“They’re not subtle,” she agreed ruefully.
“I’m just here to relax. And so can you.”
“Yeah, I’m not looking for… But I’m still grateful that you’re not a creep.”
“Hey, let’s not jump to any conclusions there,” Holden said.
“Tan bra?” Dana said softly, and though he couldn’t see her face he knew that she was smiling.
Don’t want to play this too cool, he thought, and on the back of that, So am I a creep after all?
“I had kind of an internal debate about showing you the mirror,” he said. “Shouting on both sides, blood was spilled… ”
They entered Dana’s room—his room now—and he dumped his stuff on the bed.
“So you’re bleeding internally,” she asked, mock-serious. “Pretty bad.”
“Well, Jules is the doctor-in-training. You should probably talk to her.”
“Yeah.” He smiled, Dana grabbed her bag, and as she turned and left he saw an expression on her face that he thought was similar to his own. Cursing herself, he thought. She wishes this chat had gone one step further.
Smiling as the door swung shut behind her, Holden thought that he and Dana would get on very well indeed.
Shit shit shit that was lame, Dana thought. But she couldn’t help smiling. Even with a closed door between them, she could sense Holden behind her. Unsubtle though Jules and Curt had been about her and Holden, it seemed as if they might yet finish this weekend pleased with their powers of matchmaking.
In her new room she closed the door and dropped her bag onto the bed, wincing at the creaking of springs. Hope Curt’s and Jules’s bed isn’t that bad, she thought. Then she picked up the picture Holden had removed from the wall, turned it around… and it was unbelievably gross. She had no idea why someone would want that hanging above them in bed. Maybe there was more to it. The artist might have been a local celebrity, or something. But though she looked closely for a signature she could find none, and it had the sort of paint-by-numbers feel of a mass-produced image. It was spooky, but she had to re-hang it.
Otherwise—
She saw Holden in the next room, her view darkened just a little by dust on the one-way mirror. He wore an enigmatic smile, and was slowly pacing back and forth at the foot of his bed. Distracted, he pulled his shirt over his head and then stood there again, apparently unmindful of the fact that he was now in the viewable room.
He was in pretty good shape, for sure. Dana was holding her breath. The moment seemed to stretch, and then Holden dropped his shirt on the bed and pulled his swimming shorts from his bag, and began unbuttoning his jeans.
“Uhhh… ah!” Dana muttered. “God!” She was where he had been and, though she could stay here for another ten seconds to see what he had, he had only watched for so long.
Long enough to see my bra, she thought, and as she caught sight of Holden’s briefs she hung the picture, obscuring the window and making sure it banged against the wall. He’d hear it and know that she’d covered the one-way mirror again… but he’d also know that she’d paused just for those few seconds, watching him strip off his shirt.
“Fair’s fair,” she said softly, grinning.
She took one last look at the grim print, and on the wall it seemed even worse. But it was part of her room now.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” she said, plucking a knitted throw from the bed and hanging it over the picture.
That was better.
Now, time to strip in private and slip into that sexy red bikini.
Their whole world in my hands, Sitterson thought. Their every private moment under my scrutiny. And he giggled to himself, because he was starting to sound like that crazy fuck Mordecai.
“What’s so funny?” Hadley asked. He was working at his own control panel, sugar from a recent doughnut speckling the skin around his mouth.
“You,” Sitterson said with as much seriousness as he could muster, “and the joke that is your life.”
Hadley muttered something as he turned away smiling, and Sitterson pushed his chair back so that he could view every display at once.
On the bedroom monitors, the college kids were all changing into their swimming costumes. He’d seen this enough times before, but the voyeuristic delight had never quite left him, and neither would he wish it to. He regarded it as a perk of the job, and knew that Hadley did as well. They didn’t make it obvious, but neither did they purposely look away from the screens.
There was no privacy here; that had been denied these kids the second they drove through the tunnel, and in some ways long before that. So while he checked readouts on his laptop and tweaked a few settings here and there, he also glanced frequently at the bank of monitors.
Just to… monitor.
The cute brunette—and damn, was she cute!— turned her back on the covered painting as she changed, which gave him a perfect view. Sweet, pert breasts, as yet defiant of gravity and not weighed down with the responsibility of childbirth. Strong limbs, long legs, a flat stomach rippled with the subtle evidence of running and other exercise. And she shaved. Most college kids her age did, he’d come to learn. That didn’t do it for Sitterson, but he knew that Hadley was a fan of baldies.
Glancing across, he grinned to see his companion’s gaze fixed on the screen.
“Cute,” he said.
“Yeah,” Hadley agreed, smiling softly. “But it doesn’t matter.”
Sitterson looked at the other screens that showed activity. The Fool was sitting on the end of his bed staring at the far wall, a joint hanging from the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t bothered changing, and most likely wouldn’t join his friends in the lake. Which was a shame, because it would necessitate a slight change from Story. But it was also allowed for.
The jock and his blonde girlfriend were fooling around naked, whipping at each other’s butts with twisted towels, wrestling, but Sitterson knew that she was teasing, putting everything on view but not making anything available. Not yet, at least. The jock didn’t seem aware of this, and when his interest started showing Sitterson turned away and checked some more readouts. Even though he had the audio turned most of the way down, he still heard the guy’s complaining voice, and the girl’s admonishment, full of control and manipulation.
Poor fuck. Didn’t he know they were all insane?
Rolling his chair back again, he checked out the other feeds: cabin, dock, lake, the RV, several views of the kitchen and dining area, four for the living room, basement, bathroom… it all seemed well, and when the kids started leaving their rooms he tracked their progress from screen to screen.
“All right,” Sitterson said, “places everyone. We are live.”
“Engineering,” Hadley said, voice calm and almost bored. “We’ve got a room change. Polk is now in two, McCrea’s in four. Story department—you copy? We’ll need a scenario adjustment… ”
Moments later a voice came over the control room’s PA.
“Have it back to you in fifteen… ”
“Oh, and the Fool’s not swimming.”
“Got that covered,” the same voice confirmed.
It’s all under control, Sitterson thought, and control was what pleased him. Outside this place he was a mess—his bachelor’s home, his history of relationships, his life—but he more than made up for it with his work. He was, Hadley had told him more than once, a pain-in-the-ass perfectionist. Who the fuck else would you want working here? That was his stock reply. And Hadley had never argued.