Page 34 of Plain Sight

“I think it’s a mistake to try and predict what he’ll do.”

“Really, the only thing he’s talked about is the kidnapper. Walsh. And the Good Samaritan.”

“The what?” Gabriel says.

In all the rush and bustle of the wedding day, there hadn’t been time to sit down with everyone and tell them all exactly what happened, minute by minute. Walsh had escaped, and nobody had been able to find them. Jameson has every reason not to trust the cops, and frankly, I’m with him. And there wasn’t an opening that seemed right to say by the way, there was a second person when I got kidnapped who came out of nowhere with a lead pipe. I did tell Jameson, but he wasn’t, like, helping murder me, so he probably shouldn’t get arrested, although I’m open to other ideas on that.

I tell Mason and Gabriel about the Good Samaritan.

“That sounds suspicious as fuck,” Gabriel sings quietly.

“He did hit Walsh with the pipe. That’s a Good Samaritan thing to do from my perspective,” I tell him.

“Do you have any idea why he helped you?” Mason asks. “Did he say anything?”

“No. He ran away so fast that it was like he was never there. And I’ve never seen him before. I haven’t seen him since, either. But I did tell Jameson about him, so maybe he’s trying to get information on Walsh that way.”

“Great.” The breeze ruffles Gabriel’s hair. He watches Central Park and takes a deep breath in, then lets it out slow. “So Jameson is out there searching for a contract killer and a guy who sounds like a comic book villain while we wait to see if our little brother makes it home for breakfast.”

“What did you do before? If…” I think of Jameson as a teenager, staying awake for days on end. “If you think his trouble sleeping and the sneaking out started when your parents passed away, you had to have done something, or—or had a plan.”

Mason curses under his breath. “No excuse,” he says, almost to himself. “I kept my phone on. That’s what I did. When I realized Jameson was—he was⁠—”

“When we realized he was having trouble.” Gabriel picks up from Mason easily, like he’s thought of this conversation many times. Or maybe they’ve had this conversation many times. “School was rough on Jameson.”

“It was?”

“High school,” Gabriel amends. “It was hard to keep him there, most days. He was grieving. We all were, and—” His eyes shine, but he swipes at them with a knuckle. “He was angry. I thought it was getting better when he started college, but I was wrong. He had more excuses to be away from us, so it took longer to realize that he was…escalating.”

“To getting arrested?”

“Stuff like that, yeah.” Gabriel’s lips press into a thin line. “We both kept our phones on. It wasn’t just Mason. We both—we tried to be there when he needed to get out of jail. That only got more frequent over the years.”

“Is that what you’re doing now? Keeping your phones on? What if my grandfather has people looking for him? What if they get to him first?” What have I been thinking, letting this go on? “I think we should go after him.”

“I don’t know if he’d handle that well,” says Gabriel.

“Someone’s going to have to go with him eventually,” I point out. “Even if he’s mad about it. He could get hurt.”

There’s a moment when I think I might fully burst into tears. My throat pinches and my eyes sting and my face gets hot, but I breathe through the swell of emotion and try to let it out in a measured way.

The pregnancy hormones are no joke.

Loving Jameson is no joke. That part is not like a fairy tale. Fairy tales never tell you that love is strong enough to snap you in two.

“He could get seriously injured,” I say, when I finally have control over my voice again. “He could get killed. If the choice is between going public about my grandfather or going after him, then⁠—”

“It could put you at risk.” Mason looks me in the eye. The green of his eyes is dark in the ambient light from the city. “If your grandfather reacts poorly to an act of aggression on our part.”

“It’s his fault.” The anger I feel—the hurt—is just as strong as my love for Jameson. “He’s the one who did all these things, and he didn’t have to.”

“I agree.” Gabriel pats my arm. “Maybe it’s better if we split the difference.”

“How would we do that?”

He smiles, his teeth flashing in the dark. “I’m well-connected. The right words in the right ears will tell your grandfather that we haven’t forgotten what he did.”

“What about Jameson?”