Page 34 of Playing Dirty

“You want me to do it?” he asked, deadpan.

“I got it.”

“You sure? Because right now you’re making the squirrels look tactical.”

I shot him a look, tightened the last tie, and flipped the cam on. The red LED blinked once, then vanished into black.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s move.”

We retraced our steps in silence. No lights flipped on across the street. No barking dogs. No one yelling from a porch.

Clean exit.

But my pulse was still jacked because this wasn’t just about catching Matt anymore.

This was about proving to myself that I was different.

That I could be the guy who showed up when it counted, even if it meant playing dirty.

Back at the motel room, things were quiet except for the hum of the mini fridge and the occasional creak from the heater vents. Sawyer had the cam connected to his laptop, a beer resting untouched on the nightstand. I didn’t bother grabbing one.

We watched in silence.

The feed was grainy, black-and-white with just enough infrared to make out shapes. Trees swayed in the wind. Headlights passed by now and then.

Then—movement.

Matt’s truck pulled into the driveway across the street, the same one we’d seen earlier. The woman and two kids were with him. Same walk. Same casual lean into his side. Their family looked... happy.

Comfortable.

We picked up some audio when she unlocked the front door. He followed her inside, chatting about their day.

Lights flipped on in what looked like the living room. The shadows of kids danced past the windows. A family enjoying their evening together.

After a couple of hours, they were in the bedroom.

We watched him peel off his shirt and heard him talking like this was just any other night. Like Matt didn’t have a woman back in Lovelace whose eyes watered every time she said his name.

He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. She crossed the window in a silk negligee, her hair loose around her shoulders.

The bedroom light flicked off.

And that was it.

I sat back slowly, my fists curled so tight my knuckles ached.

Callie still believed in him.

Still thought there had to be some explanation, some reason he hadn’t called.

And here he was—living a second life like it was no big thing.

This would gut her.

I knew it. Felt it.

Sadly, I’d be the one to hand her the knife.