Page 17 of Cruel Kiss

It takes me a moment to realize why that question strikes such a strange chord. Then, all of the sudden, I understand.

Yesterday—my God, I can't believe that was only a day ago—Todd said the agents who squeezed him knew how he and Ronanmet, what he signed, all those gritty details. He said they asked about Ronan specifically and in-depth.

But this woman isn't asking me how Todd met Ronan. She's askingmewhenIfound out whatmyown tool was being used for. That's a different question and it comes from a different place. More to the point, it comes from someone who already knows the tool is being used for something illegal, and is just fishing to figure out how much I knew.

Todd's agents were building a story about how Ronan and Todd connected.

This woman is building a story about the tool.

Which means…

They're not the same investigation.

Oh no.

The world keeps getting less and less stable, but if there's one thing I've learned over the last two months, it's how to keep my game face on even when the floor continues to turn to lava beneath me. Just like when I pitched Todd's betrayal like a Series A funding raise, just like when I first inhaled Paula's perfume and Iknew,I clamp down all my feelings behind a vague, unemotional smile.

It's an essential survival skill. Maybe the only one I've fully mastered.

And I need it now more than ever.

Because the fork is forking, the dilemma is dilemming, and the pincers of two awful parallel paths are currently squeezing around my head.

There are two sets of people trying to hurt us.

Real feds, and fake ones.

This one on my stoop is real, I think. The ones who pressed Todd? I can't be sure. Anyone could be anyone now. Badges mean nothing, despite how much they impress my nine-year-old son. It's all a game of cloaks and daggers, shadows and secrets. I'm in very deep over my head—and the one man who could help me out might just be worse than the rest of them put together.

Even worse, he's currently twenty feet away, flipping pancakes for my daughter.

Mercer was right about one thing at the least: This is a very tangled web indeed.

"Ms. Meadows?" Mercer says. "You alright there?"

"Fine," I grit out, if only because I'm desperate not to give this woman any additional ammo that she could turn around and point at my head. "But I think this is all sounding very complex, and I'd like to get a lawyer before I keep talking with you."

Her jaw sets, just slightly. "You're being careful. That's smart. That's what I'd do." She takes half a step closer, lowering her voice, and for the first time she sounds almost human. "But that only helps you up to a point. There's a window here, and it doesn't stay open forever. We've got two simple stories right now, Ms. Meadows. I'd advise you to help me pick the one that's best for you and your family."

The truth is irrelevant to them,Todd said.So the only thing that matters is what kind of story they can build.

Which is exactly what she's telling me right now, in slightly nicer words.

I want to laugh. Two months ago, my biggest problem was a number on a scale and the scent of perfume.

Things have gone rapidly downhill.

"I have kids," I say. "You said that matters."

"It does."

"Then you understand I have to think about them before I say anything to anyone."

"I do understand that. That's exactly why I'm here and not sending you a process server with a subpoena." She lets that land, gentle as a brick to the skull. "You seem like a nice woman, Ms. Meadows. I wouldn't want to see anything bad happen to you or your little ones. But like I said: Windows close."

I nod slowly, like I'm considering it, which I am, in the sense that I'm considering everything all at once and none of it is leading me anywhere good.

She starts to turn as if she's taking her leave. But then, in the most obviously rehearsed about-face of all time, she pivots halfway back on her heel. "I almost forgot to ask," she says. "Ronan Akov. How well do you know him?"