Page 56 of Web of Lies

"I'll put together a file that exposes Jackson's department and its criminal actions, such as embezzling government funds, money laundering, and hidden ties with city officials."

Hunt tilts his head. "And what about Jackson himself? Exposing him won't be enough. Men like him always find a way to escape and reinvent themselves."

"We kill him," I say. "I'll meet him on the premise that I have the identity of the Butcher. While he's occupied, the file will go live."

The room goes still. Hunt doesn't move, doesn't blink, just studies me. "Riley," he says slowly, disbelief heavy in his voice. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes." I nod and push myself to my feet.

Hunt hums, his eyes shifting between Kyle and me. "Is there any way I can help?"

"We need a secure location to meet with Jackson. Somewhere hard to ambush." Kyle says, drawing our attention to him.

Hunt's gaze lingers on Kyle, and he offers him a slow nod. "I think I know just the place. I'll have Hannah send you the address."

"Thank you." My lips pull into a small, weak smile. "And… I'm sorry, boss." I lower my head, shame crawling up my spine like ice.

"Riley, sweetheart," Hunt says with a sigh, his voice softer now.

"In my forty-five years, I've dealt with far worse rats than you.

Am I happy about it? No. But when I brought you in, you were just a kid trying to survive.

" His eyes soften, the usual sharp edge in them dulling.

"And you've done your job well. Better than most would have.

You even admitted it yourself. If anything," he pauses, his lips curving into something that resembles a smile, "I'm impressed that you kept this secret from me for so long. "

Relief washes over me, and my shoulders sink as if I’ve finally been allowed to put down a weight I’ve carried for too long. I still have my place here. I haven't been cast out.

My body moves before my mind can catch up. One second I'm still sitting next to Kyle, gripping his hand for support; the next, I'm on my feet, closing the distance between me and Mr. Hunt, and wrapping my arms around him.

The man freezes, every muscle tense, in my embrace. Then, slowly and almost reluctantly, one of his hands meets my back with an awkward pat.

Eventually, I pull away from him, and Hunt clears his throat, running his hand over his front to smooth his suit. I turn around to find Kyle's gaze locked on me. His eyes are narrowed, and there is a hint of anger flashing in them. But I still let a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

Because, for the first time in what feels like forever, it seems like things are actually shifting in the right direction.

Kyle's living room is back to looking like a war zone. Papers, cables, and half-empty coffee mugs cover every surface. As soon as we got back from Hunt's office, I threw myself into the work. No breaks, no distractions.

Through a secure network, I regained access to my old account and recovered everything I'd ever saved on Jackson and the department.

I gathered all key data that proves the illegal actions of the people in charge and added it to the pile of evidence I've been building: documents proving the corruption of city officials, the cover-ups, and the funding lines.

Now, all that's left is to organize everything into one clear, complete report; schedule the upload; and create the countdown for when it goes live. Then, contact Jackson and set up a meeting.

After working on it all day, I'm finally close to the end.

My body aches, my eyes sting, but I don't stop.

Not until it's perfect. With my chin resting on my knee, I drag the last file into place, and the puzzle is complete.

I scroll through the pages one last time, checking the layout, making sure every link is solid, every screenshot backed up twice.

That's it.

I lean back, roll my shoulders, and throw my arms up in the air. "I'm done," I say with victory in my voice as I sink into the chair with a heavy sigh.

"Good job," Kyle says from behind me.

I spin in my chair and find him sitting on the sofa, head down, focused on the broken-down guns spread across the coffee table. Metal pieces glint under the lamp as he cleans each part, checks the action, then sets it in a neat line.

"Now I just have to program the timer," I say, resting my chin on my hands and leaning against the chair's back.

"Send Hunt a copy, and contact Jackson." Even saying his name makes my stomach twist. It's the last thing I want to do, but it's the most important part.

If he buys the setup, we're in. If he doesn't, then all of this was for nothing.

Kyle puts down the part he was cleaning and leans back against the couch. "So how are you going to contact him?"

"Either a message or a call." I twirl a strand of hair around my finger, already dreading the thought.

"I'd go with the call," he says without hesitation.

"Really? But a message would be safer."

"Safer, maybe," Kyle nods, tilting his head. "But think about how it'll sound. A message is cold and detached, and it could come across as if you're buying time. On the phone, you can control it. Sell him on the fact that you've got everything and you need to see him now."

I catch my lower lip between my teeth and nibble on the soft flesh.

He isn't wrong. A message can be ignored or twisted, but a call can't. Even thinking about it makes my stomach twist, and dread crawls up my throat. Still, Kyle knows what he’s talking about.

He's been in this line of work longer than I have.

He knows how people think and how they react under pressure.

And if I want Jackson to believe me, he needs to hear it in real time, unfiltered.

"What if my voice gives me away?"

Kyle leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Then you use it. Nervous works in your favor here. He'll think it's because you're scared of him, not because you're lying. Just don't ramble."

A sigh slips from my lungs, and I tilt my head, my cheek pressing against my knuckles.

He makes it sound simple, like it's just a call to the pizza joint down the street to order dinner.

Usually, this wouldn't faze me. I've made similar calls before, where my job was to manipulate someone into slipping, to pass along information, or to set things up for someone else to take action.

