Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,45

someone rapped on the door, and she stiffened as if she’d been hit with a cattle prod.

25

The Wide World of Fuck

Evan couldn’t read Joey’s face. She kept her gaze at the monitors, not looking over at the door.

The rapping came again, more insistently.

“You expecting someone?” Evan said.

“Nah. Just ignore it. They’ll go away.”

“Joey. Is someone harassing you?”

She shot him a look, her green eyes blazing, emphasized all the more by that eyeliner. “Harassing me?” she said. “Have you met me?”

“I’m gonna answer it.”

“Don’t answer it.”

Already he’d exited the workstation. He put his body to the left of the jamb and cracked the door.

A young guy stood outside. Sagging jeans, wide-collar shirt, thumbs looped in a distressed leather belt. A tuft of rigorously mussed hair with a hard side part razored in. He was ridiculously good-looking, no doubt a future actor or a Starbucks barista.

“Oh,” Evan said.

Joey’s makeup. The blouse. The orange-blossom perfume.

“Oh,” Evan said again.

“Hey, man. I’m Bridger. Joey here?”

Evan heard a thunk behind him. Joey’s forehead hitting the desk.

“Where do you know Joey from?” Evan asked. “Bridger.”

“Like, lecture class.”

“Lecture class,” Evan said. “How old are you?”

“Uh, eighteen.”

“Eighteen,” Evan repeated. “You know it’s illegal for you to—”

“Evan.” Joey was suddenly at his shoulder, tugging his arm. Behind his back she gathered his hand in a pronating wrist lock to steer him away from the door. He reached back with his other hand and deployed a countergrip, prying her hand off his.

They both kept their faces pointed at Bridger, maintaining smiles as he rubbed at an honest-to-God soul patch on his chin.

Dog the dog was up, growling. Seeming to sense that Evan had the situation in hand, he padded back to the Red Vines tub that served as his bowl, lapped up some water, and huffed down onto the pillowtop again.

Evan kept his stare level on Bridger. “I didn’t catch a last name.”

“Bickley. But I go by Bicks sometimes, ya know.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, rose up on his tiptoes, rocked back on his heels. “Anyhoo. Joey and I were supposed to, like, hang out.”

“Hang out?” Evan said. “It’s two in the morning.”

“So it’s a bad time?”

“Yes,” Evan said as Joey said, “No.”

“Okay. Cool, cool.” Bridger bobbed his head, managed eye contact with Evan. “And you are…?”

“My uncle,” Joey said in a rush. “This is my uncle. He’s protective—really annoyingly protective—and I guess he needs to talk to me now about some stuff, so could we, like, reschedule?”

“No worries,” Bridger said. “Grab you tomorrow? Like eight o’clock?”

“Surethat’dbegreatthanksbye.”

Joey ratcheted the door closed in Bridger’s nonplussed face and delivered Evan an extra-pointed glare; on the receiving end, it felt like a shiv to the chest. “What the actual hell, X?”

At her tone Dog the dog lifted his head, collar tags jangling. Joey went on tilt, coming at Evan, driving him away from the door.

Evan said, “Language.”

“I cannot believe you. You’re such a dipshit.”

“Joey,” he said. “That’s offensive.”

“Yeah, to dipshits for having to be compared to you.”

“He’s eighteen years old.”

“I’m in college. Who am I supposed to date? Middle-schoolers?”

“Because that’s the only other option.”

“You can’t just come in here like you own the place—insert punch line here—and be all controlling.”

“It’s not about being controlling. It’s about making a few inquiries about a guy named Bicks with a soul patch who says ‘anyhoo’ and wants to hang out with you at two in the morning.”

“We were gonna go to a party!” she said, again digging furiously at that muscle knot near her shoulder blade. “Oh, my God. I should just give up on ever being normal and enter a nunnery.”

“Before that can you help me with the geotagged cameras?”

She made a noise like a horse whinny but more rageful and then stomped off to her workstation, where she began pounding on the keyboards.

Evan retreated to the bolster bed and sat on the floor next to Dog the dog, who offered him a sympathetic gaze. For a while Evan scratched at his scruff, the dog grumbling with pleasure, a sonorous groan-snore.

Finally Joey said, “Get over here.”

He obeyed. Dog the dog obeyed as well, getting halfway across the room before realizing that the command had not been directed at him. With relief he slunk off.

Evan took up a position behind Joey. “What am I looking at?”

“A variety of digital footage from cameras around the block cued up and frozen the night your boy was killed. We’re starting here.” She pointed at a monitor behind Evan’s head, her fingernail barely missing his cheek, a near