It comes out more like begging than thehey, my friends call me Casekind of way that I intended.
I used to hate being called by my full first name because it reminded me of all the times I pissed my dad off. Now, it reminds me of someone else.
“Nice place. Very subtle. Really gives off that humble, approachable neuroscientist vibe. Might want to consider a throw blanket, though. Something that saysI occasionally feel joy.”
We’ve spoken on the phone exactly once, and even though it was brief, it was enough that I’m sure he already has an idea of what he’s gotten himself into.
One of his brows lifts a fraction. “You know who I am?”
“Dr. Harrison Copeland, Director of Copeland Laboratories. Best neuroscience research center on the west coast. Sometimes the best in the country, depending on which journal you read.”
Sometimes they beat Bellrose Institute.
Sometimes they don’t.
Which is only one of several reasons I don’t tell him my last name.
“Believe it or not, I’m happy to know you do your research,” he says with the faintest of impressed smiles.
“And it was enough to know you’re either extremely competent or extremely terrifying. Possibly both. I’m still collecting data.”
“I see.”
I drop my tool bag with a soft thud and glance around again, cataloging sight lines, structural seams, any other exits like through the private pool. Habit or survival or obsession. Pickyour poison.
“So.” I clap my hands together once. “You said you wanted full internal coverage. Discrete. No visible hardware. Local and remote access. Encrypted. The full paranoid package.”
“I preferprepared. And, yes. Everywhere except the bedroom.”
“Ah.” I wink. “Got it, Doc.”
I try not to think too much about his reasons forthat, about what he gets up to in that bedroom. Harrison Copeland is attractive, like ridiculously attractive. Assertive, in control. Once upon a time, he would’ve been my type. Not anymore.
I used to love bottoming and submitting and crying and begging and hurting and—
Ahem.
But ever since…
Well, let’s just say I don’t anymore.
That part of me will always belong tohimeven though he’s gone.
Leaning down, I pull my tablet out of my bag. Harrison watches while I bring up the floor plan he sent earlier. I added a few suggestions.
“We’ll start in the main living space. You’ve got several vulnerabilities. Glass is beautiful but also a nightmare. Anyone with a decent scope and too much free time could learn a lot about your routine.”
Harrison picks up a small remote off an end table and presses a button. Blackout curtains extend from the corners of the room and stretch the length of the wall.
I shrug. “Problem solved.”
We move through the condo together while I talk and he listens. Occasionally, he asks a question that proves he’s been thinking several steps ahead. I adjust placements as we go.
Once all the decisions have been made, we start theinstallation with the living room. He provided a ladder like I requested, and I climb it nearly all the way to the ceiling. I slide the first microcamera into a recessed seam in the oak wood paneling, my hands moving automatically. Measure, anchor, test.
Harrison stands below, hands in the pockets of his slacks, silent and observant. It should be unnerving, but it isn’t. I’ve had worse audiences.
Still, every time I glance down and catch those gray eyes, my brain does something stupid, an annoying little stutter. A ghost of recognition.
