As far as he knew, Trey Harding had suffered no consequences. He’d played in the NFL for two years before an injury permanently sidelined him.
Maybe that was the best karma could do.
With Warner, she was clearly hoping for a better outcome, and if Byron’s boss was really the villain she made him out to be—something Jason was hard-pressed to refute after hearing that recording,Christ—then he deserved to pay for it. But could Byron really be involved? Sure, he was driven, sometimes a little too singularly focused on success, but trafficking girls? Maybe even murder?
Across the room, Emma faced him, arms crossed, waiting for him to respond to her offer to share the contents of the drive if he agreed not to take it from her.
Surprised she trusted him that much, he nodded. “Deal.”
“Okay.” She returned to the table and sat in front of her laptop.
Outside, dusk had fallen quickly once the sun slipped behind the mountains, and Jason stood to flip the light switch on the wall. Then, he took two steps over to the kitchenette and opened both cabinets. “The glasses look clean enough,” he said. “You want some water?”
“That’d be great. Thank you.” She opened the computer and tapped the keyboard, her beautiful mouth pulled into a frown.
He filled the glasses and placed one next to her computer, settling into the squeaky chair across from her.
Reaching into the neckline of her shirt, she dug around for a second and produced an SD card.
“Clever,” he said, wishing he could wipe away the furrow between her brows, soothe her hurting soul. Fully trust her and earn the same.
“We use whatever we can.” She plugged the memory card into her laptop.
For all he knew, she’d already copied the data, but if he needed to deal with the files later, he could destroy the computer too.
Needing a distraction from watching her, he savored the cool water from his glass, surprised how parched his throat was. Outside the window, the city sky inched toward darkness and occasional laughter punctured the conversational din made by tourists walking the square below.
Emma slid her slender fingers across the track pad.
For the next twenty minutes he listened in as Renfro Warner badgered Viktor and the rest of his team to “handle” everyone from his latest harassment accuser to a Hardy Beach cop who needed an incentive.
The rest of the files were copies of emails and screenshots of bank account statements and wire transfers. It would take hours for someone to go through all of the information and make sense of it, but none of it looked good for Warner. Or, frankly, for Jason’s brother.
“Viktor seemed to think he could get some of the staff to confess to their part in Warner’s schemes if he could keep their identities secret and help them find new jobs.”
The more he saw, the more Jason felt himself collapsing with fatigue.
He couldn’t reconcile Emma’s accusations with the brother he knew. Could Byron truly be ignorant to the actions of his employer? As Warner’s right-hand man, that would make him completely incompetent. The alternative was unbearable.
Jason kneaded his leg, the wooden chair squeaking with every shift of his weight. “Given all the options that exist for covert communication now, and the risk of being seen on the street together, why did you meet Viktor in person?”
“He was like most of the people I’ve dealt with. They trust you more if they can look you in the eye. And whatever their motivation, they often want to have a human connection with the person they’re taking a risk to help.” Her eyes closed as she rubbed at the the back of her neck. “Honestly, I’m the same way.”
“What was Viktor’s motivation?” Jason asked, part of him wishing he had the right to massage away her tension.
“Guilt. He enabled Warner’s despicable tastes. But eventually he realized his own daughter was close to the same age as some of the girls he’d helped procure.”
“Damn.” How had Byron gotten mixed up with guys like this?
“After Kerry’s death,” Emma said, “Viktor was too scared of being identified to go to the police, but he was willing to work with me behind the scenes to expose Renfro.” She pressed her fingertips to her brow. “And it probably killed him, one way or another.”
Rather than give into the desire to comfort her, Jason rose and opened the window, letting in a cool breeze and light traffic sounds from several blocks away. He paced for a few minutes and then settled on the daybed behind her, uncharacteristically restless. He tried to tuck the annoying fake hair behind his ears, but it kept falling in his face. Giving up, he let his head fall against the wall with a gentlethump. Being stuck in this tiny room with Emma had shot his legendary patience all to hell.
“What happened to your leg?” she asked as she shut her laptop.
“A bullet.”
She jerked and turned in the chair to face him, her face twisted in concern as she eyed the scars that peeked from beneath the hem of his shorts. “When you were deployed?”
