Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,103
up a mirror, X.”
“When he snapped my photo with the robotic bee, did my facial features go into the system?”
“No,” she said. “That’s the whole point. That shit is between you and the microdrone. It doesn’t need anything else. No records in the system, no accountability. And thank God. Your Scooby-Doo disguise—bubble gum in the lips and a hat—would’ve only gotten you so far.”
“Molleken seems to have top-secret security clearances. Looks like he’s even cleared to access sensitive compartment information.”
“Judging from the Predator drone parts littering his lab, I’d say, ‘Duh.’ He should be the poster boy for the military-technological complex, but there’s virtually no mention of his overlap anywhere. That Area 6 shit makes you fall off the map fast.”
“Next stop is Creech North. I need your help prepping.”
“’Kay. I need to get home anyway. My neighbor’s watching Dog. She’s this lonely divorced Realtor with the worst ombre hair-dye job ever who, like, binges on home-improvement shows and subsists entirely on Truffle Kerfuffle—”
“Truffle…?”
“It’s an ice cream—hello?—and I told her I’d be back tomorrow for Dog.”
“Look at you, all grown up.”
“I’m sayin’. Adulting’s hard business, X. But I gotta learn for when—”
“I know, I know. For when you take over for me.”
“Glad you’re finally on board with the plan.”
“I’m not—”
“Hey, where’d you go after you left the battle lab? You shut off the feed, like, an hour ago.”
He thought of Cammy leaning on the newel post to hold herself up. I never said no. Standing in the doorway of her bathroom wearing nothing but a bra and panties, diminished and scared.
“Just had to handle something real quick.”
“’Kay. See ya here.”
She clicked off.
* * *
When Evan entered his hotel suite, the connecting door to Joey’s room was open, the TV blaring. He walked through to find her indelicately passed out, sprawled on the mattress, one arm flung over her head into the pillows, mouth ajar, drooling. Her laptop, the remote, and various plates littered the bedspread around her, the wreckage of a Caesar salad and a cheeseburger. A sole stubby french-fry survivor rested aslant on the plate next to a well-plowed mound of ketchup.
She often started when woken up, a panic reaction from her childhood, so he crossed the room as quietly as he could manage. He thumbed down the TV volume a few notches and then pulled a throw blanket gently over her.
One eye was crusted with sleep, and her whistling exhalations carried the scent of onions, but he felt no ping of his OCD initiating disgust or aversion. There was no part of her that he didn’t find endearing.
He wondered what that meant.
The realization cut him at the knees, and he lowered himself to sit on the bed to her side. He thought about Veronica looking at him, that flare of pride before she’d found out who he really was: He told me that you were chosen out of the boys’ home. To do good. He thought about that sketch Andre kept thumbtacked to his wall, his daughter lovingly rendered, each line of her face resurrected from memory. He thought about Cammy’s parents and everything they might have wished for. And then her on the stairs, blouse ripped, breast exposed.
“Damn it,” he said softly.
Joey shifted, for once waking calmly. She stretched, wiped her mouth. “Language.”
“Sorry.”
She rolled over onto her side, yawned inelegantly.
His thoughts pulled to Andre. At one time he’d had something so precious. In Sofia, a daughter with life in her eyes. Evan pictured her in the laundry room of her building, wearing her mom’s bra on her head and mugging for the other ladies. And Brianna, tough and smart enough to raise an eleven-year-old girl on her own. A kitchen table to share meals at and someone to tuck in at night.
Resentment stirred in him—no, something deeper. Envy? That Andre had all this and had thrown it away. And yet Evan was stuck with him. If he turned his back on Andre, he’d be turning his back on Veronica, and then he’d never find whatever he was looking for.
And yet he had something far more valuable right here in front of him. He watched Joey’s back rise and fall with her breaths. Crumbs on her pillowcase.
“Can I…?” Evan hesitated.
She said, “What?”
“Can I pet your hair?”
She looked up at him. “Uh, sure?”
He did.
She closed her eyes. Then opened them. “This is weird, isn’t it?”
“Kind of,” Evan said. “Should I stop?”
“No.” She snuggled down into a pillow. “I might like it.”