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“What are you thinking?”
“It’s just something to note. The Bar Wars owners are collectors.”
“Of Star Wars memorabilia. But you think there could be more going on behind the scenes?”
“Something else to look into.”
“Again, it seems too obvious. Too easy. No one would be so bold to operate like that.”
“In plain sight? Sure they would.”
“I’d like to talk to the Bar Wars owner, then—about their collections. But we’re staking out the bar tonight, sitting in your vehicle. You haven’t explained how we’ll know this guy when we see him.”
“The bartender said ten-thirty. It’s ten twenty-five. Let’s see if our guy walks in soon.”
“Then what will we do?”
“We’ll see who goes in after him.”
“But we won’t know which persons coming and going are there to meet with him. I think we should go in.”
Jack rubbed his jaw. “Earlier today the bartender said he had me pegged as a cop from a long way off. I don’t want to disrupt the flow of things. Let’s wait.” He didn’t add that he was counting on that gut feeling that was an important part of any investigation.
“That’s it. I’m going in. I don’t look like a cop.” She flipped the mirror in the car open and let her hair down from the clip, then mussed it.
“What. Are. You. Doing?”
“I’m going in to see who he meets with.”
“You’re not going in alone,” he said.
“Name one reason why not? I can handle this. I’m law enforcement. This is my investigation too.”
“When I brought you into this, I hadn’t meant for you to step in the middle—” A guy moseyed toward the bar wearing a baseball cap. He glanced over his shoulder, wary. “I think that’s him. It’s hard to see in this lighting.”
Terra opened the door and stepped out. She leaned in and smiled. “I’ll text you a blow-by-blow account.”
He started to open his door.
“Don’t you dare,” she said. “You’ll ruin this for us. We need to find out who is behind the trafficking and the murders. I’ll text you when the guy he met with leaves, and you can snag him for questioning.”
“Uh . . . Terra . . . the booth to watch is the one at the very back far right.”
She ducked her chin, acknowledging that she appreciated the tip.
“And I want a blow-by-blow,” he said. “If I don’t get one, I’ll think you’re in trouble and then I’m coming in.”
He watched her walk away and head across the street. She opened the door and entered the bar just as a couple spilled out, leaning on each other and laughing. They strolled down the sidewalk weaving back and forth. He hoped they had called a cab.
Then a familiar face walked into the bar.
Not good.
