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.
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.”
He gave me a look that made it clear that wouldn’t be happening.
“Okay,” the woman said a few minutes later as she emerged from the back carrying several large boxes. “I’ve got a few places to start. I’m Megan, by the way.”
“I’m Jeff and this is Amber,” James said.
Her smile spread. “Pleased to meet you both. I think we’re gonna have fun!”
I sat in the chair, and she put my hair up, talking me through how to do it so my wig would fit better. Then she put a thin wig cap over my hair before opening the first box.
Megan pulled out a long blond wig and moved over to me. “I pulled this one because it’s a honey blond, which will work well with Amber’s skin tone. And I chose the length carefully, because while it’s long, it’s not too long.” She tugged it over my head, scooting it around to get it straight.
I gaped at my reflection. “I look completely different,” I whispered.
The ends of the hair hit about six inches past my shoulders, and fringe bangs lay against my forehead.
“I had a feeling you could pull off bangs,” Megan said in a satisfied tone. She glanced over at James. “What do you think, Jeff?”
He didn’t say anything for several seconds, then seemed to come to his senses. “You do look completely different.”
That was the goal, obviously, but the way he was looking at me made the words sting.
Megan froze. “Is that what you were going for?”
“Yeah,” James said, tearing his gaze from the mirror.
“Good!” Megan said, beaming. “The beauty of this wig and the length is you can wear it a lot of different ways. It’s made with human hair, so you can wash it, dry it, and curl it.”
I jerked my head around to look at her. “Human hair?” That had to be extremely expensive.
“It’s the most natural-looking wig,” Megan said. “Synthetic hair looks so fake.”
“We want real,” James said in a tone that let me know he wasn’t budging. He had to know I would balk at the price.
“You can style it just like natural hair,” she said as she gathered it up on top of my head. “You can curl it. Wear it in a ponytail.” She twisted it into a knot. “You can put it in a messy bun. What do you think?”
I glanced up at James, and he nodded. “It looks great.”
“So we’ll keep this one in mind,” Megan said cheerfully. “Let’s take a look at the next one.”
“Yeah,” I said.
She had me try on two more—a long brunette wig with golden highlights, and a shoulder-length auburn one. When the third wig was on my head, Megan squealed. “I knew it,” she exclaimed, holding her hands against her chest. “You were born to be a redhead.”
They all made me look like a different person, and I wasn’t opposed to what I saw. If anything, it made me realize I’d been phoning in on the whole femininity thing. Now I had to figure out which one to get.
“We’ll take all three,” James said, giving me a look in the mirror that told me it was pointless to argue.
While I took off the wig cap and pulled out all the pins, Megan repackaged the wigs and carried them to the checkout counter, talking in an excited rush about how happy we were going to be with our decision.
She rang up our purchases, and I nearly had a panic attack thinking about how much James was about to put on the credit card he’d pulled out of his wallet.
I stepped out of the store before I could hear the total, already feeling guilty.
They would be useful—my notoriety made me recognizable enough that the wigs would come in handy for my work as a PI—but I didn’t feel right letting James pay for them.
I’d pay him back once I got my mother’s inheritance. Whenever that turned out to be.
He walked out of the store, carrying three heavy white paper bags with white cord handles. “What happened in there? Why’d you leave?”
I gestured to the bags. “We should have just gotten one. Three is too many.”
“I disagree. Once I saw you in the first one, I knew a wig was a good idea. And three gives you options.”
I nodded. “I’ll put on some dark eye makeup, and no one will recognize me at the bar.”
His gaze darkened as he moved toward the car. “I’m having second thoughts about this plan.”
I moved in front of him and he nearly collided with me. “Are you suggesting I can’t handle myself?” I asked in a sharp tone.
His eyes narrowed. “It’s not about handling yourself.”
“You realize you’re being a chauvinist right now, don’t you? It’s okay for you to go in alone, but not me?”
“I’m six foot two and two hundred and thirty pounds, Harper,” he said in frustration. “You’re five seven and about one forty. I can throw a punch and knock someone out. You—”
“Can take a guy down too, James. Do you know how many male suspects I’ve busted on my own? Some of them aggressively?” When he didn’t answer, I said, “Neither do I, because there’ve been too many to count.” I stabbed his chest with the tip of my index finger. “I. Can. Take. Care. Of. Myself.”
