if reading my thoughts, Dax reddens. "Sorry. I don't usually eat breakfast. And for lunch or dinner I've been ordering take-out."

An understanding smile tugs my lips. "Well, it's not like you were expecting company."

"No, I guess not." Dax beams back, stuffing his hands into his pockets and kicking non-existent dirt across the floor—only to kick the table leg. It screeches on the tile.

Trip glares.

"Sorry." Dax clears his throat, cheerfulness melting away. "So, uh... did you find anything, Triple?" He gestures at the stack of printouts on the kitchen counter.

Earlier, while my oatmeal bowl circled in the microwave, I watched Trip stand next to the window, his pale eyes searching through the papers. Deep in thought. Contemplating. They have a different glint to them when he's thinking, I noticed. They aren't so frosted over. But now Trip's eyes are cold, chilling as they touch on me, flash towards Dax, and retreat back to the window.

Maybe Dax was right. Maybe Trip is claustrophobic. He's been hovering over the window all morning, like a bird hovering over its cage door.

"I'm going after Verbeck," he says.

The name doesn't mean anything to me, but to Dax it seems like it does. He blinks several times, mouth forming an "O" as if he wants to say, What?! Instead he settles with, "Niles Verbeck?"

Trip nods once.

"Why—how... But..." At a loss for words, Dax shakes his head, slinging water droplets from his hair.

"Who's Niles Verbeck?" I ask, feeling out of the loop.

When Trip ignores my question and continues to stare out the window, Dax speaks up. "He's a slimy little prick, put simply. He's about as crooked as they come, involved in every sleazy thing you can think of, from extortion to human trafficking."    

"Human trafficking?" My eyes widen in disbelief. "A Government Official?"

"Are you still under the illusion Government is your friend?" Trip asks, only his eyes moving to bore into mine.

I quiet.

"But why Verbeck?" Dax scrunches up his nose. "Why him of all people? He's got to be just as protected as any of the other Officials. He's a stupid, slimy, disgusting bastard, but he's just as dangerous. He's just as powerful."

Trip shakes his head and leans a shoulder against the wall. "He's not dangerous. Any power he has he gets from his connections to higher Officials. And, last I heard, he's been drowning in his own debt to some."

"Last you heard?"

"I've met Verbeck. A few times. Enough to know he's not a threat alone."

"But that's my point," Dax says. "How are you going to get him alone? It's not like you can just climb in through his window and snag a fingerprint from him while he's sleeping. It's not that easy. Most Officials have home security—"

"I'm not talking about his house."

Dax's eyes narrow behind his lenses but soon widen in shock. "No, no, no. You can't be serious."

"What?" I ask, gaze flashing between Dax and Trip. "He can't be serious about what?"

Now both of them ignore my question.

"I know the layout," Trip says. "I know security won't be a problem. And Verbeck will be there."

"But..." Dax shrugs his shoulders to his ears, struggling for words. "There will be tons of people."

"That only makes Verbeck feel less vulnerable."

"But, still, getting him alone is the problem. You can't just drag him out. You can't even be seen by him. If he recognizes you, you're in deep shit."

"I know." Trip's eyes fall on me. A pointed stare. "I have an idea."

I shift under his gaze and look up to find Dax is staring down at me too, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "What?" I ask.

Trip pushes off the wall. "You're going to need a dress, Ashford."