Page 37 of Exposed

“Simple is good. I’ll make it.”

“But your panic attacks—”

I try to infuse strength into my voice. “I’ll have to work through it.”

“One breath at a time. One step at a time. Baby steps to Logan.”

“Is that another reference to that movie?”

“Yes.”

“I still haven’t seen it, you know. I’ve never seen any movies.”

“Make it to my office, and we’ll set about rectifying that.”

“Okay.” I take a breath. “I can do this.”

“You can do this.” I hear a voice in the background call Logan’s name urgently. “I have to go. Call me if you need me. I swear I’ll answer, no matter what.”

“Okay. Now go do your acquisitioning.”

He laughs. “See? You do have a sense of humor. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

I end the call, to save him having to. I look up at the nearest intersection, at the signs. Seventh and Forty-fourth. Two blocks up, one block over. I can do it.

I push away from the wall. Straighten my spine. Lift my chin. Breathe deeply. One foot in front of the other. Ahead, a siren blares, and I flinch, and my breath lodges in my throat, but I force my feet to move. One foot forward. Follow it with the other. One step after another. Keep breathing. Ignore the people. Wait at the intersection for the light to change, a crowd around me. No one is looking at me. I am just another face in the crowd. Anonymous. It feels good.

I make it to Forty-fifth, but then I can’t figure out whether to turn right or left. I choose left, and discover that I’ve chosen incorrectly when I reach Sixth Avenue. I turn around and retrace my steps, wading through the ever-present crowds, wincing and flinching as my shoulder is jostled, ignoring the hammer of my heart in my chest, trying desperately to pretend I’m okay. Fake it till you make it, Logan told me. I’m trying to fake it, but it’s hard. The city is loud, horns always blaring, lights blinding. The people are myriad.

I’m crossing Eighth when a young man runs across the street, arms flailing, glancing behind, running frantically. He slams into me, sends me flying, twisting. I hear a shout, and a mammoth horse gallops across the intersection, a policeman on its back. I am in its path. I am still off balance, arms windmilling, stumbling. My shoe has come loose on my foot, and my ankle twists.

A hand grabs me, jerks me out of the way at the last second.

I am pulled against a hard chest smelling sharply of cologne. I look up into the cold gray eyes of Len. Big, broad, craggy features, a man like a stone golem made flesh, but barely.

“You’re here?” I ask.

“He had me follow you. Make sure nothing happened to you.” Len gestures at the horse and rider in pursuit of the criminal. “Like that.”

“I don’t need your help,” I say.

“You were almost trampled.”

I will not resort to petulance. “Thank you for your assistance, Len.”

“No problem. Those fuckers will run you down and not even blink twice.”

“I suppose you’re reporting my whereabouts?” I say, noticing the wire looped around an ear, the cord vanishing under the suit.

“Don’t need to. He knows where you are.”

“Of course he does. He always does.”

Len just shrugs. “How he is, I guess.” A gesture in the direction I was going. “Might as well walk with you now.”

There isn’t much to say. Len is a man of few words, and I am lost in my own mind, focusing on keeping down the panic.

When I reach Ninth and Forty-fifth, I stop. Dial Logan. “I’m here,” I say, when he answers.