Their Fractured Light (Starbound #3)(39)

“True,” I reply, taking one more bite and then sliding the last quarter of my sandwich over toward him. “But that just makes my job easier. No one suspects I’m up to anything at all.”

Gideon takes my offering without question, and the gusto with which he finishes off my sandwich reminds me that all he had in his den were stim packs and protein gels. “Mae’s a predictive data specialist for one of the big drug companies, so she can work from home. Gives her all the opportunity and time she needs for side projects. And for her kids.”

I glance through the archway into the living room, where Mae’s still on the phone, her back to us. “She seems happy.”

“You sound surprised.”

I blink, refocusing on Gideon. “No, I just—” I hesitate, toying with the straw in my iced tea. “I suppose I tend to assume that everyone who does what we do has to give up this kind of life. We’re criminals. Most criminals don’t get to be happy.”

Gideon dismisses that idea with a flick of his fingers. “This stuff, it’s just what we do, not who we are. You’d still be you if you stopped conning people tomorrow.”

“And you’d be the same without all your screens and data ports?” I raise an eyebrow.

Gideon hesitates, but he’s saved from answering when Mae comes back into the room, flashing us each a bright smile.

“How about a movie?” she asks. “I’ve got HV Instant, so there’s about a million options to choose from.”

“Don’t you have to go pick up your kids?” I ask, glancing at the display on the wall as it flickers from showing info about the weather back to the time.

Mae’s eyes follow mine, then skitter away. “They’re going to a friend’s house after school. It’s fine. Maybe a rom com, you think?”

Gideon grimaces, sliding off his stool and turning to follow Mae back into the living room. “I’m outnumbered, aren’t I?” he complains.

I’ve seen maybe one romantic comedy since I came to Corinth—and I didn’t really like it—but I don’t particularly want to let on to either May or Gideon that I grew up in a swamp with no HV or hypernet access. So I trail after them, trying to ignore my sense of uneasiness.

Mae’s turning on the HV, which takes up half the living room wall—her kids are clearly entertainment junkies, the floor littered with the toys and tie-ins that make kids’ programming more immersive. The channels flicker by too quickly, and Mae clears her throat. “Sorry, the eye-trackers have been acting up.”

Gideon flops down onto one of the couches, pulling out a palm pad and no doubt scrolling through to see what movement, if any, there’s been on our message to the detective. But I keep my eyes on Mae, watching her struggle with the controls, blinking too rapidly for the trackers to function properly.

Something’s not right.

She finally gets a movie going on the screen, then makes a shooing motion at me toward the couch. “I’m going to go clean up some more in the kitchen, I’ll join you in a bit.”

I trail over toward the couch as she bustles back into the kitchen—the now-spotless kitchen—and pause where I can still see at an angle via the mirror in the front hall. As soon as she’s out of direct sight of the living room, she’s got her hand pressed to her earpiece again, lips moving but voice inaudible over the sound of the movie’s opening credits. She never got off the phone call she took earlier.

My heartbeat quickening, I drop down onto the couch a few feet from Gideon, trying to catch his eye. He doesn’t even look up from his screens—when he’s in, he’s in—so I make a show of scooting closer until my hips come up against his. That brings him up short, palm pad device dropping into his lap as he glances up at me, eyebrows raised.

“You feeling okay, Alice?” he says, and though his voice is a tease, I see his hand start to creep toward me.

“Keep your voice down and try to look normal,” I say quietly—not a whisper, because the sibilants in a whisper carry further than a low speaking voice—but a murmur, as though we’re relaxing together. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Gideon glances at the palm pad, as though the answer to his question might be there.

“It’s Mae. Something’s going on with her—her body language has completely changed.”

“What are you talking about?” Gideon leans back, but it’s impossible to see the kitchen from where we are now, even in the mirror. “Sofia, you have to relax sometime. We’ve done what we needed to do, the police will take it from here. And I’ve known Mae for four years. She could’ve sold out the—my identity online dozens of times over, and never did. We’re safe here.”

“It’s precisely that you know her so well that makes it impossible for you to see.” I’m not above using our closeness to get his attention, and reach over to lay my hand on his arm. “I don’t know her at all, no bias whatsoever, and I’m telling you, whatever that phone call was, something’s going on. She’s turned us in, or she’s thinking about it, or something I can’t even predict—but something’s wrong. You have to listen to me.”

Gideon hesitates, then pulls his arm away abruptly, brows furrowing. “What are you trying to play me for now? Turning me against my friend? What does that get you?”