“What’s your end goal here?” I asked bluntly, voicing the question I’d been holding back all week.
His mouth tightened. “To bring down the Knoxes.”
“And find out who’s running a trafficking ring?”
His lips pursed even more. “That too.”
“Are you doing this in conjunction with the FBI?”
He scowled. “This again. Why would you think that?”
“That’s not an answer, James. It’s a deflection.”
He held my gaze, his eyes hard. “No, Harper. I’m not working with the FBI.”
“What about another alphabet agency?”
He groaned. “Harper.”
Another non-answer. Which told me he was definitely working with someone. The who probably didn’t matter, but the why might. “What is their end goal?”
“I never said I was working with anyone.”
“For the sake of argument,” I said in a breezy tone. “Let’s pretend you are. What’s the endgame?”
“To stop human traffickers,” he said flatly.
“But how? Arrests? Elimination?”
His jaw ticked. “You mean murder.” It wasn’t a question.
“Sure,” I said flippantly. “Murder. What’s the ultimate goal?”
He held my gaze for several seconds. “Hypothetically, if I were working with an agency—not that I’m admitting I am.” His voice went colder. “It would be to end this operation. However I see fit.”
“They’ve given you carte blanche?” I asked in disbelief, then quickly added, “Hypothetically.”
“They want it ended,” he said flatly. “The least messy way possible.”
“Is murder less messy than trials?”
His eyes darkened. “In some cases, yes.”
I knew he was referring to the Hardshaw Group. I was pretty sure the founders were dead, but plenty of people beneath them had been swept up in the arrests. And plenty of those people had enough hidden money to bankroll high-priced attorneys. Last I’d heard, there was a fear that a few might walk—and then head right back out onto the street and build their own syndicates with everything they’d already learned.
“I can’t murder anyone, James.” But even as I said the words, I wasn’t sure that was true anymore. He was the one who stopped me from killing an unarmed Nicole Knox. And if I didn’t plan to kill him, why didn’t I just turn my mother’s files over to the FBI? Maybe I just couldn’t bring myself to admit it.
He held my gaze again, and I knew he was thinking about all the men I’d killed last week trying to protect us. Trying to save him.
“That was different,” I whispered. “That was self-defense.”
“This might come down to self-defense too.”
I could see that, but I didn’t think James was counting on that might.
“What guarantee do you have that they won’t prosecute you for murder?” I asked.
“I never said I was going to murder anyone,” he said, taking another bite.
