Page 29 of Total Exposure

I look up again, but this time my eyes skim past the decorated ceiling and land on the cameras. Whoever put these up didn’t bother to hide them. They’re mounted on the walls. There’s one on the mantel and two pointed at each of the double French doors that open into other rooms. One of which is pointed right at me.

“I hope you got a good look,” I growl, moving along the hallway. “Because I’m out of here tonight.”

There was no phone in that room, but up ahead is a kitchen. If people are gonna have a landline these days, they’d put it in the kitchen.

And for some reason, that makes me think of how it must’ve been before phones were portable and could fit in your pocket. In old movies there was one phone in a house and it was either in some special phone niche in a hallway or in the kitchen.

So yes. The kitchen.

I move forward into it and stop, once again taken aback at the beauty of this place.

It’s white, and gray, and light blue. Which sounds a little bit boring, but it isn’t. There’s a huge farm sink. Huge one. And I know they’re trendy today (I watch a shitload of HGTV), but as I get closer and notice the small chips in the enamel, I realize it is, in fact, made of cast iron underneath that white enamel. I get the feeling this sink is as old as the house itself.

It’s a modern kitchen in all other ways. Many shades of blue glass tiles on the backsplash. White marble countertops, black soapstone on the island, and stainless-steel appliances. The stove has a million burners on it with those fancy red knobs that let everyone know you overpaid for that thing and probably don’t know how to use it. Painted cabinets. Not traditional white as one might expect, but a dark gray color that warms the place up and makes it feel… homey.

I scan the room for a phone as I make my way around the large center island, but once again come up empty.

Hmmm.

The office, I decide. I stumbled into an office in my panic to find the powder room. That’s where I head next.

The hallway continues, like all the rooms branch off this corridor. It’s not completely closed in, which bothers me. If this were my place I’d wall up all these French doorways that lead back to the kitchen and living room. Open-concept isn’t for everyone, after all.

It’s not my place, I gently remind myself. You’re only going to be here a few more hours. So stop playing fixer-upper, ya dingbat.

A smile creeps over my face at my internal monologue. It is a beautiful house though. Like, if I were to ever sell the penthouse I could see myself living in a house like this. It’s got a wall and a gate. And I bet the backyard is also surrounded by those thick, high hedges that give you a sense of privacy in the city.

The next set of double doors are closed. So I pull them open at the same time and find myself staring at a library.

Shelves and shelves and more shelves of books. Two soft, butter-yellow velvet couches face each other in the middle of the gigantic room. And there’s a light gray upholstered ottoman that spans almost the entire space between them with glossy magazines sitting in a neat pile on top of a tray.

I get lost in this room for just a moment. Allow myself to appreciate how beautiful it is. Wonder what it would be like to sit on those velvety cushions and read a book on a wintery afternoon—just like this one—free of all the worry, and panic, and fear.

But that all stops the second I see what’s propped up in the far corner near a bright window.

And I think I forget how to breathe.

Chapter Nine - Ixion

She creeps out of the powder room like a frightened mouse. Or a small child making her way through a haunted house, knowing someone is going to jump out at her, just not when.

I never liked haunted houses. I don’t see the point in knowingly scaring the fuck out of yourself, acting like a dumbass the entire time you’re in there, and then patting yourself on the back when you come out because… because what? You made it through fake shit, screaming like it’s real, and didn’t die when it was over?

Please. There’s enough real scary shit in the world to go around ten times, no one needs to make it up. Society is really on a downward spiral, if you ask me. Making it through a haunted house is the kind of stuff we’re calling courage these days.

Movement on the large screen in the middle of my semi-circular control panel brings my attention back to Evangeline.

She’s inching her way down the hall. Going so fucking slow, I just want to turn on the microphones and scream at her to hurry the fuck up. I mean, how slow can a person walk? How timid can one woman be?

A momentary flash of shame washes through me, because I know damn well how timid women can be. And why.

She glances up at one of the hallway cameras just as I think that thought. Eyes still covered by her ridiculous dark sunglasses. Cheeks blotchy red. Sweat pooled on her upper lip.

I place my hands on the console table and lean in to see her better.

Jesus Christ. She’s almost hyperventilating. Her chest is rising and falling so fast, she must be making herself dizzy.

She lowers her gaze and continues to inch down the hallway until she’s standing in the open double doors of the main ballroom, which has been turned into sort of a grand receiving area.