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Expectations were probably a mistake. She should just enjoy the now with Owen. Part of her wanted to and part of her knew that it wouldn’t be enough.
EIGHTEEN
Sophie noticed Razor pacing in the picnic shelter as soon as they parked. “He looks nervous,” she commented.
“Probably is. I am.” Owen was twisting his head, trying to see in every direction.
“Do you think it’s a trap?” she asked.
His gaze fell on her, and his eyes softened like they had last night. “If I thought that, you wouldn’t be here. I’m just being cautious.”
Okay, so that felt a little gratifying. But, her logical brain reminded her, it could just be him taking his role as bodyguard seriously. It might not be anything personal. It might have nothing to do with any deep feelings for her.
“Don’t get out yet.” His hand covered hers briefly and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll open your door when I’m sure it’s safe.” He got out of the cab of his truck and took his time, making his way around to her side. The drug lieutenant stopped pacing and watched them as she slid out.
“Good luck,” Owen said quietly. “Even though you won’t need it since I know you’re going to kill this interview.”
His words gave her a little boost. She was going to kill it. This interview was going to land her story on the front of the newspaper and bust this drug ring wide open. Wilson would go to jail, Julia and the kids could go home, and Helen and Ethan could focus on their baby and their future without having to constantly look over their shoulders. It was all going to happen, and this was a big step on that journey. She felt her confidence soar. With Owen at her side, they walked toward the picnic shelter.
“We’ll sit here,” Razor said. He gestured to a table and sat on one side of it. She and Owen on the other. “I’ll give you twenty minutes and then I split.”
Twenty minutes was more than she’d hoped for, but she wasn’t going to waste a second of it. “I want to know everything you can tell me about Wilson’s operation.” She put her notebook on the table and opened it. “How’d he get started in this?”
She’d need that information to lead into the story. How does a museum director become a drug smuggler? The public would want those details.
“He met a guy when he was traveling in Europe. Belgium, I think. The guy cooks the drugs, but he was looking for a partner in the States to distribute. The cooker and Wilson came up with a plan to smuggle the drugs into the country.”
“By making it look like they were shipments to the museum?” Sophie asked. She could see where the idea started. The museum had pieces for exhibits coming in from all over the world. No one would be surprised to see a steady stream of packages coming in, and no one would really bother to examine them all that carefully.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“What happened once the drugs were delivered to the museum? Is that where Mason came in?”
“Mason was the go-between,” Razor said. “He got the drugs to me, and I got them to the dealers who distributed them on the streets.”
“What else did Mason do?” she asked.
Razor gave a shrug. “He had some clients he sold to directly. I didn’t have anything to do with that, and it’s probably what got him killed.”
She raised an eyebrow, pretending surprise. “He was killed?”
“Gotta be. No one’s seen him in weeks.”
That was because he was in a hospital in a coma two hours outside of the city. She didn’t feel inclined to share that information, though. Owen must not have either because he kept his mouth shut next to her. As a matter of fact, he’d been silent and watchful since they sat.
“Word is Wilson has someone new working for him,” Sophie continued. “A woman. Do you know who she is?”
He grunted. “Her name’s Quinn. That bitch is why I left. Wilson brought her in, made her his go-to fixer. I quit when I found out she was making a shitload more money than I was.”
“What was your role exactly?” It was a risky question, but Razor seemed inclined to share.
“General overseer of the process. I took care of wrinkles and smoothed shit out if you know what I mean. Did a good job for Wilson, so it pissed me off when he wouldn’t give me a bigger cut. I walked and found a good spot elsewhere.”
He didn’t have to say that he was working for a rival drug organization. Sophie could guess that—and she was also sure that it was part of his motivation for agreeing to meet her. He wanted revenge on Wilson, but he wanted to show his loyalty to his new employer, too, and get rid of some of the competition. She didn’t ask him about his new spot. She didn’t really want to know—and as she had told him, she wasn’t doing this to take him down. Wilson was her target.
“Do you have a photo of Quinn?” That would be unbelievably helpful.
“Nah. She didn’t like having her picture taken.”
