Page 56 of Plain Sight

“Okay.”

Mason brings the judge out. “You’re fucked,” he says as they come down the porch steps. “Well and truly fucked. Jameson’s research⁠—”

“What?” I say. “What research?”

Somehow, Mason and the judge are already here.

“The research you did at work. I wasn’t spying on your computer. Don’t look at me like that. Kirk was shutting it down one afternoon and thought—it doesn’t matter. I looked into all your paperwork. Made a few calls. Found out the judge here is the most corrupt motherfucker in the state of New York.” Mason looks scoldingly at Beaufort. “I am so disappointed in you.”

“Just kill me,” Beaufort says.

Mason barks a laugh. “No. This is going to be more fun.”

I turn to look at Gabriel, but he’s not there.

Where did he go?

He jogs around the corner of the house and waves to me, something on fire in his hand.

“Don’t,” the judge says, pointlessly, feebly.

“It’s not as if you have anything important in there,” Mason says in a mock-soothing tone. “You won’t have to watch your granddaughter burn to death. You’ll just have to watch your house burn down. That’s not so bad, is it?”

The flames are higher in the back, by the kitchen. Smoke is already beginning to rise against the night sky. A wave of what feels like pure acid washes over me, followed by horror, followed by⁠—

I throw up again.

Mason rubs my back until I straighten up. “We’re going home after this. It’s okay.” Blue and red lights flash against the house. “Whoops. Guess you won’t get to watch it burn down, Judge Hayes. Better luck next time.”

14

LILY

Letting everyone sleep was a total fantasy. Even if I didn’t have the baby with me, there’s no way I could lie back down. My heart doesn’t love waiting around to see what will happen to Jameson. I’d much rather be dressed in black and checking out a creepy farmhouse than here without him.

Although—I could do without the part where the rogue and maybe fake cops beat him up and took him to jail. I do not want a repeat of that situation ever.

“It’s a trade-off,” I murmur to Robin, who keeps sleeping. “If it’s a thing where my presence will make him get arrested, then obviously I’ll stay here. But what if I could help? What if I was born for a life of crime?”

Robin says nothing.

“I don’t think I was born for a life of crime,” I admit. “I don’t think the law is necessarily on the side of justice, but anarchy seems like a lot of work.”

The baby sleeps on.

“Why am I talking to you about anarchy?” I ask. “Why is my brain like this?”

No answer.

I stop telling Robin my thoughts about anarchy and justice and pace with him for another minute or so of quiet. Then Charlotte pads into the living room, pulling her hair into a bun on the top of her head. Her face lights up when she sees Robin sleeping peacefully in my arms.

“I can take him,” she says in a low voice. “But holding a sleeping baby is the best. He’s happy with you, if you don’t mind.”

“I really don’t.”

“Should we make some tea? I’m going to make some tea. It feels like the thing to do.”

I follow her into the kitchen, where she pulls a mason jar of fancy tea bags out of a cupboard, fills the kettle with water, and turns on the front stove burner. I’m too keyed up to sit at the kitchen table, and from what I’ve seen, Robin prefers to be held standing or slowly pacing. Charlotte’s kitchen is large enough to do a decent-sized circle. She’s taking down mugs and I’m still circling at a stately pace when Elise comes in a couple of minutes later with Nate and Lydia, who are pretty bright-eyed for the middle of the night.