Page 65 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

"Hear me out." Joe's voice was calm. Reasonable. The voice of a man who'd negotiated oil deals and investment portfolios and knew exactly how to find leverage. "You've got a daughter. Emily. Nineteen. Type one diabetic."

Harris went very still.

"We know your ex-wife is struggling with medical costs. We know you'd help if you could, but she won't take money from you directly." Joe leaned forward. "What if someone else helped? A medical trust, set up through a nonprofit. Covers all of Emily's costs through graduation. Insulin, supplies, doctor visits. Everything."

"What's the catch?"

"You file a report with your client saying you investigated the Watkins ranch thoroughly and found no evidence that Olivia Langford was ever here. You tell them the tip was bad, and you've moved on to other leads."

Harris's laugh was sharp and humorless. "You want me to lie to my client."

"We want you to close a case that was never going to end well for you anyway." Joe leaned forward, and something in his expression shifted, went hard and distant, like he was looking at something far away and long ago.

"I flew Medevac in Afghanistan," he said quietly. "Picked up a lot of good people who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some of them made it. Some didn't." His jaw tightened. "The ones who didn't, well, their families wanted answers. Wanted to know who was responsible. Wanted justice."

He paused, let that sink in.

"You help Russo's people find Liv, you're not just doing a job. You're helping murderers silence a witness. And when her body shows up in a ditch somewhere, there'll be people asking questions. Federal investigators. Prosecutors building a case." Joe's voice went cold. "And your name will be in the file. The PI who found her. The last person who knew where she was before she disappeared."

Harris's face had gone pale.

"So yeah," Joe continued. "You can take Russo's money and hope they don't decide you're a loose end too. Or you can take our offer, clean money, legal money, money that helps your daughter and doesn't come with a body count attached."

"And if I say no?"

"Then we make sure every private investigator network in the country knows you take bribes." Joe's voice didn't change. Still calm. Still reasonable. But the threat underneath was clear as glass. "Your reputation is everything in this business, Harris. You know that better than anyone."

Silence filled the office.

Behind Harris, Kenny shifted his weight, and the subtle movement made Harris flinch.

"How much are we talking?" Harris asked finally. "For the trust?"

"Enough to get your daughter through school without worrying about medical debt. Forty thousand, paid out over three years. Managed by a reputable nonprofit, completely untraceable back to us."

Harris stared at the desk for a long moment. "And all I have to do is say she's not here."

"That's all."

"What about my client? They're not going to just take my word for it."

"Tell them you ran surveillance for seventy-two hours, interviewed staff, checked all public records. You found several women matching the general description, but none of them were Olivia Langford. Your recommendation is that the tip was either mistaken or deliberately false, possibly from someone trying to collect a reward they hadn't earned."

Harris considered this. "They might send someone else."

"Let them." Joe's voice was cold. "But that someone else won't have the advantage you did. Because now we know they're coming."

Harris pulled in a breath. Let it out slow. "This trust. It's legitimate? You're not going to set it up and then yank it if I don't keep playing ball?"

"It's legitimate. Ironclad. And once it's established, we have no access to it. Your daughter gets the money regardless of what you do afterward." Joe slid a folder across the desk. "Paperwork's already drawn up. You sign, we transfer the first payment tonight. By tomorrow morning, your ex-wife gets a letter from the foundation explaining that Emily's been selected for their medical assistance program."

Harris opened the folder. Read through the documents slowly, carefully.

"This is real," he said quietly.

"Did you think we'd try to con you?" Lyle asked. "We're not the bad guys here, Harris."

"No," Harris said slowly. "I suppose you're not."