Untouchable (boyxboy)

Chapter 19

My plan is not complicated, or sophisticated, or particularly clever.

It consists of provoking Dylan into saying a bunch of damning shit, recording it on my phone, and then playing it back for Belle and her family. The budget version of wearing a wire.

Step one is to get Dylan by himself and get him talking, which proves surprisingly easy.

When I return to the living room, he's nowhere in sight, but Belle notices me frowning at his empty chair.

"He stepped out to take a call," she tells me.

Almost as soon as she finishes speaking, he comes in from the patio, pocketing his phone and looking decidedly less self-satisfied than he had a few minutes earlier.

His eyes land on me and he frowns.

"Felix. A word?" he asks.

"Sure." I move past him, thinking to step outside, but he catches my sleeve.

"Upstairs," he says.

I shrug and lead the way up to my room.

On the way, I surreptitiously look at my phone and tap the red button on my voice memo app, praying that I have plenty of room for a long recording and that the phone's mic will be strong enough to pick up his words. Then I slip it back in the front pocket of my sweatpants as if I'd just been checking the time.

In my room, Dylan shuts the door.

"Do you know who I just talked to?" he asks.

I go to the window and look out. "You want me to guess?"

"Don't be a fucking smart-ass."

"So, who was it?"

"Neil. He wants to know why the FBI is sniffing around his business—more than usual, that is. More importantly, he wants to know why it's sniffing around mine. Any idea why that might be?"

Wow. For one thing, I had no idea the FBI moved so fast.

"Probably because I called them," I say. "I didn't have much on Neil—I don't even know his last name—but you? I got plenty."

His face goes through an almost comical gallery of expressions—shock, fear, fury—and finally lands back on something close to his usual self-assured arrogance and disgust.

"You stupid little shit." He shakes his head, half-smiling, though the light in his eyes is cruel. "You have no idea, do you? Neil isn't an amateur. He's big time. He's got friends in high places, and unless the Feds have something rock-solid on him, they can't do a thing. He's untouchable. Your feeble little tip-off did nothing but alert him to the presence of a weak link."

I don't doubt what he says is true—for once—but while I'm sure Neil deserves to be left in a pit somewhere and fed to hyenas, he's not the one whose misdeeds I want to bring to light.

"Yeah, and that link is you," I say. "Maybe Neil's untouchable, but you're not."

His eyes flash with anger and he steps closer. I hold my ground, hoping my phone is still actively recording.

"I told you nothing I do is illegal," he snaps. "Everyone's of age—despite appearances—and they sign a million consent forms before the cameras roll. I'm clean."

"No, you're not," I retort, a reckless laugh in my voice. "Maybe you're telling the truth, and you're all above-board. But you told me yourself that illegal stuff goes on. Just the fact that you know about it makes you complicit. I may not know much about that world, but I'd bet you've turned a blind eye on a missing form or two, or a lack of proper ID."