Page 66 of Playing Dirty
Sawyer pocketed his phone. “He’s stranded at the cabin.”
I pushed away from the counter, already grabbing my jacket from the back of a chair. “Then let’s not waste the opportunity.”
Colt stood, slower than I did, but with the same resolve in his eyes. “You planning on talking to him or burying him?”
“Depends on how honest he wants to be.”
Sawyer slung the laptop bag over his shoulder, the printed copies of Matt’s licenses sticking out of the top. “Either way, he’s not gonna like the conversation.”
I didn’t bother replying. My focus was already on the road ahead and ending this thing before Callie ever set foot back in Lovelace.
The drive out to Matt’s place was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles in before a storm. The mountains were rising behind the line of pines like they’d been there long enough to see men like Matt come and go a hundred times over.
When we rounded the last curve, I spotted him out front, fishing in his pocket like he was about to pick a fight with the lock itself. The key came out in a quick jerk. Even from here, I could see the red flush creeping up his neck.
The moment we pulled up, he stopped pacing and turned toward us, eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
I stepped out of the truck, slow and deliberate, letting the door shut with a heavy thud. “Heard you had some trouble this morning.”
Matt’s glare deepened. “Some cop got it in his head to harass me. Took my truck. Said there was a ‘mix-up’ with my ID. Bullshit.”
Sawyer came around the side, laptop bag slung over one shoulder. “Not a mix-up.” He unzipped the bag and pulled out a small stack of papers. “You’ve been busy, Matt. Three driver’s licenses, three states.”
Matt’s lip curled. “Those are mistakes in the system. Administrative crap.”
“And this?” Sawyer held up the marriage license from Salt Lake City.
Matt’s jaw worked, but no words came.
“No record of a divorce anywhere,” Sawyer added. “Which means either you’re still married, or you’ve been lying to more than one woman for a long time.”
Matt took a step forward, eyes darting between us. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I kept my tone even, steady. “You’ve been lying about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing, and who you are. We’re past talking, Matt. We’ve got proof, and the people who need to see it are going to.”
He scoffed, but the flicker in his eyes gave him away. He knew we weren’t bluffing.
Colt shifted beside me, his arms folded. “Could’ve walked away clean, but you had to run your mouth about Callie. Bad call.”
Matt turned toward me like he was searching for a way to twist this back. “You think you can scare me?”
I stepped closer, close enough to see the faint sheen of sweat on his temple. “Not trying to scare you. Just making sure you understand—whatever game you’ve been running, it’s over.”
Sawyer slid the papers back into his bag with a snap. “Ready to make the call?” he asked me.
“Yeah,” I said, never taking my eyes off Matt. “It’s time.”
I pulled my phone from my back pocket and scrolled for the number I’d saved, back when I was doing a bit of snooping around on my own.
Today was that day.
Matt’s gaze followed every move, his jaw set in that stubborn line he probably thought looked like control. “Who are you calling?”
“You’ll find out,” I said, putting the phone on speaker as it rang.
On the third ring, a woman answered, her voice crisp and professional. “Frontier Market corporate office. This is Human Resources. How can I help you?”
“Name’s Rhett Callahan,” I said, steady and calm. “I’m calling to report one of your regional managers—Matt Downing. He’s been running the Lovelace, Montana, store, but is not who he says he is. He has multiple driver’s licenses in different states, two marriage licenses in Wyoming and Utah with no divorce on record, and has misrepresented himself to his employees. He’s also been spreading false statements about one of them after she resigned.”
