Page 76 of High Frequency

Aside from missing a leg, which still startles me, he’s also lost a disturbing amount of weight. His face is gaunt, his eyes sunken in, and his expression is pure anger. He’s not happy about me showing up here.

“And you’re here because?”

Yeah, not happy at all.

I could try and beat around the bush for a bit, feed him some bullshit, but I have a feeling that’s not going to do much to improve his mood. I may as well jump in, both feet, and see where it lands.

“Because I need your help.”

“Myhelp,” he scoffs.

He hobbles on his crutches to the coffeepot, turning his back on me as he pours himself a mug.

“My mother put you up to this?” he asks over his shoulder.

“I haven’t seen your mother since you guys got back from Fort Harrison,” I answer truthfully. “No, I’m finally building my house.”

He turns to face me, leaning his butt against the counter as he drinks his coffee. At least I have his attention.

“The shell is up, and I started on the interior framing, but I think I may have bit off more than I can chew. The guys give me a hand when they can, and I have trades coming in for some of the stuff, but I can’t be there all the time. I already had to take this week off.”

He hasn’t said a word but he also hasn’t moved and appears to be listening, which is encouraging.

“Anyway, I was talking to my sister last night and she’s the one who suggested I hire someone. Like a construction manager or something. Someone who knows what needs to be done, can keep an eye on the trades, keep an eye on deliveries, maybe provide some security for the place.”

“Security? Here?”

I drain the coffee Lucy poured me and approach Jackson, reaching around him for the coffeepot for a refill.

“A couple of nights ago, someone decided to spray-paint the shit out of the house. Inside and out.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. JD, James, and I wasted a whole fucking day scrubbing it off all the logs.”

“Know who did it?”

“I have my suspicions, but I haven’t had a chance to look into it too closely. Wolff helped me put up some cameras in case they’re stupid enough to try again, but we’ve got most of the windows and doors in there now, so at least the inside is protected.”

“All it takes is a rock through the glass,” Jackson points out.

“True, but that’s where I’m hoping you’d come in.”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow, but I’m hoping the proposal I came up with in the shower last night, and solidified with a phone call this morning, will pique his interest.

“You know that old motorhome Pippa used to travel around in? It’s sitting idle behind their house and she’s okay with us moving it up the road to set up next to my place. It has solar, a large water tank, a kitchen, bathroom, propane. Fuck, I think it even has a TV. It’d be your own private bachelor pad, away from prying eyes. You’d provide security at night, and manage the build during the day.”

He hasn’t told me to fuck off yet, which I’ll take as a good sign.

“Why don’t you move into the motorhome yourself?”

It’s a fair question, which deserves an honest answer.

“I don’t know if you heard, but Sloane is back in town. She moved into the cabin two doors down. She has a five-month-old baby, and I want to be close by. I’m into her.”

Jackson snorts. “That’s nothing new, although I would’ve thought you got over that.”

“Turns out I didn’t,” I respond a little testily.

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