But this is different. This isn't me running backup behind a screen.

This is about me. About my life and future.

One wrong word, one shaky breath, and he'll know.

As much as the thought makes me want to throw up, Kyle is right, though, that a call is the more convincing method.

"Okay, a call it is." My fingers drum against the back of the chair.

I turn back and close the laptop with a soft click before my gaze falls on my phone lying face up beside me. "Okay," I murmur, this time more to myself, before reaching for my phone.

As I push away from the desk and stand up, the chair screeches against the marble floor. My legs feel stiff and heavy, as if they don't want to carry me. Yet, with slow steps, I start pacing the room—around the desk, past the sofa, and through stacks of papers and Dumpster’s toys.

My thumb hovers over the screen, brushing along its edge until it comes to life, and Jackson’s number appears in my hidden contact list. In a whisper, I repeat little mantras, half pep talk, half prayer.

You’ve got this. It's just a call. You’ve lied before.

You’ve pulled this off before. You can do it.

"Riley." I stop mid-step, glancing over my shoulder to find Kyle rising to his feet and closing the distance between us in a couple of steps. "You can do this. I believe in you."

My gaze shifts toward the large window, where I find our reflection blending with the colorful lights of the city at night.

I draw in a sharp breath and hold it for three seconds before releasing it with a sigh.

Without wasting another second, I swipe across the screen and press his contact.

My pulse pounds in my throat as I lift the phone to my ear.

With each unanswered ring, my chest tightens and my breath catches in my throat.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then it clicks, and for a beat, there’s nothing but silence until finally a voice I know all too well echoes from the speaker.

"Riley, to what do I owe the pleasure at this late hour?" Jackson asks.

My stomach twists, bile rising in my throat, but I swallow hard, forcing it back down. At the sudden warm weight of Kyle's hand on my shoulder, my gaze flickers to him, and I find his brown eyes staring at me.

"You got this," he mouths, his voice nothing more than a breath, and I nod. I got this.

"Jackson, it’s been a while," I say, gripping my phone.

"That it has." He chuckles, the rumble in his voice dripping with amusement. "Honestly, I'm shocked. I thought you'd abandoned us completely."

"I didn't abandon you," I say, turning away from the window and Kyle to walk back toward the dining table. "I've been working. Quietly. It took longer than I thought, but I have what you wanted."

Silence hums on the other end, and for a moment, I can see his face in my head: the twitch of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes as he analyzes every word I say.

"Do you now?" Jackson finally murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of doubt, but also a note of interest. "And why should I believe you?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath before letting the lie roll off my tongue.

"Because you know me. You know I don't give up once I've started something.

I promised I'd find him, and I did. I've got files with records and names—enough to prove who he is.

" I ball my free hand into a fist, my nails biting into my palm.

"Interesting. Very interesting. Maybe I underestimated you after all." His smile is audible. "If you truly have what you say, then send it to me. Everything."

"No," I blurt out before I can stop myself. My pulse spikes, pounding in my ears. "This isn’t something I can just dump into your inbox. It’s too risky."

A long pause follows, the silence hanging in the air between us, almost as if the call had cut out. But then, a hum rumbles through the speaker. "Risky for whom? You? Or for me?"

"For both of us. I’m not leaving this information as a digital footprint that could be traced." I swallow, fighting to keep my voice calm.

"Clever girl," Jackson says, his tone dripping with amusement. "I always liked that about you, Riley. But you’re walking a very fine line. You understand that, don’t you?"

"I understand," I say, gripping the phone so tightly that my knuckles sting. My eyes flick to Kyle, who’s watching me, and I nod once. "But I’m not stupid. You’ll get what you want, just as I promised."

Another moment of silence follows, broken by yet another chuckle from the other line. "Fine, have it your way. Face-to-face, no trace. Do you have a place in mind?"

"Yes," I answer, pacing back toward Kyle. "It's safe. Isolated. No one will disturb us there. Neutral ground."

"Neutral," Jackson repeats, dragging out the word as if trying to read between its letters. "Good. Then send me the GPS coordinates. I'll bring my curiosity, and you bring me the truth. Agreed?"

My heart hammers against my ribs. For a moment, the words get stuck in my throat. But I keep my gaze locked on Kyle’s deep brown eyes, full of support and reminding me that I’m not alone. "Agreed," I breathe into the receiver.

"Perfect," Jackson says, his voice smooth, almost playful. "I look forward to seeing you again, Riley. It’s been far too long. Don’t disappoint me, because I won’t be as forgiving the second time around."

A shiver runs down my spine, but I keep my focus on Kyle and the promise of safety. "I won't," I say, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

"Good girl." The way he says it makes my stomach churn, and the bitter taste of bile spreads across my tongue. "See you soon." After that, the line goes dead.

I lower the phone, my hand trembling, my pulse still racing as my gaze drops to the device. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the dark screen as if it might come back to life.

"You did well," Kyle says, pulling me out of my trance. My gaze snaps back to him, and I find a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Now, we're going to make sure that it's the last time he ever gets to look forward to anything."

I swallow hard, then nod. Jackson thinks I’m just another pawn playing along in his world. But he doesn’t know that someone new has entered the stage—someone who is better at this kind of game. And he won't see him coming until it's too late.