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Where to turn for help when everyone was a suspect? I thought back to freshman year, the way the police station had grown silent and tense, all those faces turning to us as Dorsey chewed us out. I thought of the tribunal waiting for me in the high school principal’s office: Ruskin, the guidance counselor, even the superintendent. My life with Cal, day after day: the way he’d laughed with all his friends as they talked about board meetings and golf scores, while the rest of us, the carbon-copy wives, watched them, making our small lives in the margins of theirs.
The Paters had always been everywhere.
“I can’t get over the governor,” Jamie said. “He seemed so genuine. And he’s done so much good. I can’t imagine there’s something this broken inside him. How does he hide it?”
“They’re not broken,” I said. “They’re working exactly like they’re supposed to.” I thought of what Nicole had said. “What the Paters teach about men and women is what a lot of the world already believes, even if they don’t say it out loud. That’s how Barry can blend in. The Paters act like they’re victims, but really, they’re in the majority.”
Jamie reached for my hands. “What if we can’t trust the FBI?”
“There will be another way,” I started to say, but he said “Shay” so sharply I stopped. His eyes were fixed on me, bright with fear. “Barry’s the incumbent. He’sgoingto get reelected. What if there’s no one left to help?”
Jamie was spinning out. The enormity of what we were facing, of having our backs to the wall, was hitting him for the first time. But I’d been here before, a thousand times. “Jamie, it’s always been on us.”
I withdrew my hands and stood, ruined dress slipping to the floor. “That’s why I’m going back to the Hilltop.”
“What?” He rose. “Are you crazy?”
“I have to get Laurel to leave with me.” She’d said it, but I’d let it slip by:Rachel was going to ruin the Paters before we could ever reach our goal, get to Albany. If I let Laurel go with Don to the capital, I’d never get her back. There was no one left to care about her but me.
“That’s not how it works.” Jamie’s body bent toward me. “They know about you now. They want tokillyou.”
“You said they’re having a party.” The beginnings of the plan wove together, the kind of thing Clem would do—go straight to the source, kick the house down, refuse to let them get away with it. “That gives me a chance to sneak in. I’ll pretend to be press or a caterer, whatever. I’ll find Laurel, convince her to leave, and we’ll slip out while Don’s distracted with politics.”
Jamie shook his head. “Even if you can get in, what makes you think you can get her to go? She’s a cultleader, Shay, not just a victim. You have to face the facts.”
I held his gaze. “You know better than anyone that I’ve made bad choices, too. Am I beyond saving?”
Instead of answering, he paced away. Tension radiated from him, hunching his shoulders. “You’re going through the nine circles of hell to drag back a woman who doesn’t want to be rescued. This goddamn savior complex of yours is going to get you killed.”
His sharp words sliced me. “She’s like a sister, Jamie. And she protected me by distracting Don. You should’ve seen the look on her face right before I ran. I know I can get her to leave. I just need more time.”
But he was shaking his head.
“I promised I would protect her.”
He was silent, so I turned for the bathroom. I needed a shower.
“Wait.” Jamie sounded like the word cost him. “If you’re going, the only way to keep you safe is to blow the lid off the Paters. Break the story wide so no one can make it go away—not the Paters, or the police, or the governor’s campaign. I’ve never broken news on my podcast before, but maybe if I released an emergency episode, a follow-up to the first Laurel piece, with clips from our recordings, people would listen. If I asked my listeners to make noise on Twitter, even call the FBI, maybe they’d do it. I have a big following, mostly women. They could be our shield.”
“Dorsey did say his office was flooded with calls from your listeners after your episode on Laurel. And you didn’t even ask them to do it.”
“The headlines will all say ‘True-Crime Podcast Host Attacks New York Governor.’”
“Hey, you don’t—” I started.
He shook his head. “You warned me.”
“Are you okay with that?”
His eyes softened, and he huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Compared to what you’re doing, it’s nothing. Besides, there happens to be this woman I’d give anything to protect, too.”
We looked at each other until he drew a deep breath. “I’ll call my producers. I bet we can have the story up in hours.”
“No,” I said quickly. “If you do it now, Governor Barry will just cancel his party, and Don will take off. Who knows if I’ll ever get Laurel back? You have to wait until we’re inside.”
“That’s insane.”
“I know. But when will I get another chance like this?” I was an expert in desperate opportunities.
