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that note, you’ll be pleased to hear that I have good news.”
    “What?”
    “HQ issued a decree today. Coordinated raids begin in a week.”
    “Bollocks,” McCrea grumbled. “A week?”
    “Too late? I know. We were ready months ago, but—”
    “Not too late. Too
soon
. What are they thinking?” McCrea paced to the bed. “Look, I’ve just got a line on Lukas Kral. Tell them to hold off.”
    “That’s dandy. They won’t.”
    “Get serious. If we don’t take out the man at the top, the whole bloody network will just reassemble itself once the raids are over. What does the boss say?”
    “It’s not entirely up to him, but he agrees with the plan. Look, things have changed since you were sent out. Treasury, SIS, everyone has their hands in this pot. This isn’t a solo mission, not anymore.”
    “Really? Last time I checked I was the only man in the field.”
    “You still are. But there are too many agencies involved. If we don’t act soon, someone’s going to whisper something to the wrong person and it’ll all slip away, and you right with it. I’m not just talking professionally, though really, you know your prospects are buggered if these arrests fall through. It’s your reputation at stake. Your future. And if one of your underworld friends gets wind of it, it’s your very life.”
    “I get it.”
    “Good.” Lamb sighed. “Boss was worried you’d argue.”
    “Argue?”
    “Yes. You’ve got nothing more to prove, you know. Not anymore. If these raids go down as planned, your reputation is secured.”
    “I was unaware of ever having anything to prove.”
    “No, it’s just,” Lamb paused, cleared his throat. “With your brother’s reputation, I thought that maybe you might feel like you needed to—”
    “Seven more days, eh?” McCrea interrupted, annoyed. He didn’t give two chits for his reputation. The mission wasn’t about proving himself. It was about doing everything he could to counteract the evil that his brother had spread through the world.
    “Seven days,” Lamb repeated. “You’re to behave normally, keep things cool. For God’s sake, don’t do anything out of the ordinary.”
    “Do you really need to tell me that?”
    “Don’t I?”
    McCrea ran his tongue over his teeth and clicked the phone off. Just one more week in this skin, and he could return to his life.
    Whatever that meant.
    Had he done enough? Had he dug out the cancer that Aaron had helped to metastasize? No. He hadn’t gotten to Kral. He hadn’t gotten to the root of the malevolence. After the raids, it would regrow like a weed, spreading its insidious tendrils into individuals, families, and communities. It would never stop, not unless he dug it out at its source. Then there would be peace, at least for a while. He could...
    He could what? He stared at his black-socked feet, gripped by uncertainty. What would he do after he finished the mission? Criminal Britain would be aflame with news of the SOCA rat who had invaded their nest—him. His name, his face, would be mud. He’d quite possibly be blown for undercover work, at least for a while. SOCA would still employ him, but he had no idea what sort of work he’d do. A desk job? Not for him. He knew they had agents who didn’t work undercover. He supposed that’d be his new role, too. Some kind of badged investigator.
    He’d have to find an ill-fitting suit.
    He laughed darkly at the idea, because somehow, he couldn’t see himself living straight. It didn’t feel right to him to wear a badge and bear the full authority of his position. He was a hybrid, part criminal, part cop, and only felt right doing exactly what he did, straddling two worlds. But once this case was publicized—and he hardly imagined that SOCA would keep the most important bust of the last ten years quiet—would he ever get the chance to do it again? Even if his name and picture were kept out of the press, word would get around the gangs. He’d have a bright red target on