Page 13 of Total Exposure

So I say nothing.

He sighs. Heavily. “Look, man, I know—”

But I cut him off. “Don’t get weird on me, asshole. I’ll do the job. I’ll even take your stupid money. But then you owe me again, got it?”

He puts his hands up. Surrendering to my terms. “Fine. I owe you. Again.”

We hold each other’s gaze for longer than we should. It’s a knowing gaze. Filled with ugly things in a shared past. And regrets. And all the things we should’ve said and never did.

I turn away first, heading for the door.

And we won’t say them now, either. I’m gonna make sure of it.

“Hey, Ix,” Jordan calls after me.

“What?” I say, my hand on the door handle, staring down at it, refusing to look back. Ready to get the fuck out of here.

“It’s nice to see you again. Thanks for coming.”

I swallow, then nod. “Yeah. No problem.”

After I grab the car I head over to the electronics warehouse and buy the equipment, spending all of Jordan’s money. The house I’m supposed to rig up is huge. Proper fucking mansion is what it is. Cheeseman Park Historic District, which is pretty swank. Seven bedrooms, two media rooms, two offices, three living rooms, two kitchens, a game room, a library, and a ballroom that is now a formal living area, according to the blueprints.

Ten thousand square feet of space to cover. So much space I had to chip in an extra five grand to Jordan’s twenty because I wanted the newest control panel and a two-thousand-dollar leather chair.

If I gotta watch this chick for whatever weird, fucked-up reason, I’m gonna do it right and I’m gonna be goddamned comfortable too.

It only takes me a few days to rig everything up, so I kick it in the house to wait out the rest of the time before this Evangeline chick comes by, enjoying the media room. It’s fucking sweet with a ninety-eight-inch, 4K ultra screen.

And the game room. Because it’s got a mini-arcade from the 80’s in there. Pac-Man and Tetris. Frogger and Galaga. Reminds me of the nickel arcade Jordan and I used to hang out at when we’d ditch in middle school. God, how I used to love playing Galaga when we were kids. He’s even got Dig Dug and Centipede.

There’s a house-wide intercom, so at first I figured I’d just leave that on all the time and I wouldn’t have to wire the place for sound. But I tried it out and it sucks. Like, that thing is from the seventies or something. Back when house intercoms were the epitome of high-tech. This one’s all crackly and static-y. Practically worthless unless you don’t mind your voice sounding like someone using an AM radio that doesn’t quite pick up the station you’re listening to.

So the microphones go up.

The day before she’s supposed to show up I go through all the rooms, trying to guess which one she’ll choose to sleep in. Usually, when I’m not drunk and high and in the mood to bash brand-new trucks up with a baseball bat, I can predict things like this.

I have a natural intuition. Which is why I do what I do, I guess.

But Evangeline Rolaine is kind of a mystery to me. I’ve read up on her over the past few days. Spent her whole childhood performing like a trained monkey then poof. Disappeared.

Will she like the feminine bedroom? Does she like white mosquito netting hanging from the ceiling? Does she see herself as a princess? Because that room is kinda princess-y. Something your eight-year-old baby sister would have.

Or maybe she’ll like the teen boy bedroom? I can’t imagine she’d pick this one because it’s nothing but shades of red and gray with a bunch of framed sports memorabilia on the walls, but who knows? Maybe Evangeline is a sports fanatic?

There’s a nursery too. But unless she’s gonna curl up in one of those gliding rocker chairs, she won’t pick that one. Because it only has a crib.

Maybe she’ll take the master? I would. It’s got a California king bed that even accommodates my tall frame. I’ve slept in it three times already just to check it out. I’m thorough like that. Plus that room is classy. Not too personal, like the kids’ rooms. Or gaudy, like the guest rooms. They look like they were decorated to impress… well, you know. Guests.

Maybe she’ll sleep in one of the offices? They both have couches. Or the media room? Does she like to fall asleep in front of a TV? Hell, you could even sleep on the kitchen island, it’s so big. If, that is, you don’t mind a ten-foot-long slab of soapstone as your bed.

I decide to make a little bet with myself just to prove I’ve still got game. That I haven’t been fucking off wasting my family money all these years. That my mind is focused on the task. That I’m not still having that imaginary conversation with Jordan back in his office where he tells me he found her, and that’s why he found me, and then we all go to dinner at the Grant like nothing ever happened.

The one where she forgives me and says, God, I missed you, Ix. And then time melds together, like we were never apart. And we fall into old habits—just the good ones though. And we laugh again. And it’s good. The way it used to be.

But of course… if he really did tell me he found her, and he really did tell me that’s why he came looking—I’d be back on the road so fast.

Because there’s only one reason for him to do that.