“Well, I’d probably walk out on her if she said that to me, but I take your point.” He’d work that around in his head some other time. Right now he was focused on Ariel. What the hell had happened?
“Does your sister send messages like that often?” Evie closed the file, apparently unimpressed with whatever she’d seen.
“No. She’s pretty independent within her own realm. If she felt physically threatened, she’d probably shoot first and ask questions later. I take that back, she’d just shoot and text me. She does not respond in socially acceptable ways, but she is not helpless or insane.” Jax glanced at Evie as he recognized what he was saying. “She might have a bit in common with your family.”
Evie laughed curtly. “That’s what I was thinking. Poor thing is probably just out of place.”
“No, not entirely the same. Your family might be atypical, but you’re socially adept and communicate. Ariel does not. She lives inside her head. She has so much happening inside her cranium that she can’t deal with what’s outside of it. The computer helps. She can communicate without sensory overload, less distraction that way.”
Jax thought about his condo, his neighbors shouting greetings, cars and trucks constantly in and out, repairmen coming and going, salesmen knocking... Ariel would go mad within half a day.
He was aware of Evie studying him, but he was concentrating on maneuvering around traffic to make it to his place before Ariel did. How long would it take for Roark to send a car out?
“Your anger is still intense, but there’s a clear pink emerging. You love your sister and want to protect her but you’re still angry—maybe because she’s atypical? That your parents left you to deal with her? Those are all perfectly acceptable feelings. Am I annoying you yet?” Laughter tinged her voice.
“You sound like a therapist. You missed your calling.” He took the ramp into the residential area where he slept.Livedwasn’t the right word. He lived to work.
“I’d love to be a therapist, but there isn’t any way I can concentrate on textbooks. I’m lousy at school. If I wanted to be a charlatan, I’d hang out a therapist shingle, fake a certificate, and advertise. I’m probably as good at diagnosing as most therapists. Cures might be beyond me though.” She studied the shopping centers they passed. “Wow, could you find an area any more yuppie?”
“Everything in one place—coffee shop, pizza, dry cleaner, grocery, drugstore. Convenient.” He swung into the condo development. Ariel was really going to hate this anthill.
“Huh, and this is how the other half lives. I’m thinking maybe I don’t want to move to the city. Maybe I should run for town council. Or mayor. That might be fun.” She peered up at the tall condo structures before he drove down to his basement parking space.
“If you can’t focus on textbooks, you definitely can’t read legislation. I don’t recommend political office.” Jax checked his phone and opened the video Roark had sent. “The car has arrived at the house. Ariel is leaving with only her laptop case. Maybe she’s planning on returning.”
“Maybe she’s afraid someone will stop her if she takes a suitcase.” Evie climbed out and went around to the trunk.
Right. The file box. Jax shoved his phone back in his pocket and popped the trunk.
He was taking Evangeline Malcolm Carstairs into his home, with a file box of his client’s papers. That was wrong on so many levels that he gave up working it out. Shouldering the box, he led her upstairs.
Opening the door to his living room, he felt the cold draft of the air conditioning, unlike the hot and humid room he’d been squatting in these past days. It felt more like an icebox than home. When he bought the condo, he’d called a furniture warehouse and hired someone to pick out the brown leather furniture and accessories. It had seemed practical at the time. Looking at it through Evie’s colorful eyes... Well, they wouldn’t be here long.
He slid the box onto his dining room table. “I probably have cold cuts and cheese in the fridge. Want anything?”
She stood at the window, watching the parking lot. “Cheese is good. Crackers, maybe. Water. If we draw all these drapes and blinds, we can shut out the world a bit. How is she with music? Something low and classical as white noise maybe?”
Remarkably, Evie seemed to understand his sister’s needs, probably better than he did. “Atonal. Think monk chanting. Does Pandora have a channel for that?” Jax checked the refrigerator, found a beer, and sorted through the cheese to find something not moldy.
“Not good with tech, remember? Let me do the food, and you handle Pandora whatever.” Lowering and closing blinds as she went, she joined him in the kitchen.
“You’re trying to pacify me.” He leaned against the counter and drank from the last cold beer. He already knew Evie didn’t drink anything harder than ice tea. She’d never fit into his wine bar crowd. She was a splotch of bright yellow and orange today—abstract art in his soulless gray kitchen.
She opened his refrigerator and shook her head at the empty shelves. “You need stimulation more than pacification. If I’d beat anyone else with a file folder the way I did you, he’d have ripped it from my hands and swatted me back.” She turned and waved a dismissive hand at him. “Pandora, maestro. How soon before your sister arrives?”
He’d been thinking of Evie as an adorable fluff ball. Had she always been this bossy? And damned analytic?
He checked the time on the video. “Ten minutes, depending on traffic. I bought on this side of town so she wouldn’t be far. She had panic attacks when she was younger.”
Stimulationmore than pacification? He doubted he could handle any more stimulation than being pounded on by a file folder, jacked up with fear for his sister, and cooped up in a confined space with a woman who pushed all his buttons. He’d never understand her. Jax returned to the front room to find Pandora on his computer and look for atonal music.
“Why did your sister call for a driver instead of asking you to pick her up?” Evie arrived with a platter of sliced cheese, crackers, and apple slices, setting them next to the file box on his tiny dining table. Without asking permission, she began sorting through the John Post folders.
“Impersonal transportation is the only way Ariel leaves the house. Once driverless cars are on the road, she’ll be in heaven. She usually takes taxis because they have that plastic shield between front and back, and she knows every non-talkative driver in the company. Asking me for a car... probably means something is wrong that needs my attention. I’ll hope Roark found someone professional enough to respect her distance.”
He joined her at the box. “I’ll give the disks to Reuben. He’ll have the equipment to read them.”
Evie produced the ones she’d stolen from other boxes. “The file names and whatnot are on your phone. None of the names mean anything to me.” She returned to the kitchen. He heard her adding ice cubes to a glass.