Page 180 of Reckless

He is just following the route I left open.

I reach the gate first. There’s nowhere left for him to go.

I stop on the other side and wait. The latch rattles as Travis yanks the gate open, and almost runs straight into me.

“What the fuc—” His momentum dies so abruptly he stumbles back a step, chest heaving, the robe hanging open over flannel pajama pants as panic catches up with him.

For a long moment, the backyard falls quiet. There is just the sound of his breathing.

His eyes search my face, looking for something—anger, excitement, hesitation.

He doesn’t find any of it.

His gaze drops to the laptop bag still hanging from my shoulder, and he frowns. He still doesn’t understand which one of us he should have been afraid of.

That’s the moment it hits him.

This wasn’t luck.

This wasn’t a chase.

He didn’t run into me accidentally.

I’ve been waiting for him.

“The car you called this morning to pick you up is registered to a company that’s under investigation in four states,” I say. “I can show you the file if you want.”

He doesn’t answer. There isn’t anything to say to that.

I step through the gate and close the distance between us. My hand settles against his shoulder, turning him back toward the house. He stiffens beneath my touch, glances at me once, then starts walking without a word.

By the time we reach the kitchen, the three hired guns are zip-tied on the living room floor, their weapons stacked neatly on the coffee table just out of reach. Travis sits at his kitchen table, robe bound tight, both hands braced against the timber as though letting go might make the room come apart around him.

Slate takes the front of the house. Static drifts toward the back. Travis watches them both, a frown pulling at his brow. He doesn’t know either of them. That’s useful. Right about now, I want him wondering how many clubs have shown up at his front door, and how much bigger this problem really is.

Koa stands behind Travis’ chair, close enough that Travis can feel it without needing to turn around. I set a single printed page in front of him. His own messages to Calloway’s office. His own communications with the security firm. And under those, the photograph of Piper, taken the same day he sent the instruction that put her in someone’s crosshairs.

“I was following instructions,” Travis says, his voice thin. “I’m not the one who—”

“You sent the photograph of her sister.” Silence sits heavy in the kitchen. “You wrote the regulatory complaint,” I say. “You sourced the security firm. You coordinated the road team.” I set the second page down beside the first. “This isn’t Calloway’s file. This is yours.”

He looks at the pages, then at Koa’s shadow behind him. Then at the two men by the door he’s never seen before, and I watch him understand that not knowing them is somehow worse than knowing exactly what they’re capable of.

I leave the laptop where it is. “Read it.”

Travis doesn’t move. Instead, he looks at me. “And if I don’t?”

Nobody answers straightaway. The silence stretches until it starts doing the work for us.

I fold my arms. “Since we arrived here, every account in your name has been frozen pending fraud investigations. The IRS already knows about the escrow account where your investment portfolio was liquidated. Every offshore transfer you’ve hidden behind shell companies now points back to you. Your work emails are sitting on three federal servers waiting to be opened, and every backup you thought you’d deleted now exists in six different places.” His face drains another shade, but I keep going, “The security firm you used to hide payments? Gone. Burner phones? Mapped. Call logs? Recovered. The financial trail between you and Calloway is already complete.”

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“You’ve already lost your career,” I tell him. “Your money, your reputation. By tomorrow morning, every agency worth knowing your name will know it.”

He stares at me. “So…” His voice catches. “Why the fuck do you need me?”

“Because paperwork closes loops.” I nod toward the laptop. “That statement fills in the gaps computers can’t.”