“I don’t want to wear one all the time, but I’m up for wearing a disguise for an undercover mission.”
He didn’t say anything.
“What bar does he frequent?”
“I don’t know that he still goes there.”
“You were certain enough that you expected him to be there later today.”
He scowled.
“What bar, James? What type of clientele?”
“It’s a biker bar.”
He didn’t give me a name, but I’d let that go for now.
“I’ll need to dress the part. I’m thinking … skin-tight leather pants?—”
His scowl deepened. “I don’t like it.”
“You know it’s a good idea.”
“I still don’t like it.”
I laughed. “Sorry. It’s happening. We’ll drive through the truck stops, then go shopping. What time do you expect he’ll show up?”
“Late afternoon, but I don’t want to get there when he does. I want to give him time to get sauced.”
“But not too sauced.”
“Exactly.”
I nodded, but then it occurred to me that we’d be at a bar, with plenty of alcohol. And I’d be playing a part—one that would likely require drinking alcohol.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said with a forceful tone. “We’ll just follow him.”
“We don’t know that he’ll go anywhere.”
“We don’t know that he’ll make a call either.”
“True, but what harm is there in trying both options?”
He glared at me.
“I’ll be fine. I’m not worried about you confronting him.” I lifted a brow. “Or should I be?”
“No,” he grunted.
“Then you shouldn’t be worried about me, because I don’t plan on talking to him at all. I’ll just blend in.”
He didn’t respond, and I knew I’d won. He just wasn’t going to admit it.
I was okay with that.
Chapter 17
We spent the next hour staking out several truck stops in the interchange area, getting the lay of the land before we came back that night. I knew it was highly suspected that trafficked girls worked the stops, but as a homicide detective, I’d never had any investigations related to trafficking, so I didn’t know any details. We made note of where trucks were parked as well as the locations of the restrooms and showers in the buildings, then took off to get lunch.
