Page 43 of Total Exposure

He must.

That has my heart fluttering. What if I wake up in the middle of the night with an urge to leave so powerful I just walk out of the house? And he misses it because he’s asleep?

Which is downright stupid. I had that urge last night and the problem that prevented me from leaving hasn’t changed. I broke my phone in a fit of panic. There’s no landline in here. No way to contact anyone. I have no idea where I’m at in the city. I’m unsure of where the nearest public phone might be, and I have no clear plan to get myself home.

All those things weren’t enough to walk out last night and they won’t be enough tonight, either. Even if I do wake up in a panic.

I’ll just go to the downstairs powder room if that kind of reaction happens. Just hide away in there until he figures it out and delivers a note with directions on what to do next.

That’s when I see the note on the bedside table.

Not the one from last night. Because that was in my palm when I fell asleep and now it’s somewhere in this massive bed.

A new note.

Which means he was in here.

An unfamiliar flood of heat between my legs sends a quiver through my body.

He was in here. My stranger. With me. Watching.

My heart rate kicks up a notch, but not because of panic.

I hold my breath as I scramble over to the edge of the bed and snatch the note in my hand.

Evangeline.

It’s the same crisp, symmetrical print from last night. I trace a finger over my black-inked name. And that little lower-case e squiggle thing is there too. His mark.

Inside it says, You’re rested, but now you’re hungry. Go downstairs to the kitchen. Make yourself a filling breakfast. Then take a shower and get dressed. I’ll tell you what I want after that.

I look over at the nearest camera and say, “Do I know you?”

There’s no answer. And I didn’t expect one, but talking to the camera feels like… a conversation. And I don’t have many of those. The last one was with Lucinda yesterday on the phone. But I haven’t talked to anyone except Lucinda in a very long time. Not even Dan from Mott’s.

He called me once and left a message. It was about six or seven months ago now. Explaining that he had a lead on the very last recording of Evangeline Rolaine.

Which was ridiculous because I am her, and I have that stupid recording, and I know damn well no one else has one except me. But I called him back anyway just to see what he had to say.

The “lead” fell through. Surprise, surprise.

So that was the last time I talked to someone other than Lucinda in any meaningful way.

Until yesterday when I said hello to my stranger. And now I’ve asked him a question too.

I get up, use the bathroom, put my socks back on because this house is freezing, and then make my way downstairs to the kitchen. I’m secretly hoping for another note when I get there, but find none, and a sad longing washes over me.

Which is crazy. I don’t even know this person. This watcher, this stranger. And there’s no possible way to be attracted to someone from two stupid handwritten notes.

And yet… irrational as it is, that’s how I feel. Attracted.

You’re rested, but now you’re hungry.

I am, I realize. I didn’t eat yesterday. Not at all. I was too wound up to eat breakfast and the afternoon was a hazy nightmare filled with panic attacks and anger.

But I’m starving now. So I open the fridge, not sure what to expect, but find it stocked, just the way Lucinda said.

It’s weird, all of a sudden. To feel… taken care of in this small way. The groceries. The notes. All of it hits me as a collection of very touching gestures.