We grabbed sandwiches at a sketchy deli and ate in the car to go over what we’d seen.
“Do you know the Nixon that Razor was talking to?” I asked.
“No.”
“So, we have to hope Razor leads us to him,” I said. “But we need to set him on edge enough to run to him.”
He frowned. “Yeah.”
“I know you don’t want me coming, but it’s a good plan, James. Besides, if I get a couple of wigs, I can get around Little Rock unrecognized.”
“Again,” he said in a growl, “I thought you were opposed to wigs.”
“I was, but I’m not stubborn enough to ignore how beneficial they could be. Right now, I look pretty much the same as I did when I made the news last fall. But if I change my hair and how I dress, I’m pretty sure I’ll be unrecognizable.” I gestured to him. “You on the other hand… there’s no hiding who you are. A wig won’t hide that build.”
He turned in his seat, his face lighting up with an ornery grin. “You like my build?”
I shrugged, fighting a grin of my own. “I’m not complaining.”
He leaned over the seat, slipping a hand behind the back of my head and pulling my lips to his.
When he pulled back, I laughed. “What was that for?”
“It was my way of showin’ you I like you exactly as you are. But you’re right about a disguise.” He pulled out his phone and began tapping on the screen.
“What are you looking up?” I asked, shoving my trash into the paper bag our sandwiches came in.
“A wig shop.” He cast me a glance. “Unless you know of one.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever been in one.”
“Not even in an investigation?” he asked absently as he tapped on the screen.
“I’ve never had an investigation that led me to a wig shop,” I said with a chuckle. “But I guess I can now say I have.”
We drove to the shop, and when we walked in, a younger woman with purple streaks in her long dark hair greeted us. “How can I help you?”
“My wife would like to buy a couple of wigs,” James said before I could say anything.
So… I was his wife again. I resisted the urge to shoot him a questioning look. Then again, it made sense for us to keep the same cover for all situations.
She turned her attention to me, scanning my hair with a discerning look. “Are you wanting to try out long hair in your natural color or change colors?”
I resisted the urge to squirm under her scrutiny. “Different colors.”
“And the length?”
“Long and short,” James said. “As for color, we’re thinkin’ blond.”
The woman gave James an appreciative glance and nodded, before turning back to me.
“Yeah,” I said. If I was looking for different, blond was definitely it. “Blond.”
“Got it,” she said with a bright smile. “Why don’t you have a seat in front of that mirror in the corner. I’ll be right back.”
She headed into the back, and I sat in the chair, feeling uncomfortable. James gave me an ornery grin.
“You’re having too much fun with this,” I said. “Maybe we should get you a wig too.”
