Mae’s turning on the HV, which takes up half the living room wall—her kids are clearly entertainment junkies, the floor littered with the toys and tie-ins that make kids’ programming more immersive. The channels flicker by too quickly, and Mae clears her throat. “Sorry, the eye-trackers have been acting up.”
Gideon flops down onto one of the couches, pulling out a palm pad and no doubt scrolling through to see what movement, if any, there’s been on our message to the detective. But I keep my eyes on Mae, watching her struggle with the controls, blinking too rapidly for the trackers to function properly.
Something’s not right.
She finally gets a movie going on the screen, then makes a shooing motion at me toward the couch. “I’m going to go clean up some more in the kitchen, I’ll join you in a bit.”
I trail over toward the couch as she bustles back into the kitchen—the now-spotless kitchen—and pause where I can still see at an angle via the mirror in the front hall. As soon as she’s out of direct sight of the living room, she’s got her hand pressed to her earpiece again, lips moving but voice inaudible over the sound of the movie’s opening credits. She never got off the phone call she took earlier.
My heartbeat quickening, I drop down onto the couch a few feet from Gideon, trying to catch his eye. He doesn’t even look up from his screens—when he’s in, he’s in—so I make a show of scooting closer until my hips come up against his. That brings him up short, palm pad device dropping into his lap as he glances up at me, eyebrows raised.
“You feeling okay, Alice?” he says, and though his voice is a tease, I see his hand start to creep toward me.
“Keep your voice down and try to look normal,” I say quietly—not a whisper, because the sibilants in a whisper carry further than a low speaking voice—but a murmur, as though we’re relaxing together. “Something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Gideon glances at the palm pad, as though the answer to his question might be there.
“It’s Mae. Something’s going on with her—her body language has completely changed.”
“What are you talking about?” Gideon leans back, but it’s impossible to see the kitchen from where we are now, even in the mirror. “Sofia, you have to relax sometime. We’ve done what we needed to do, the police will take it from here. And I’ve known Mae for four years. She could’ve sold out the—my identity online dozens of times over, and never did. We’re safe here.”
“It’s precisely that you know her so well that makes it impossible for you to see.” I’m not above using our closeness to get his attention, and reach over to lay my hand on his arm. “I don’t know her at all, no bias whatsoever, and I’m telling you, whatever that phone call was, something’s going on. She’s turned us in, or she’s thinking about it, or something I can’t even predict—but something’s wrong. You have to listen to me.”
Gideon hesitates, then pulls his arm away abruptly, brows furrowing. “What are you trying to play me for now? Turning me against my friend? What does that get you?”
I glance at the archway to the kitchen, making sure frustration doesn’t cause my voice to rise. “Nothing! God, Gideon, you don’t think I’d give anything to just sit here and watch a movie and be safe, for once, for once?” To my horror, I can feel my eyes starting to sting, and not because I’m trying to cry. Tears now would just make Gideon even more certain I’m trying to play him. Yet there they are, threatening to spill out, making me blink hard to keep them back.
Because even as I’m saying the words, I’m realizing that they’re true. For the first time since my father’s death, the desire to be here, safe, on a couch with this boy I barely know, feels more real than the need to make LaRoux pay. And that scares me more than anything.
“I trust Mae,” he says, voice low and tight. Just now, I can see the toll the loss of his den has taken on him. He’s not ready to lose this last safe haven on top of it. “I trust her a hell of a lot more than I trust you.”
I take a slow breath, trying not to acknowledge how much that cut actually burns. But I can’t really blame him—he shouldn’t trust me. “Anyone can be bought,” I reply softly. “Everyone has a weakness. Does her loyalty to you outweigh her value of her own life? Her kids’ lives?”
In spite of himself, Gideon’s gaze flicks over to the mantel shelf over the HV screen, where pictures of the twins adorn every empty space.
I press my advantage, as hard as I dare. “Tell her we’re going to go check on a lead, meet a contact, anything. Make some excuse for us to leave, and if she tries to get us to stay, then you’ll know she’s stalling us here for a reason.”