Page 220 of Ruin Me With Lies
A muffled commotion stirs outside the hall.
“Motherfucker, Ilivehere!What do you mean I can’t—”Thud.
Pavlov barely glances up.“Sounds like you’re needed.”
An inadvertent smile tugs at me as I scoot back my chair and stand.“Let me know when you’re ready to admit defeat.”
I cross the drawing room and open the door to find a pissed-off Gio pinned to the wall by one of Pavlov’s oversized goons.
“Ivan, ease up off my uncle.”
Ivan grunts, lets Gio go, and returns to his post by the door.
“Come on,” I say, waving Gio along.
“I fucking hate it when that man shows up,” Gio grouses, straightening his jacket.“His goddamn Goliaths just take over the goddamn place, telling us what we can and can’t do.Why the hell do I need to be frisked in my own damn house?”
Yeah, Pavlov’s a lot to deal with.When he shows up, it’s not just him, it’s his whole damn entourage.And their utmost priority is his safety.Never mind the fact that he’s the one crashingourturf, we’re still subjected to a thorough “security check” routine before he settles in.
An annoying inconvenience?Sure.But in the grand scheme of things?Not that big of a deal.
We head down the hall toward the living room.
“What did you want to talk about?”I ask.
Gio brushes off his sleeve, still irritated.“That place in Kyle Canyon.I’m getting nothing on it.”He drops onto the arm of the couch with a scowl.“And believe me, I’ve dug deep and climbed high.But the kickback remains the same.‘Private government project.’”
“What kind of goddamn ‘government project’?What, they’re housing aliens or something?”
“Don’t know, man.”Gio shrugs.“Why not ask your godlike buddy down the hall?Isn’t he supposed to be ‘all-knowing’ or whatnot?”
“I’ve tried.”
“And?”
“He said he’s not my genie.”
Gio snorts.“He sounds like a dick.”
“He is.”
About fourteen months ago, I got word of a new residential development in Kyle Canyon, a massive spread across fifteen acres.Seemed normal at first.Construction started, no red flags.
Then thirty-foot walls shot up around the entire site.
By the twelve-month mark, the whole thing was done.Sealed up tight.
In that time, I had three different construction workers—all out-of-towners—picked up and squeezed for information.But no amount of beatings, threats, or pressure could get them to talk.
Next, I sent in drones for overhead visuals.But every single one malfunctioned within a hundred feet of the property and plummeted out of the sky.
So yeah, “private government project” tracks.
But here’s a hard fact: nothing, and I meannothing—legal, illegal, black channels, government shadows, underground networks—ever gets past me in this city.At least, not for long.
Until now.
Something’s slipped past me, and that blank space is what’s got me on edge.