He took a step back, his face softening. “I know you can, but you have to understand, I’m used to being the protector.”
“In those woods last week, I think I proved I’m good at being a protector too.”
His face softened even more. “You’re right.”
A triumphant grin spread across my face. “What did you say?”
“I’m not gonna repeat it.” He rolled his eyes, then looked pained at the movement.
“You need to rest,” I said, pissed at myself for not checking on how he was feeling sooner.
“I’m fine.” He moved around me toward the back of the car and popped the trunk. “We need to get you some clothes for tonight, but I also want to take you to a gym.”
“We have a gym at the hotel,” I said. “I probably ran five miles last night.”
“I want to see you spar,” he said as he placed the bags in the back, then shut the lid. “That is non-negotiable.”
“I have no problem showing you I can spar,” I said defiantly. “Especially if it will make you trust me more.”
“It’s not a matter of trusting you, Harper.” He paused, indecision flickering in his eyes.
“I’ll be fine,” I insisted.
“I need to make sure you are.”
We spent the next two hours shopping for clothes for both of us—clothes that would help us blend in grungy situations, as well as some nice clothes in case we needed to look professional.
Carter had sent James texts, telling him the team protecting Natalie was in place.
One of the bodyguards—a woman—had gone in to introduce herself to Natalie and given her a panic button.
She’d also covertly placed a camera on a credenza across from Natalie’s desk as she’d walked around the room under the guise of making sure it was secure.
I felt slimy at the thought of watching her without her knowledge, but it was ultimately for her own protection. If someone confronted her before she could reach her panic button, James’s team would be in her office in less than thirty seconds.
By the time we finished, I pushed for going back to the hotel so James could rest, but he refused, saying I needed to train more than he needed to rest.
“I’m not sparring with you, James,” I said in a flat tone.
“As much as it pains me, I agree. Which is why we’re meeting someone else.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who?”
“Tex, who I think has what you need.”
“What does that mean?” I asked suspiciously.
“Tex fought MMA for a few years.”
“You think I need MMA training?”
“Let’s just say that Razor fought MMA, so you need to be prepared for anything.”
I wanted to ask when he’d arranged this, but I’d spent enough time in several dressing rooms for him to make a few texts or calls.
“Does Tex know who I am?”
“Yep,” he said in a flat tone, keeping his gaze on the road.
“It’s killing you that you can’t fight me,” I said with a smirk.
“If you’re suggestin’ I wish I could get physical with you on a mat, no doubt.” He turned his head to give me a wicked grin, but the strain in his eyes told me his head was throbbing.
“But I think Tex will actually be a better fit for our purposes today.”
“Great,” I grumbled. “Let me guess—Tex is bigger and badder than you.”
His grin spread wider. “Guess you’ll find out for yourself.”
After a few minutes, he pulled into the parking lot of a beat-up looking building. The sign, which read Bernie’s Gym, was faded and hung over the single, frosted door entrance.
“Is this place even open?” I asked in surprise. “It looks abandoned.”
The parking lot was empty with the exception of an older red pickup truck.
“It’s a working gym, but it’s closed for us for the next hour or so.”
“You paid to have the gym closed?” I asked in astonishment.
“Let’s just say Tex owed me a favor.”
James got out and walked to the back of the car, opening the trunk. While I was nervous about facing Tex, I wasn’t scared of a challenge. I got out of the car.
He closed the trunk and handed me a bag with leggings, a workout bra, and a loose-fitting T-shirt, items we’d purchased on our shopping trip.
The door was unlocked, and we walked straight into a dark interior. It took me a second for my eyes to adjust to see mats on the floor in the center of the room.
“Glad to see you could finally make it, Skeeter,” a deep voice called out from the back of the space, echoing around us.
My gaze shifted and I was surprised to see a woman at the far edge of the mats, wrapping her left hand.
She shot me a look full of contempt. “Don’t just stand there, princess. Get changed.”