I try to think through things the way Trips or Clara would. “What kind of security do we think is on that unit?”
“If it has what we think it does, a ton, but only digital. He wouldn’t want to risk aguard,” RJ says.
I slump. “You already have too much on your plate, RJ. We probably shouldn’t add anything else.”
Jansen pulls one knee under his chin, the black hair and black jeans still unfamiliar to me. “Does this really change the plan, though?” he asks.
“You want to torch the place?” RJ asks.
I lean against the wall of the van. “If we start a fire, the cops might search other units, find that makeshift hospital and ask questions. Maybe.”
“What about everybody else’s stuff?” RJ asks.
There’s a soft thud on the roof of the van, and RJ brings the drone back in, cold air sweeping past before he sets it on the desk to charge. “We could keep it contained. Probably,” he says, eyes closed.
Jansen folds himself into a pretzel on the bench, still thinking. “What if we torched the evidence, and started but then put out a fire by the med unit? I bet they’re both under the same name. That would make the cops curious, don’t you think?”
“What about Reed? Could we get him involved?” I ask RJ.
“He’s sex crimes.”
“He could be a little birdy to another division.”
Jansen tugs his hair, the action obviously a holdover from when he’d compulsively put his hair up and down. “We don’t want the top investigators, though, do we? Wouldn’t that put us at risk?”
“No. We do want cops Westerhouse hasn’t bought, though,” RJ points out.
“Let’s look into containment and the local PD,” I say, once again feeling like the leader, for all I don’t want the role.
Jansen pops to his feet. “I call fire,” he says.
“Don’t you dare become a pyro,” I warn.
Jansen waves me off as he hops out of the back, the icy wind sweeping in a few flakes of snow. “Tried it. Didn’t stick.” Then the old motor of the convertible kicks up, the screech of rubber making me flinch.
“Do you think he’ll get pulled over?” I ask.
RJ just looks at me, and I have no choice but to laugh.
“You’re right. Worry about the real problems.”
But once I’m back home, packing for the much-dreaded visit to my parents’ house, I realize I can’t even keep track of which risks are most likely to bring disaster anymore— they all are.
Chapter 33
Clara
I’ve never been much of a holiday person, but Thanksgiving is officially my favorite, mainly because Trevor stays at Olivia’s for most of the week.
That man brings out murderous tendencies I didn’t know I had. I’m equally disgusted and impressed with myself: horrified that I took his fingers, even as I know it was justified. He was ready to rape me all those months ago on the boat. Last night, he would have killed me if no one there had intervened. I fought back, meeting violence with violence, and it’s as scary as it is exhilarating.
Unfortunately, Mattie’s avoiding Trips and me now. It’s pretty obvious that we scared her. And even if she was told what had gone down in the pool that night, it doesn’t look good when the only people she assumed were safe show themselves to be the violent criminals her father told her we were.
One ally lost. Or at least, confused.
I can’t say I blame her.
If I’d come into a room a year ago and seen what she saw, I wouldn’t have trusted anyone in that situation again. Add to that they’re her brothers, one of whom she’s been told from birth is dangerous and unhinged?
