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Has Jarrod heard about my meeting, or maybe about my extra-curricular hacking, and paid this guy to keep an eye on me?
It would be ballsy as fuck, but Jarrod only cares about the rules if they’re tilted in his favor.
Big Mike trails me right into the parking garage, then takes the space next to mine.
Another bit of weirdness.
I’m probably being paranoid, but this guy is either stalking me because he’s hard up for friends or because he has a secondary reason for doing so. I’m guessing it’s Door Number Two, since I’m not the kind of person who oozes friendly vibes. I’m unsettled by the possibility and also deeply pissed off. I mean…how deep do the lies go? I’m interested, but I also want to keep my contact with him to a minimum. If it’s information he wants, he won’t be getting it from me.
We exit our vehicles at the same time, and Big Mike calls out, “Hi, neighbor,” the sound of his voice putting my teeth on edge.
“Hello.”
I head for the elevator, then think twice because the big guy is trailing me. While I’d be utterly okay getting stuck in the elevator with Mira again, a couple of hours in the dark with him is significantly less appealing.
He follows me through the door. “What were you up to on this beautiful fall morning?”
“It’s past noon,” I intone, making my way up the steps.
“Ah, even better,” he says, acting completely oblivious to my deep desire to get away from him. “Nothing better than a fall afternoon, some brewskies or ciders, and a bonfire. Say, what do you say we—”
“Nope.” I up my speed.
Big Mike belches out laughter. “Little lady keeping you busy, huh? Bring her along too. I’ll bet my girl would—”
We reach the second-floor landing, and I turn to face him. “I’m trying not to be rude, buddy, but I’m not interested in being your friend, or going to strip clubs with you, or babysitting your gerbil.”
“Hamster,” he says. His expression looks flat. Unsurprised.
“My mistake, but they’re both rodents.” I’m tempted to ask him about Jarrod straight out, but if this guy is in his pocket, then I don’t want him to know I know. “I’m guessing you get the picture.”
“Yeah, I do,” he says slowly, lifting up his big meaty hands. “Just trying to be neighborly.”
“No need. We’re not neighbors. You live downstairs.”
He gives me a slow smile I don’t like one bit. “Sure. Because you’re up there in Lucas Burke’s penthouse.”
So he knows Burke is the owner of the penthouse. That’s an interesting piece of information, because I’d never had the misfortune of seeing this guy prior to a couple of weeks ago.
Did Burke’s parents pay Big Mike to keep an eye on me? I can’t understand why they’d bother. Sure, they’re upset with Burke for tumbling their empire into the dust, but I had nothing to do with that—or with them. I’ve met them half a dozen times, maybe, and his mother still mistakes me for Drew.
Leonard, they have a grudge against. He used to work for Burke Enterprises and is the one who first realized they weren’t on the up and up. But the only thing I could have done to piss them off is living in the unit upstairs, which they originally bought for Burke well over a decade ago. Sure, it must piss them off that a kid who grew up poor with a couple of alcoholics for parents ended up living in their penthouse, but they’ve got bigger problems than me.
I’ll talk to the guys about it, obviously, but I’m guessing Big Mike is trying to get me off the scent, which only makes me more interested in why he’s holed up downstairs. Not interested enough to have dinner with him, obviously, but interested all the same…
Big Mike’s still staring at me, wanting that reaction, so I tell him, “Yes, I’m perfectly well aware of where I live. I hope you enjoy thosebrewskies.”
And then I turn and keep walking up those stairs. I don’t like giving my back to him, but if I refused to, it would be as good as saying I’m intimidated by him.
I feel him watching me as I go up, and when I reach the next landing, I can see him still standing there, probably figuring out what his next move will be. Hopefully getting some moving boxes because he’s not going to make any inroads with me. Or Mira.
I’m relieved when I reach the fourth floor, but it only lasts until I open the front door, because Delia’s waving around a mirror while Mira sways a smoking, stinking bundle of plant matter through the air. The ground looks like it’s covered in fine gravel.
“Do I want to do know what’s going on in here?”
ChapterEighteen
Mira
