I open the panel in the wall, shut off thevalve, and then the three of us head out of their townhome, down their steps, and up the steps to mine. And as we do, I start wishing I’d washed that pan I’d cooked eggs in this morning, along with the plate and fork I used. Maybe wiped down the counter and scrubbed my sink. Is it weird that I’m hoping for water on my floor to distract them from things I haven’t cleaned?
The second we get to my kitchen, which is an exact mirror image of Charlie’s and Reese’s, we spot water. This time, both Charlie and Reese gasp. The puddle is a good five feet wide.
I run my hands over my face. I take my desire for a distraction back—I’m no longer hoping for water. I open the doors to my under-the-sink cabinet. It’s clear it’s not coming from my hot and cold water supply lines, which means it is coming from the wall.
I step up to the puddle, stopping right before my boot touches the puddle so I have a marker to make it easier to tell if the size of the puddle is increasing, and I make myself stay still for a good thirty seconds as I watch. Slowly but surely, it gets bigger.
I hurry to my washroom, grateful that Charlie and Reese didn’t follow, because with the load of laundry I’ve got waiting to go in, the room also smells like hard work and buildings that refuse to quit, and I turn off the water to my townhome.
When I go back out to the kitchen, Reese is on the phone with our landlord, explaining the problem. Ipaste on a smile and say to Charlie, “Well, I have more potentially good news for you. It looks like the pipe coming to my side of the wall is leaking, which means that yours likely isn’t. So you might be able to turn your water back on tonight without it causing any problems.”
Charlie is looking at me with what I can only describe as a relieved grimace. I’m guessing the relieved part is for her situation, and the grimace is for mine. From what I’m hearing on Reese’s end of the line, it sounds like the landlord is going to get someone on it quickly.
So I paste on a smile and say, “I’m sure it’ll be fixed in no time. And don’t worry about me—I can shower off the scent of ‘restoration grit with a side of progress’ at the gym.”
CHAPTER 3
SECURITY BREACH
CHARLIE
Right now, three things are making me sing along at the top of my lungs to the car radio. I’m adding dancing in my seat at every stoplight, too.
One: I’ve got a box of lemon lavender cookies on the seat next to me from the cutest little bakery.
Two: Right now at work, we’re in the calm between storms. Which means storm prep, for sure, as we work through all the data we downloaded from Aragundi’s servers. Being a good intelligence operative means being adaptable, and the only way an operative can really shine at being adaptable is if the person behind the scenes running things—me—has over-prepared. But storm prep also means that I get off at a very predictable time.
And three: Workers showed up at my townhome to get the water leak fixed before I even left for work this morning. I’m a little freaked out to have people working in my place when no one is there, but at least everything should be ready to go for the get-together with friends that I’m hosting in a few minutes.
When I get home, I have to park out front. The Lord of the Leaks truck, with its cartoon plumber wearing a crown, is gone. But a truck with the name Demo Daydreams is parked in my spot in the driveway. This cannot be good. Especially since it means I had workers in my home that I hadn’t even met (or vetted) before I left for work this morning.
I grab my box of cookies and head up to my front door. As soon as I open it, I know something is off. Not only am I hearing voices I don’t recognize, but everything just sounds weird and echoey. I walk past my laundry room and bathroom to where I can see the kitchen fully, and I gasp, one hand flying to my mouth, eyes wide. My kitchen wall is gone!
The cabinet below my sink, as well as the cabinets on either side of it and the two upper cabinets in the same area, are in the space to the side of my living room, stacked by my small table and on my chairs. The countertop has been removed, too, and it’s lying face down across my table, both ends goingout well beyond my table, the upside-down sink, along with part of its pipe, just sticking up like a periscope on a turtle’s back.
And not only is the Sheetrock missing on my side of the wall, but it’s missing on Owen’s side, too, so I can see right into his townhome. I hadn’t seen Reese pull up, but she rushes in only seconds later and joins me in gasping and staring in horror.
Two workers—one in his mid-thirties and one who looks twenty—are busy taking down the last of the wall on Owen’s side, and as soon as the older one sees me, he steps between the upright wood pieces of the wall’s frame to come to my side. “Things look a little different than when you last saw it, huh?”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Your plumbers had to cut into the wall to get to the broken pipe, and when they did, they found water damage. That’s when they called us.”
“And so you decided to take out the whole wall?” Reese asks.
“Not thewholewall,” the man says. “We’re leaving the frame. And it’s better this way, trust me. You’ll want this fully fixed, not just covered with a bandage that’ll cause problems later.”
“I have people coming over any minute,” I say, my voice coming out more like a squeak.
As if being summoned by the words “people coming,” Owen walks warily into his townhome,taking in the destruction with a shocked look on his face that mirrors my own.
“Oh, and there’s our other occupant! I was just explaining to your neighbor that we had to take out the wall because of water damage.”
When Owen’s eyes cut to the side, I notice for the first time that he’s got a pile of cabinets and a stretch of countertop on his table, just like I do.
The man turns back to me. “I’m Leandro, by the way. This is Josh. And having guests over is no problem. You won’t even know we’re here. And look—your landlord left jugs of water for you. We’re close to finishing up for the day, but we’ll get some plastic sheeting up before we go.”
“Plastic sheeting?” I say, not believing I’m actually hearing any of this.
