Hellbent (Orphan X #3)(63)

“Put her down.”

“Her?”

Before he could respond, Joey spotted the 2U rackmount computer bays and beelined over to them. “Good. Good. This is good.” She checked the setup. “You already have an InfiniBand cable, so you’re not entirely useless, but we have to pick up some basic Cat 6 cables.”

“This is a state-of-the-art system. Why do we need Ethernet cables?”

“What we’re building? It’s basically a bunch of graphics cores tied together. We need to hook up the machines, and the best way to do that is using plain old GigEthernet.” She studied his blank expression. “People today. You know how to work everything, but you don’t know how anything works.”

She breezed past him, heading out. “Come on. Let’s go to Target.”

“Target?”

“Yeah, we can grab the cables there. Plus, I need stuff.”

“Like what?”

She faced him, filling the doorway. “There’s no soap. Or shampoo. Or conditioner. Or sheets. Or pillows. And I need some other stuff.”

“I can get it for you.”

“Girl stuff.”

Oh.

“Target it is,” he said.

*

Red signs blared 50-percent-off discounts. A kid stutter-stepped past, trying on a pair of sneakers still connected by a plastic loop while his mom shouted, “How’s the toe? Is your heel slipping?” A cluster of girls modeled sunglasses, checking themselves out using their iPhones as mirrors. A stern-looking father was saying, “Read the ingredients. There’s no food in food anymore.” A husband and wife were having a heated debate over detergent. “No, the lavender scent is the one that gives you the rash!”

Evan stood frozen in the wide aisle of the second floor next to Joey.

She did a double take at his stunned expression. “You okay?”

A worker wheeled a pallet piled with jumbo diaper packs, nearly clipping Evan’s knee.

He swallowed. “I’ll wait outside,” he said.

*

Evan stood in the parking structure just past Target’s sliding glass doors, breathing the night air, catching his breath. Brimming shopping carts rattled past concrete security posts, shoved by flustered parents in sweatpants. Evan kept his hand near his hidden pistol and his eyes on the circuslike surroundings. Parking disputes proliferated. Car horns blared. Remote-controlled minivan doors wheeled open. By the shopping-cart rack, kids fought over coin-operated kiddie rides.

Exclamations crowded in on him.

“—not gonna buy you a toy every single time we go to the—”

“—I was already backing up! I saw the reverse lights before I was past the—”

“—not the kind your mom uses, thank God, or the powder room would smell like the potpourri Olympics—”

And then, mercifully, Joey was there. A few bags dangled from either arm. She was regarding his face with what seemed to be amusement.

“Let’s go,” Evan said.

“Aw. You’re all uncomfortable like. That’s so cute.”

“Joey.”

“Okay, okay.”

“You got the cable.”

She smacked her forehead with her palm. “Shoot. I knew I forgot something.”

He felt himself blanch. “Really?”

“No.” She smiled that luminous smile. “Of course I have it. Let’s get you away from the big, scary discount retailer.”

He gritted his teeth and turned for his truck.

That’s when he saw Mia and Peter climbing out of Mia’s Acura.

He stiffened. Turned back to Joey. Her face grew serious. “What’s wrong?” she said.

“Nothing. Someone I can’t see here. Now. With you. Go there. Pretend you’re … I don’t know, playing on the ride.”

Joey took in the coin-operated kiddie rides. “The choo-choo train?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sixteen.”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t know much about kids, do you?”

He put a hand on her side, hustled her toward the front of the store.

“Lemme help you out,” Joey said. “I’ll just pretend I’m playing on my phone.”

“Okay. Fine. Good.”

From behind him he heard Peter’s raspy voice: “Evan Smoak!”

He turned as Mia and Peter approached.

Mia said, “Evan?”

“Hi.”

“Wait. I didn’t think you knew where Target was. Lemme guess—there’s a sale on vodka?”

“Just needed some … things.”

“Is that girl with you?”

“Who?” Evan said. “No.”

Joey remained immersed in her phone. For all their collective tradecraft, the ruse was paper thin.

“Yes,” Evan said.

Joey looked up, gave a flat smile.

Mia’s head cocked. Her gaze narrowed—the district-attorney gaze.

“She’s sort of … my niece.” Evan said. “Staying with me awhile. She needed some…” He winced. “Girl things.”

“I thought you didn’t have any family.”

“She’s the closest to it, I guess. Kind of a … a second cousin’s kid. Through a marriage. But then her parents died. Sort of thing.”