Page 24 of Total Exposure

There’s a code to open the gate, which I use and pass through. And it closes back up automatically when I’m halfway up the front walk.

It’s an interesting Italianate-style mansion, stucco exterior painted a smooth moss-green. There are two ornamental wrought-iron balconies in front of the tall, second-story rounded windows, and another directly above the main door.

The house is probably almost a hundred years old. But everything seems well-kept and modernized on the outside. The grounds are manicured, even in the winter, and the long hedges of holly planted up against the perimeter wall have sharp edges defining their shape that say in no uncertain terms someone loves this place.

Even though the house is large and imposing, I am eager to get inside before I can notice anyone noticing me. If I can’t see the watchers, they’re not there, right?

It’s how I sell myself on going out at all these days. Dark or not. Bundled up or not. I need the illusion of being one hundred percent alone. Even though I realize it’s not possible to control the actions of others and there could’ve been fifteen people peeking through their front curtains as I got dropped off.

As long as I don’t see them, I’m fine.

Which is why I think this whole camera thing has a chance at working. My one saving grace is the exact thing being exploited here.

I key in the code to the front door and the automatic locks disengage. My hand is shaking as I push the front door open, pull my suitcases inside, and close it behind me.

I let out a long breath of anxiety-filled air and look around. My heart is thumping in my chest so loud, I swear I can hear it echo off the tall foyer ceiling.

In the center of the ceiling is a shimmering chandelier that reflects sunlight coming through the arched window over the door in just the right way so that tiny dew-drop shapes dance across the upper walls like a light show.

It’s mesmerizing. And beautiful.

But that’s when I see it.

A flame-shaped black lightbulb in a chandelier filled with white ones.

A camera, made to look like a lightbulb. With a small blinking red light piercing through the shiny opaque lens.

“Hello,” I say, surprising myself with my own voice. My brain catches up with the implications of what I just did and my heart beats erratically at my audacity. Sweat beads on my brow and heat consumes my body as I realize—actually understand for the first time—that someone I don’t know will be watching my every move until I say stop.

I can’t do this. I cannot.

Breathe. I hear Lucinda’s calming voice in my head.

But I’m already gasping. I turn, ready to flee back into the safe world I’ve made for myself, and realize there’s no car out there to take me home. Leaving would be worse than staying.

Breathe.

The powder room. My one sanctuary in this house. The only place where there’s no cameras.

I open the closest door and find an office. The next is a coat closet. The next is another closet. I rush into the main living area, stunned by how big this place is. By the size of the windows and the knowledge that some stranger is watching me right now as I lose my shit. This has my head spinning and the only sound in my ears is the loud, thump-thump-thump-thump of my own terrified heartbeat.

I whirl around, desperate to find the powder room, because that’s my only escape. I’m stuck here until dark. Because the thought of going outside in the light and finding help… and that’s hours and hours away and there’s no possible way I can stay here and let this watcher watch me. Especially now, when I’m freaking out.

There’s a hallway, and many, many rooms. But I see the bathroom. I run for it, practically throw myself inside, and slam the door shut. I don’t even turn on the light. Just press my back against the wall, slide down until I’m sitting on my butt, and wrap my arms around my legs.

This was the dumbest idea ever. What the fuck was I thinking? Where the hell do I get off wanting more out of life? When people are starving all over the world, and children are homeless on the streets, and there’s like… millions of women who fear for their lives in their own homes? And I’m not talking about my stupid fear. But their very real fear. And people dying, and sick, and hurting, and I’m just… just afraid of what amounts to faces pointed in my general direction.

This makes me selfish, and ungrateful, and stupid.

So very, very stupid for coming here and wanting… more.

Chapter Seven - Ixion

Her panic attack—because that’s what it is—alarms me. For a few seconds I’m glued to the screen, unable to stop watching. But then I’m running for the door, an overwhelming urge to reassure overtaking all the rules Jordan gave me.

I stop myself just in time. My finger is hovering over the first number on the keypad lock. I’m ready to leave the secret room and go find her. Help her.

Breathe.