What if we really did take out Knox?
Sure, we’d talked about it, but this was the first time I saw it as a truly acceptable solution.
I was talking about the cold-blooded murder of a man.
You murdered men last week.
I sucked in a sharp breath. I hadn’t processed what had happened. I was handling it too well. Shoving it into a box and telling myself it was fine to not have an emotional reaction because it had been self-defense.
But the truth was, I’d killed nearly a dozen men. I’d ended their lives.
And sure, it had been done in self-defense, but they’d still been sons. Maybe husbands. Fathers. At least one of them had left behind a woman he loved. Their lives were over, and the lives of the people who loved them had been irrevocably changed by what I’d done.
That wasn’t nothing. It was a weight I’d been pretending not to feel.
And now I was considering murdering someone else.
Someone I likely wouldn’t be shooting in self-defense.
Who was I becoming?
I finished my shower and dried off, no closer to an answer than I’d been before. I still wasn’t convinced seeing Razor tonight was a good idea. Sure, I’d been on board earlier, and if James was at one hundred percent, I’d be willing to see it through. But he was still recovering as evidenced by the nap he was currently taking. Could he handle being attacked by a bar full of bikers?
But if we didn’t find Razor, we needed a new plan. Something solid enough that James might consider giving up the old one.
So what the hell was it?
I was about to get dressed when I noticed a missed call from a number I didn’t recognize and a voicemail. I clicked on the voicemail, surprised when it started playing because it was from Cassandra, the convenience store clerk.
“Harper, this mornin’ I was thinkin’ about what you said about trafficked girls, and … well, I think one might come into the store on the regular. She shows up at around eight or so, always gets an energy drink or two and some candy, then she hops into a car with an older guy who’s sittin’ in the driver’s seat. I thought he might be her father, and said something once about her dad, and she got nervous and said he wasn’t her dad. It might not be anything, but… I thought I’d let you know. If you wanna talk to her, and she follows her pattern, she’ll be in tonight.”
My breath caught. This might be the break we needed. There was a good chance this girl had nothing to do with Knox, trafficked or not, but it was worth checking out.
Surely James would be willing to ditch the Razor plan for something less dangerous.
I got dressed, and when I emerged from the bathroom, James was sitting up in bed, talking on his phone.
“Yeah. Let me know if they notice anything unusual.” His gaze shifted to me as I entered the room. “Keep me updated on everything else.” He lowered the phone and hung up.
“Was that Carter?” I asked, crossing to the bed and sitting on the edge.
“Yeah. The security team has two cameras in Natalie’s office, and they didn’t have any issues placing them in her home either.” His mouth flattened. “She’s worried enough that she asked them to come through and make sure it’s secure.”
I made a face. “But she didn’t agree to them planting cameras.”
His expression stayed grim. “This isn’t much different than a police wiretap.”
He had a point, but it felt skeezy. Still, I wasn’t bothered enough to tell him I didn’t agree with him—it was just enough to make me unsettled.
“Why’s she so nervous?” I asked. “She says she’s not working with anyone in the criminal world. What are the chances Knox is watching her?”
He grimaced. “I’ve considered that myself. The only thing I can think of is she’s worried Knox’ll watch her because of our shared connection to Simmons.”
“It still seems like a stretch,” I said. “I think she knows more than she’s letting on.”
“Could be,” he acknowledged. “Maybe we can visit her again tomorrow and press her harder.”
I nodded, then said, “One of my contacts came through with information.”
