Page 41 of Web of Lies
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, starting out small but growing wider. I set my glass down, throw my arms around his shoulders, and tackle him into the cushions. "Thank you," I whisper.
"Of course," he says, cradling me in his arms and running his fingers over my back. He presses a soft kiss on the top of my head. "The first thing I'll do tomorrow morning is check on your apartment. In the meantime, it's best if you stay at my place. Would you like me to bring your pets over?"
"No, I fed them today, and their enclosures are connected to my phone. If anything changes in their environment, I'll get an alert." After a moment, I add, "Honestly, as hard as it is to leave them, it makes it seem like I'll be back soon. That might buy us some time."
"You're right about that. Anything else you want me to grab?"
"Just clothes and any electronic devices you can find: laptops, tablets, and phones," I say, ticking off in my mind the items I can't risk falling into the wrong hands. "Oh, and there's a folder of documents hidden behind the sofa in my living room. Can you grab that, too?"
"Sure," he says. "Anything else?"
"No, that should be it."
"Good." He tightens his arms around me. I bury my face in the crook of his neck and inhale, my lungs filling with the familiar scent of his body wash, mixed with his own unique smell. "Now relax," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "You're safe here. I promise."
Chapter 20
Kyle
Earlier this morning, while Riley was still asleep, I slipped out and went to her apartment. Not only did I pick up everything on her list, but I also took the chance to look around her place. But I found absolutely no evidence of who attacked her. No clue, no lead, no hint about who might be after her. However, I found clear signs of a break-in. The broken lock on her door. The cracked drywall. The shattered window. But who would do that? It wasn't me. I tried to scare her once before, and it backfired big time. There's no reason to pull that same stunt again.
Now I'm standing by the stove, focused on the pan as the sauce simmers and the bubbling of the pasta water fills the quiet kitchen. Steam rises from the pot, filling the air with the scent of cheesy sauce.
Dumpster sits on the counter, eyes locked on the pot of cheese sauce, and every now and then she attempts to dip her paw into it. As she tries yet again, I nudge her paw away, earning a high-pitched, ear-piercing scream from those tiny lungs.
I made the terrible mistake of giving her cheese one time after rescuing her as a kitten. When I found her, she was only aboutten weeks old, had the cat flu, and was covered in fleas and ticks. Despite taking her to the vet, I thought she wouldn't make it, so I wanted her to have some special treats and enjoy her short life to the fullest. But against all odds, the little screamer proved herself to be tough and survived, and now she's hooked on cheese.
"I didn't know you could cook," Riley says, pulling me out of my thoughts and drawing my attention to her. She's sitting at the dining table with her laptop open in front of her. She didn't want to go to the office today, which I can understand, so she's working from "home".
"Ah, yeah. It's just the basics my mom taught me," I say with a shrug. "But most days, I'm either too lazy or too busy to bother." Once the sauce is done, I turn off the stove, drain the pasta, and transfer it to two plates. Then, I add the sauce and carry the plates to the dining table. I set one down next to her laptop and sit down opposite of her with the other.
"I see." She pulls one leg up and props her foot on the chair, then wraps her arms around it. "You don't talk about your parents often, but the few times you've mentioned them, it sounded like they mean a lot to you."
I pause and scan her face, trying to find the reason behind her question. But I read only honest curiosity on her face.
"Why do you want to know?" I ask, lifting a spoonful of food to my mouth.
She shrugs and reaches for her spoon, picking at the noodles. "I don't know. I guess I just want to understand you better," she says. "Who shaped you into the man you are?"
"Well, then, they are important to me," I say between bites. "To put it kindly, my mom is a little special. Picture three stray cats in a trench coat. It's chaotic, but she's got a big heart." Riley smiles at the description of my mother. For now, it's the best wayto describe her positive qualities, and it's easier than telling the whole truth.
"And your dad?"
I lean back in my chair, rhythmically bobbing the spoon up and down. "He's the polar opposite. Calm and everything is well thought out and calculated."
Riley hums thoughtfully, her gaze drifting over me. "That makes a lot of sense." A chuckle slips from her lips as she props her chin against her knee.
"What does?"
"You," she says simply, shrugging as she lifts a bite to her mouth. "All your layers."
"Layers, huh?" A slow smile tugs at my lips. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."
A soft laugh escapes her. "Maybe both. But it fits. You're chaotic sometimes, reckless even, but then there's this other side—calm, calculating. Like you're always trying to figure out the best way to handle something."
"In this line of work, we can't be just reckless, even if I want to sometimes," I say, taking another bite. "I'd be dead in a week."
"Yeah, that's true." She sighs, lifting her free hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
