Page 88 of The Truths that Deceive

“Smith.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “I’m not sure yet. There’s interest, and…” He stops, steps back, and runs a hand through his hair. “The people I work with, they’re interested, too. But the destruction or betrayal of the United States isn’t exactly in our wheelhouse. This is my country and home. I’ll fucking defend it with my last breath. So if you’re thinking I’m going to do the wrong thing here, I say that mistrust is fired right back at you.”

“I wouldn’t!”

His smile is grim. “Exactly.” He leans in. “I’m asking for a ceasefire between you and me, and then we can see.”

I don’t ask about what. I don’t dare.

“And?”

“If I give you access to a computer, you’ll help me with anything to do with the Collectors?”

I stare up at him. I need that help, too. Symbiosis. I get what I can find on the dark web, dig into people, and he… he can open doors. “To bring them down?”

“Fuck yes.” Smith paces a moment. “And you won’t run?”

I give him a slanted look. “What if I do?”

“There’s a time for play, Calista, and today isn’t it. Stay in.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

After my shower,I find a laptop lying on my bed along with some clothes. Just shorts and a T-shirt, probably used for running or the gym. They’re clean but old, with small holes and worn patches in parts.

One thing I’ve learned about Smith is that he’s meticulous. And he dresses perfectly for every occasion. If he thinks the clothes as is will stop me from running, then he doesn’t have the handle on me he thinks he has.

I dress quickly and walk toward the front door. I grasp the handle, analyzing the four locks. They look easy enough to break through. An alarm system sits on the foyer’s wall to the right but there’s no flashing light. Maybe it’s off.

I could be out of here in seconds.

It’s a test, a trap.

A man like Smith wouldn’t leave me in here without setting a trap.

Plus, I remind myself, there’s an opportunity where I could maybe make things right. A possibility that I could destroy a monster and all of the people who had something to do with my mother’s death.

Revenge is a dish best served cold. So they say, whoever the hell “they” are.

And…

“Is there anywhere to hide from him?” I mutter to myself.

Maybe, maybe not. But I can use him. The computer. So I drop my hand and head back up the stairs. I hit the gym for an hour, and then when I’ve worn away the aggression and anger and all the other emotions festering inside, I grab the laptop and go to the living room to work.

The very first thing I do is send Henry a message. He won’t respond. It’s just a post online in a freecycle site, for a book.Scary Stories for Cool Kids. A book that we had as kids. It’s out of print, and I put up the price for it to thirty-nine dollars. Our code for safe and sound. Ninety-one is trouble, and so on. It’s something we’ve always used. He’ll see it. No one will think twice.

Henry’s got a hefty collection of old books, so we decided long ago it’s the perfect cover. He’s always had online alerts for various books, some he just watches, wanting perfect editions. And some other ones? It became a way for us to talk without anyone else knowing.

Then I check up on Senator Riley, but there’s no message. But one thing I won’t dare do is open my own apps, the ones I just designed for laughs, and the ones hiding code for the things I collected on the weapon.

When I’m done, I lose myself in the dark web, so much so that I jump when the pressure changes in the room right as Smith speaks.

“Anything good?”

I set the computer down, then stand on shaky legs. “Not really. Chatter is chatter. Nothing noteworthy that I can see.”

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