“Touché.”
He slid onto the bed, tugging the pillows on his side of the bed to get more comfortable, then closed his eyes, his hands over his stomach.
I moved to the sofa, casting a glance back at him. “You don’t look comfortable.”
“What are you?” he grunted. “The nap police?”
“You usually sleep on your side,” I said as I took a seat and grabbed my laptop. “Take a nap. Don’t just rest.”
His eyes cracked open. “You plan to always be this bossy?”
“You think this is bossy?” I asked with a snort. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
He grunted but kicked off his boots and turned on his side, facing the wall.
Satisfied he was really getting the sleep his brain obviously needed, I booted up my computer and pulled up one of my PI sites, inserting the name Timothy Ransor.
Timothy had been a busy boy.
He had multiple arrests for assault, but the majority had been dismissed. The victims either vanished or refused to cooperate with the DA.
His mug shots looked pretty similar across his many arrests—deep-set, dark eyes, closely shorn dark hair, with a hint of stubble on his face in half the images. His arrest reports said he was six feet even and varying between two-ten and two-fifty at his last arrest in November. He was forty-eight but looked like he was in his mid-fifties. His face was doughy, but he still had a vicious look in his eyes.
Timothy “Razor” Ransor was a killer. He’d just never been caught.
An hour later, I didn’t have much more on him. He didn’t own any property. His car was a late-model black Ram 1500, crew cab with dark tint, and it still had a lien on it. He had accounts at two different banks, a couple of recent alcohol-related arrests, along with his mostly dismissed assault cases. The two that weren’t dismissed had been pled down to misdemeanors. There was also a recently dismissed protective order.
James said alcohol had dulled his senses, but he was obviously still capable of doing real damage.
I lifted my gaze from the laptop screen to check on James. He was still, and I could hear his slow, steady breathing. Relief settled my anxiety about him overdoing it. At least he was sleeping. I still thought he was doing too much, but now that we were in Little Rock, I doubted I could convince him to take it easy.
I reexamined our loose plan for tonight. Having James walk in and confront Razor felt risky—especially with James nowhere near peak condition. There was a good chance Miguel had already told people James was in town, and Razor would definitely sound the alarm. He might even try to jump James in the parking lot so he could collect Knox’s bounty.
I was starting to reconsider.
Sure, I’d be there as backup, but Razor spent his nights in a biker bar. He wouldn’t be alone. He’d probably have buddies with him who’d be happy to help with James’s takedown. And sure, I’d brushed up on my self-defense that afternoon, but I couldn’t take on a group of men.
I also couldn’t assume Razor was dumb just because he looked and acted like a meathead. He might decide to end things the fast and efficient way—with a bullet. Then again, if he and James had real beef, Razor seemed like the kind of guy who preferred his fists. He’d want to make it hurt.
Either way, one thing was certain—once James made his presence known at the bar, we were fair game.
Releasing a sigh, I set the laptop on the coffee table and stretched out my sore muscles. If we were really doing this, I needed a decent shower to wash and dry my hair before I stuffed it into a wig cap. I stood, gathered a few of my packages, carried them into the bathroom, then turned on the shower.
As water streamed over my head, I ran through our options.
There was no cavalry coming. We were on our own.
Which meant I needed to stop thinking like a cop and start thinking like a private investigator.
But I still wasn’t sure how to handle this. If our plan was to turn everything over to HSI, we needed to make sure whatever we found was usable—even if only for a search warrant.
Finding the Knoxes’ accountant still seemed like a good idea.
If I had time, I’d go undercover and get a job at the firm, then work my way in and try to get access to their files. Or at least find something concrete. But that would take weeks, more likely months. Or longer.
What if we didn’t try to build a prosecutable case?
What if we skipped finding evidence of trafficking and went straight to eliminating the threat?
