Chapter 19
I took a quick shower to wash the sweat off my body, dressed in my old clothes, and then we headed back to the hotel.
Since we hadn’t taken our car, we parked at a garage down the street, then carried the packages to the back door of the hotel.
We waited for someone to walk out the back so we could walk in without using our key card.
Now, more than before, we needed to be cautious.
For all we knew, Knox hadn’t yet realized we were in Little Rock.
But given the people we’d talked to, he’d definitely know soon enough.
By the time we reached the door to our room, James was dragging.
I took the keycard from him and opened the door, dropping my packages on the floor inside the room so I could take his.
“You need a nap.”
“I’m not a damned baby,” he grunted.
“Trust me, that’s the last thing I’d accuse you of being, but you’re still recovering and you need to rest.”
He reluctantly headed over to the freshly made bed. “What are you gonna do?”
“Look into Razor. You got a legal name for him?”
“Timothy Ransor.”
I cocked a brow. “Timothy?”
He chuckled. “Why do you think he goes by Razor?”
“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?
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.”
The corner of his eye twitched. “The bartender?”