Opening the door, he motioned for Leland to enter. "After you."
He motioned Greg ahead of him too, then followed them in and closed the door, removing his hat and hanging it up before turning to Byron.
Who was currently staring at Leland like he was a bank with zero security and free cupcakes. Byron's face was cherry red, mouth slightly agape. Before Dixie could figure out what to say, Byron turned and fled. "What in the hell was that all about? Byron ain't usually that weird."
"I think Byron's got a crush," Greg said, shooting Leland a mischievous little grin. "I've never seen him do that. Never seen him interested in anyone, as a matter of fact."
Dixie snorted. "I seriously doubt that's how Byron acts when he's attracted to someone. He don't strike me as someone so new to the game he acts like a twelve-year-old with their first crush."
"It's Byron, there is literally no telling," Greg countered.
Dixie opened his mouth, then gave a huff of laughter. "Fair enough."
"What's going on?" Leland asked, mouth pinching. "You brought me here—now what?"
"Now you can sit down and tell us why you need a Mason Chip," Dixie said. "I'm keen to hurt the G.O.D. but not so eager I'd hand those chips over to just anyone—even if I do trust your cat."
Greg shot him a look.
Leland's mouth went from pinched to flat, but he sat down. "I'm not out to hurt anyone—quite the opposite."
Dixie sat down across from him, folded his arms on the table. "Then why the hell did you rope Greg into a half-cocked scheme to get something you don't know shit about? You damn near got him killed, and me alongside him in the fallout."
"I'm sorry," Leland said, shoulders slumping as his anger bled away. "I thought I did know all I needed to; I was so careful to learn everything I could." He rubbed his fingers across the table, thumbing over a groove where Byron had once dropped a heavy metal box. "It's easy to miss that part of your knowledge includes stupid assumptions you didn't know you were making—like microchips are in computers. Truly, I'm sorry." He looked at Greg, then Dixie.
"I'm an adult, I agreed to help," Greg said. "And I'm still alive."
"Yeah, but how many of your nine lives you got left?" Dixie asked, grinning when Greg glared and swatted at him.
"Your stupid cat jokes still aren't funny."
Dixie's grin widened. "I'm laughing."
"Whatever, spaghetti western. Whatever."
Leland cast Greg a faintly amused look. "I've never seen you flirt before. Why am I not surprised you're the flirt-by-bickering type?"
"I am not, shut up," Greg muttered, sitting down at the table as far away from both of them as he could get. "Seriously, where is Byron?"
Dixie shrugged. "He'll come back when he comes back." He glanced at the monitor on the wall. "News. Search for mentions of: Minder and Leland Devereux." There was a soft chime as the orders were acknowledged. Dixie watched the news, which rambled on about Kevin Barlow being attacked in an alleyway by the notorious Minder, believed now to be Leland Devereux, who was being sought for questioning. Barlow was currently under arrest on charges of assault. It moved into stocks then, and how Barlow Industries was currently tanking, and there were already murmurings of the board moving to fire Barlow. "When you start a mess, you start a mess."
"I didn't mean to," Leland said with a sigh. "I still would have stopped him, of course, but I wish I'd done it differently. I liked what I did, and now I can't be Minder or Leland. This really, really sucks."
"You were already having trouble," Greg said. "Come on, you know supers don't stay out of the limelight forever. You've always drawn notice for going after the 'little guys' instead of being flashy like the rest of those assholes."
Leland's mouth pinched, and he scowled at the groove he was still stroking with his thumb. "I wanted to stay quieter than this until I got that chip. The more the G.O.D. notices me, the more likely they are to do stuff to work against me—or worse, capture me."
Making a face, Dixie said, "I hate to agree, but you ain't wrong. G.O.D. would love to get their hands on a telekinetic. I ain't never heard of one, not in this century anyway. Nothing past the localized sort that lets some of them fly and shit. A true, full spectrum telekinetic? Even one of low-level abilities would be worth a large country to them. It'd be the definition of suicide for you to go anywhere near them."
"I know, but I don't care," Leland said. He stared hard at the table, hand curling into a fist. "They have my friend and I'm going to get her back no matter what the cost. I'm already terrified about what they've probably done to her, what they'll do with their new knowledge." He closed his eyes, withdrew his hand, but Dixie would bet every penny he had that both of Leland's hands were curled into fists in his lap.
"What new knowledge?"
Leland shook his head. "It's not my business to discuss."
"It damn well—" Dixie broke off as Byron strode back in. "Where the hell did you run off to?"
"Nowhere," Byron said. "Sorry." He didn't look at any of them, though, just strode into the kitchen and started fussing with things, slowly pulling out ingredients and tools to make god knew what.
Dixie frowned, shared a look with Greg, who shrugged and spread his hands in a got me gesture. Standing, Dixie went over to the kitchen island. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Byron said, but his eyes skittered to Leland, facing away and oblivious. His cheeks turned pink and he turned sharply away.
"Byron—" Dixie cut around the island and reached out to grab his arm, but Byron jerked away and scurried over to the far counter where he started to chop onions in a way that was asking for trouble. "Darling, you
