While Drew and the senator argue, my phone buzzes again in my hand. I open the email app, ignoring the cracks in the screen. It must have gotten damaged in the blast, earlier.

Silas is watching me instead of Drew, who is going toe to toe with Harry over the question of my innocence while Lindsay stands closer to Drew, her ever-stalwart shadow.

I look at my phone screen, eyes blurring. It’s an email from a very, very welcome friend.

My only friend, at this point.

---

Dear Jane,

I know your email is heavily monitored, so I’ll just say this:

Dear NSA, fuck you. Leave poor Jane alone.

And Jane–come see me. I’ll provide you with companionship, a place out of the spotlight, and some good steaks and my special lemonade. Let us catch up. It has been too long.

Yours,

Alice

---

What a blast from the past. The near past, but still. Alice Mogrett was my oil painting professor in college. I needed an elective, something that didn’t involve math or coding, and her painting class fit into my schedule at the time. It wasn’t love of art that drove me into her studio. It was pure pragmatics.

But fate has a funny way of being pragmatic, too.

Alice had taught at Yates University, my alma mater, for more years than anyone remembered. She was famous, not for her art but for one very dramatic reason:

She was the only daughter of a beloved vice president from the 1950s.

And she was the epitome of a character.

“I know where I would like to go next,” I announce, emboldened by Alice’s words.

“Do you, now?” Marshall’s tone makes my teeth ache.

We’re interrupted by the senator and Drew’s voices, which are rising.

“Come on, Har–Senator. You don’t think those crackpots are anything but attention seekers. If we investigated every anonymous tip from wackos, we’d never get the really dangerous ones.”

“I think it has merit.”

“We’ve determined it doesn’t.”

“And have you never been wrong, Drew?”

“I have, and I get the feeling I’m about to be, whether I like it or not.”

“What makes you think you’re not wrong on this?”

Drew pinches the bridge of his nose. “You really want me to investigate the person we presume to be Jane’s informant? An anonymous call telling us who is responsible for what’s happened to Lindsay, to you, to everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus.”

“If he can help us, throw him in the mix, too.”

“Gentian,” Drew barks. “Go down the rabbit hole.”

Silas looks like Drew just told him to have sex with a porcupine on live television. “What?”

“Do it. I’m assigning you. You’re the most familiar with it.”

“But that rumor is crazy. Impossible.”

Drew gives Harry a look that says he agrees.

“Regardless,” the senator declares, “I want it investigated. Because if it’s true, we need to be on top of it.”

“If it’s true, sir, you’ll be in more trouble than anyone ever imagined,” Silas interjects.

“What are you all talking about?” Lindsay asks, looking as perplexed as I feel.

“Nothing,” Silas, Drew, and the senator say at the same time.

“It’s confidential,” the senator adds.

“You always say that when you just don’t want to tell me something,” Lindsay prods.

“This time,” Drew responds, “it’s true. We’ve already said too much.”

“You’re saying that someone has been feeding you information about me? About information that proves I’m innocent?” I ask.

“Crackpots,” Drew mutters, but it’s clear he wants everyone to hear.

“And you never investigated it?” I am agog.

“We did. Thoroughly. With as much time and attention as it deserved.”

“Which wasn’t much?” I accuse.

“How many resources are we supposed to devote to the thousands of stupid tips we get? People call the senator’s office to report alien prostate probes, Jane. Those are about as credible as the tip Harry–the senator–is talking about.” Drew unbuttons his suit jacket and lifts his arms, stretching his shoulders. It’s a dominance approach, body language designed to claim space.

It works.

“Glad to be lumped in with prostates,” I mutter.

Silas bites the inside of one cheek. Is he trying not to laugh? It feels too good to be true. The senator is making Drew investigate leads about my being innocent, and Silas is showing emotion toward me.

It’s like Christmas and my birthday rolled up in one.

“Do it,” Senator Bosworth orders.

“We are,” Drew responds.

“Let’s get Jane in the guest house–”

“No, Senator,” I say quietly, politely, but firmly. “I would like to be taken somewhere else.”

“Where?” He’s clearly surprised.

“To Alice Mogrett’s ranch in Silverton, Texas.”

Every set of eyebrows goes up.

“Alice Mogrett?” Marshall asks. “The Alice Mogrett?”

“The former vice president’s daughter?” the senator asks, folding his arms over his chest as he leans back, clearly intrigued.

“Yes,” I confirm. “She was my art professor in college and has reached out to me. I have an invitation from her, personally, to come to her ranch and be her guest.”

“She’s a fruit loop,” Marshall declares. “That woman has been part of every crazy scandal you can imagine since the 1950s. The rumors about her are still circulating among the Secret Service. I can’t believe she’s still alive. How old is she now? A hundred?”

“Ninety-two,” I say, correcting him. “And she is my friend.” I lower my chin and look up at him, my face designed to imply that he’s being an offensive asshole.

“Of course she is,” Marshall says, unaffected by my look. “You would, somehow, be allied with a woman who was the epitome of sex scandal back in her day.”

“I’m hardly at the center of a sex scandal,” I protest.

“Aren’t you? Look at what they did to Lindsay,” Marshall argues.

Every woman in the room freezes.

“What those bastards did to Lindsay wasn’t about sex, you idiot,” Drew speaks up. “It was about violence. Control. Domination.”

“Shame,” I whisper.

He does a double take. “Right.”

“Alice Mogrett is a terrible move,” Marshall says, ignoring Drew’s acid tone.

“It’s where we’re going,” I say, taking a deep breath to continue. I’ll need to dig in to get what I want.

Silas stands and leaves the room. Great. So much for any thought that he might help me. Not that I held out much hope, but...

“Sir, it’s best if she stays here,” Marshall turns to the senator to appeal to him. I’m reduced to “she” again. An object. I’m not even worthy of a direct comment.

“Alice Mogrett, huh?” the senator says with a nostalgic smile on his face. He shakes his head slowly. “I remember when Rupert Mogrett was appointed to the Supreme Court. Shocked everyone. Right after he and Paulton timed out of office. Paulton was able to appoint him in his final months in the presidency and Mogrett resigned as VP, then became a justice. Served for twelve more years.”

“And meanwhile, his daughter made headlines,” Marshall says tightly. “Didn’t she found a commune in the late 1950s, for God’s sake?” He acts as if communes are equivalent to ISIS terrorism compounds.

“She was part of the naked protest movement of the 1960s,” Victoria adds, reading from her phone. “On the vanguard of the second-wave women’s feminism movement.”

“See?” Marshall declares. “Bad PR for us.”

Silas returns, not sitting, standing at the doorway. He says nothing.

“If you’ve been invited, I think it’s worth considering,” the senator says. Lindsay suddenly breaks away from Drew and leaves the room, walking past Silas, who just nods.

“Harry,” Marshall addresses him in a low voice. “This is a really inconvenient time for–”

“Security’s already set up,” Silas announces, deliberately interrupting Marshall in what can only be considered a challenge. “I’ve notified the Secret Service at her ranch that we’re escalating.”

“You? You did that without orders?” Marshall barks.

“Nothing’s set in stone. I’m making sure we’re prepared in case the senator makes a decision to send Jane there,” Silas smoothly answers.

“I have made a decision to go there, so...” I stand and move toward the door, walking past Silas, who turns smoothly to follow me as Marshall calls out for me to return. I ignore him.

I am so done.

Until Lindsay appears, staring me down.