“This new guy you found . . . again, no details necessary . . . share as little as possible until you’re certain he’s worthy of your trust.”

“That’s the plan.”

“He’s not a user, is he?”

“Not anymore. He’s gone from customer to colleague.”

“Keep an eye on him. No users allowed in management. It’s too dangerous.”

“I know the rules.”

“You haven’t told him anything about me, have you?”

“No. All he knows is that I report to the St. Louis boss who has ties to the people in Mexico.”

Despite his colleague’s reassurance, a niggle of unease tingled through him. While Razor had been a faithful and trustworthy partner for years, doing every job he’d been assigned and handling the dirtier part of the business without a complaint, the fact that someone—anyone—could finger him if they chose was unnerving. Total anonymity would have been far preferable.

But that wasn’t how it had worked out, and at this stage fretting about what he couldn’t change was useless. All he had to do was hang in another few months and his worries and sleepless nights would be history.

“Keep it that way.”

“Naturally. Any firm dates for the next delivery?”

“Not yet. I’ll be in touch with details as soon as I have them.”

“Okay. Talk to you soon.”

The line went dead, and Wolf tapped the end button, set the phone back on the table, and wandered toward the bedroom. Tomorrow would be a busy day, and it was important he remain at the top of his game. No one must ever suspect he was running a side business that was far more profitable than his day job.

At the dresser near his bed, he paused. Surveyed the photos arrayed on top. Homed in on the one from the happiest day of his life.

Bitterness coiled in his gut, and anger coursed through him.

No one on the outside looking in might understand the motivations behind his secret enterprise, but they were real. And legitimate.

Profiting off the backs of users was sweet revenge—and until the day he died, he wouldn’t regret hurting any of them.

Only the innocents who’d stood in his way deserved one iota of sympathy.

But he wasn’t going to let his conscience put a heavy guilt trip on him or make him rethink his choices.

It was too late for that.

And if more people had to suffer before he reached his goal—so be it.

11

PAY DIRT.

Pushing aside the dead branches in a pile of brush, Cate bent and retrieved the silver earring.

If the wind hadn’t blown aside the fallen leaves for a millisecond . . . if the setting sun hadn’t peeked past a pine tree at the ideal moment . . . if she hadn’t been situated in the perfect position to catch a glimpse of the shimmer from the shiny surface . . . she’d have missed it.