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The can trick would work.
They would just have to be patient.
Together, they waited in the shadows, anticipation building with each passing second.
She studied her partner, where he stood in the middle of the alley, a few paces ahead of her. His posture was casual, but Rachel could see the tension radiating from him. She found she liked watching him. He had a confidence that belied his sometimes overly eager disposition.
Suddenly, he tensed.
The cans made a rattling sound.
There was a soft mutter. A curse.
Rachel felt a surge of adrenaline course through her veins. This could be it.
She risked a glance around the edge of the pallets, emerging slightly; if she spooked them, it would all be over.
A man stepped forward, followed by a woman from the passenger side. As they came into the light, Rachel’s heart sank. The man had no tattoos, nor did he resemble the pimp they were pursuing. She hesitated for a moment, considering their options. But something about the man’s demeanor set off alarm bells in her head.
He kept glancing around, scowling and rubbing at his wrists.
“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, making a split-second decision. Rachel emerged from her hiding place, gun drawn and aimed at the man. “Don’t move! Hands where I can see them!”
The man froze, his face a mixture of shock and terror. The woman let out a yelp, her eyes darting between Rachel and Ethan.
“Whoa, whoa! We ain’t done nothing wrong!” the man protested, lifting his hands in surrender.
“Keep your hands up,” Ethan snapped, joining Rachel with his own gun drawn. He looked at Rachel, his eyes questioning their next move. This hadn’t been the plan. But he could clearly see the man didn’t match the pimp they were pursuing. Something was off.
The man who’d come wore a neat suit and a tie-dye headband. His face was roughly shaven, with a few scars marring his jawline. He was tall and muscular, with a presence that demanded attention. His eyes were a piercing blue, and Rachel could see the anger burning in them.
“Who are you?” Rachel demanded, keeping her eyes trained on the man.
“I could ask you the same thing,” the man replied, his voice low and gravelly.
“Texas Rangers,” Ethan interjected, taking a step forward. “Who are you?”
“Who you expecting?” he said, his eyes glancing slyly back and forth. He kept his hands raised, though, his posture cautious. “Me and my girlfriend here,” he said, nodding at the woman trembling against the wall, her mascara streaking. “We just going for a walk is all, see?”
“Of course,” