Page 95 of The Truths that Deceive

Rich people stuff is nearly always dipped in shady practices. Or worse.

Smith catches my eye. He’s talking to one of the names he gave me from that list, or rather, an associate of that person. The only reason the name Jean Wentworth stands out is because she’s linked to Trenton. On paper and in passing. But still. There’s information there.

Her ties to Bobby Moore, a man with money in Bolivia and relationships with the Collectors, is stronger. She used to be his secretary before leaving to start her own business.

I sip the wine in my glass.

I’m no field agent, but I can hold my own. I just don’t like exposure, and people looking at me makes me incredibly paranoid. It’s probably why my hair’s usually wild like my clothes; people look at that and don’t seeme.

But not now.

Now they look.

Except Riley, who?—

I stop and frown. Wait, where is he? I turn and take a canapé from a passing waiter as I search the room. Over to the right and down a darkened hall, I can see him in his dark-blue suit with a man I don’t recognize.

Slowly, I make my way over, weaving through people. Light music plays in the background.

I can’t help but do the rookie thing and look back for Smith. I hold my breath until I see that he’s not there. A wave of relief passes through me. Not relief that I can run, because I’m not an idiot, but relief that I can focus, maybe do something, find a way out.

I slip into the hall.

I have a story. I am looking for the bathrooms. I knowdamn well they’re in the other direction. We’re about twelve stories up, on the executive floor. As I follow down the hall with voices leading my way, I hear the ding of an elevator and the senator’s smooth tones of, “I’ll see what I can do.”

When the doors slide closed, I step into the hallway. Riley stands there, the back of his head bent as he stares at the screen of his phone. “Aaron?”

He whirls to face me and a muscle tics in his jaw. “Who?—”

“You know who I am.”

His gaze darts around, and then he hurries over and grabs my arm. “My silence was a hint, Calista. You’re wanted and there’s not much I can do to help.”

The unsaid part is so loud it makes me want to slap hands over my ears.

“Unless you give me information, help expose?—”

Those are the words left hanging in the air between us.

“You’re the one with a missing agent and stolen blueprints. If you’d sent them to me, I could have helped.” Riley pulls me in close and it takes everything to keep my face as neutral as I can. I asked him for help. He knows something. I can feel it. But he moved into politics and…

Fear bites cold and deep.

And this is an indicator of just how much trouble I’m in.

Because he hasn’t lifted a finger to help. And now he knows I’m here.

Fuck.

“Where did you hide all the information? Right now, it looks like you’ve committed treason. I can’t help without you helping me. Who else did you get involved? Last I heard, you were in Germany, on the run. If you give me the hard drive or thumb drive with everything I need, I’ll help. And that will also help your brother.”

It’d be so easy. I trust Riley. He saved me from a life eitherbehind bars or so stripped back, I might as well have been imprisoned. He recruited me, became my mentor. He’s way more trustworthy than Smith.

So why is the fear chewing on my bones, making them numb?

And why am I not giving him even a crumb of information?

His phone screen lights up and I can see it’s a text before he has a chance to pull it away. Bolivia jumps out at me, and the entire text is in that Balto-Slavic language.

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