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My eyes widened as I took more in. Murder contracts fulfilled, complete with before and after photos that would give me nightmares.

A Heavy Kings prospect from two years ago I'd wondered about—listed as "completed" with payment confirmation.

Three rival club members who'd disappeared last summer, their bodies apparently feeding desert wildlife according to the GPS coordinates included.

The scope of it staggered me. This wasn't just club business gone dark—this was organized evil on a scale that demanded federal intervention. The kind of evidence that started RICO cases and ended with entire organizations dismantled.

My hands tightened on the tablet as I found the subsection on human trafficking.

Young women moved like cargo, sold to pay debts or cement alliances.

Photos of girls who looked too much like Cleo—young, pretty, vulnerable.

Most tagged as "delivered" with dates that made my stomach turn.

Some marked "lost in transit," which was a polite way of saying dead.

"Dangerous game for someone without backup. "

"Who says I don't have backup?" Her smile was sharp, nothing like the desperate need for approval that used to drive her. "FBI's been very interested in what I've collected. But they move slow, build careful cases. Your girl doesn't have that kind of time."

She pulled up new files—photos of a warehouse on Fifth Street I recognized as Serpent territory. Guard positions marked, entry points identified, interior layout sketched with surprising detail.

"Jessie Statton has been there since two AM," she said, showing me grainy security footage of men hauling a struggling form from a van. "Six guards rotating in eight-hour shifts. They're keeping her sedated but not hurt—she's no good as leverage if she's damaged."

"How do you know all this?"

"Because I'm the one who suggested they take her." The admission came without flinching, meeting my anger head-on. "They were planning something messier, more direct. I convinced them that using someone Cleo cares about would be more effective than trying to grab her off the street."

My hands clenched on the table. She'd set up an innocent girl, put her in danger. The fact that it might have been the lesser evil didn't make it sit any better.

"Before you break my neck," she continued calmly, "consider that my suggestion included keeping Jessie unharmed and in a location I could monitor. The alternative was them shooting up the charity drive and taking Cleo in the chaos. How many civilians would have died in that scenario?"

The logic was sound even if the ethics were muddy. Classic Vanessa—seeing angles others missed, playing chess while everyone else played checkers. It's what had made her so dangerous before, and apparently what made her valuable now.

"Rattler owe the Cartel two point three million.

" She pulled up more files—photos of Rattler meeting with men whose face tattoos marked them as Las Cruces soldiers.

"Bad loans to cover gambling debts, then more loans to cover those.

He's been juggling for years, but they're done playing.

Either he pays in full by month's end or they collect in blood. "

“Jesus fucking Christ. So that’s why he’s desperate.”

“The money, the $200,000, he swears it’s real. That the mom took it from a shared account before she died. I believe him.”

“But why wouldn’t Cleo know?”

She shrugged. “No clue. Point is, that it’s a drop in the ocean compared to how much he owes.”

“So—”

"Cleo's his payment plan. And Jessie. Plans to hand them over. Cleo’s young, vulnerable, no record.

No drug use." She recited it like a shopping list, and I wanted to put my fist through the table.

"Worth a million easy in their world, maybe more to the right buyer.

Rattler figures it clears half his debt and proves he's serious about the rest."

The casual evil of it, talking about selling a woman like calculating property values, made my skin crawl. But this was the world we lived in, where daughters became currency and fathers became monsters.

"Why not just give this to the feds?" I asked. "Let them handle it, arrest everyone?"

"Because federal cases take months to build, years to prosecute.

How long do you think Cleo has once Rattler realizes his leverage play failed?

" She leaned forward, intensity breaking through her calm facade.

"The cartel doesn't do payment plans, Dex.

Either Rattler delivers something of value by the deadline or they start taking pieces of him. And desperate men do desperate things."

She was right. Letting this play out through legal channels meant leaving Cleo exposed while the system ground through its processes. We needed something faster, more decisive.

"There's one more thing," she said, pulling out a small device that looked like a USB drive but wasn't. "Audio transmitter.

Latest generation, broadcasts to a receiver up to half a mile away.

I can wear it during the meet with Rattler, get him on record discussing the trade, admitting to everything. "

"You're meeting with him?"

"In two hours. He wants an update on Cleo's position, confirmation that she'll come for Jessie." She set the device on the table between us. "What he'll get instead is me leading him into admissions that will bury him. Either in court or in the ground, depending on how you want to play it."

The device sat there like a grenade pin, waiting to be pulled. Accepting it meant trusting Vanessa not just with intelligence but with active participation in our operation. It meant believing that her desire for redemption outweighed whatever leverage the Serpents still had on her.

"If you're lying," I started, but she cut me off with a raised hand.

"You can kill me. I know I deserve it. I've accepted that.

" She met my eyes directly, unflinching.

"But Dex? I'm not lying. Not this time. Some mistakes can't be undone, but maybe they can be balanced.

What I did to you, to the club—I can't fix that.

But I can stop it from happening to someone else. "

The sincerity in her voice felt real, but then again, it had felt real before.

The difference was the evidence, the detailed intelligence that would have taken years to fabricate.

Either this was the most elaborate con in history or Vanessa had actually spent three years planning revenge on the people who'd turned her into a weapon.

"Why?" I asked finally. "Real reason. Not the pretty words about redemption."

Her smile turned bitter. "Because they took a damaged girl and made her worse. Because they used my need for belonging to turn me into something I hated. Because every day for three years I've woken up knowing I destroyed the only good thing in my life for people who saw me as disposable."

Now that rang true. Not noble, not pretty, but honest in its anger.

I pocketed the transmitter, decision made. "If this is a setup—"

"It's not." She slid the tablet across to me. "Everything's on here. Encrypted, but your tech guy will crack it in minutes. Guard schedules, building layouts, communication protocols. Everything you need to get Jessie out and end this."

As I stood to leave, tablet tucked under my arm like it contained nuclear codes, she spoke again.

"Dex? Tell Cleo I'm sorry. For everything.

For being too weak to resist them before, for putting her in danger now.

Tell her some debts can't be paid, only acknowledged.

And tell her to wrack her brains about the money. "

I nodded, already moving toward the door. Whatever happened next, whatever truth or lies Vanessa was selling, we were committed now. The intelligence she'd provided would either save lives or end them, but standing still meant certain disaster.