“Don’t worry about that,” he said gruffly.
“Of course I’m going to worry about that.” My voice grew tight. “I’m not going to do anything to get you in trouble. The plan is to get you free of them.”
“I told you, I can handle this how I see fit.”
I knew he wouldn’t lie to me, but it was still hard to believe anyone would condone him killing a suspect. Then again, the Feds ran plenty of covert operations that never saw the light of day.
“Do you want to turn him over to your contact?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
“If Homeland Security wasn’t involved,” I pressed, “what would you do in our situation?”
His eyes glittered with something dangerous. “The motherfucker would already be dead.”
I hesitated. “Is that what you want to do? Find him, kill him, and let the trafficking operation fall where it may?”
He drew in a breath. “No. I want to destroy that too.” His face turned to stone. “For now, we keep doin’ what we’re doin’. But if I think he’s close to homin’ in on us, then we move to Plan B.”
“Take him out.”
“Yes.”
I held his gaze, something settling in my gut. “If it comes to Plan B, I want to be the one to kill him.”
He watched me for a long moment, as though weighing the cost of saying yes. “Okay. I’ll let you have it. But if I think he’s going to hurt you, then I’ll pull the trigger without an ounce of remorse.”
“Fair.” I swung a leg over and straddled his lap, my hands resting on his shoulders. “You have no idea what your protectiveness does to me,” I said in husky tone.
His mouth ticked up. “If this is any indication, I don’t have any complaints.”
“How about I show you?”
“Talk is cheap,” he grunted as he lifted his hips, grinding into me.
“Then maybe it’s time to put my money where my mouth is.” I reached down and started unfastening his jeans. “And I have plans for where my mouth should go.”
He groaned, leaning back as he stretched out. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Not if I could help it.
Chapter 21
A little over an hour later, we pulled up behind the convenience store. I wasn’t confident I’d secured my blond wig well enough, but I wasn’t anticipating anyone grabbing my hair and yanking.
I wore jeans and a T-shirt with a jacket to cover my shoulder harness, my gun strapped in. I also had a backpack with supplies I might need. I wasn’t used to long hair and kept wanting to pull it back into a ponytail, but I needed to look as different as possible—and I definitely didn’t look like myself.
The plan was for James to stay behind the building while I walked around to the front door. Once I was inside, I’d let him in through the back door, and he’d wait in the storeroom.
We’d made contingency plans: what to do if she screamed—run out the back. What to do if she wanted to leave her trafficker—we’d bring her with us and figure out where to take her later. What to do if her handler came in—alert James, who would help me disarm him if necessary, then run out the back. What to do if he held me at gunpoint—alert James, and he’d shoot the bastard.
One thing I refused to plan for was walking away with a big, fat nothing. I’d told him I wasn’t going to allow that negative thinking into my head.
After I headed around the building, I walked into the store and spotted Cassandra at the counter. She glanced up when I came in but didn’t give me more than a millisecond of attention. When the customer she was ringing up walked out the door, I approached her.
She flicked her eyes over me, curious. “The bathrooms ain’t locked, honey. You don’t need a key.”
“Cassandra, it’s me,” I said.
