I couldn’t see her, but I suspected she was heading to the next truck. It felt too soon to move my car, but what if the second truck driver took her up on her offer? I couldn’t stand the thought of one more pervert putting his grubby hands on her.
I hurried back to the car, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.
Creeper was still in his car, his attention fixed on the trucks, which meant James hadn’t made his move.
I backed out of the space and headed between the first and second row of trucks, although the second and third row had fewer trucks. As I drove past the second truck in line, I saw her standing on the running board, looking up as she spoke to the drive through the open window.
Feeling a sense of urgency, I parked in an empty spot in the third row, several spaces away from the last truck. Someone might say something to me about parking in an eighteen-wheeler spot, but I didn’t plan on being there long enough for it to matter.
I got out and jogged along the back row of trucks. When I was a few spaces from the end, I cut across to the second row, crouching to see if I could spot her legs beneath the trailers. She’d made it to the third truck.
I’d planned to just intercept her, but Creeper was watching too closely. He’d notice if she started lingering between trucks. But if she got in the cab? He’d be less suspicious. It would be like business as usual.
Taking a chance, I slipped between two rigs and moved toward a cab two trucks down from the last one I’d seen her approach.
I climbed up on the running board and knocked on the window. The seat was empty, but I could see a light on in the sleeper section in the back. I knocked again, and a few seconds later, an older man leaned forward between the seats. He saw me and made a face.
“I ain’t interested, honey,” he said from behind the glass. “Besides, ain’t you too old to be turnin’ tricks?”
Compared to the girl who was now one truck over, I probably was.
“That’s not why I’m here,” I said, keeping my voice low. I was pretty sure he couldn’t hear me, which is likely why he climbed into the front seat and lowered his window, looking like he already regretted it.
“See that girl over there?” I kept my head angled down in case Creeper was looking this way. “She’s been trafficked, and I’m trying to get her out.”
His eyes flew wide. “Did her family hire you to save her?”
If only.
“Something like that,” I said, because sadly, he’d probably think she had greater worth if someone was willing to pay me money to bring her home. “But her handler is over there in that white car watching.”
He glanced in that direction, his jaw tightening. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to let her into your truck.”
His mouth fell open, and he shook his head. “What? No! I’m a happily married man, and I ain’t into that stuff.”
“I know.” I kept my voice even. “That’s why I approached you.” Total lie. “But I need you to let me in first. Then, when she approaches, you let her in and I’ll convince her to come with me.”
His face pinched. “Why wouldn’t she want to go with you?”
I did not have time for this. “Because she doesn’t know me,” I said. “I’m a PI who was hired to bring her home, remember? But who knows what she’s been through. Maybe even brainwashing. It’s going to take some convincing to get her to leave with a complete stranger.”
Through his side window, I could see she was still talking to the driver of the rig next to this one—a rough-looking guy in his late twenties or early thirties. The way he was eying her told me everything. She was going to get into a truck cab, but it wasn’t going to be this one.
Dammit.
The older trucker frowned. “I don’t know about this. Maybe we should just call the police.”
This was getting worse by the second. “No police. By the time they get here, her handler will know something’s up, force her into his car, and take off.” I took a chance and lifted the edge of my jacket. “I’m armed and can handle him if I need to, but I’d rather do this quietly and avoid a scene.”
He still didn’t look convinced, but thankfully, he didn’t seem spooked by my gun.
The guy in the next truck was opening his door.
“Fuck me,” I muttered and hopped off the running board.
“Such vulgar language!” the older trucker called after me as I ran to the front of the truck and peeked around the corner to see if James had taken care of the handler.
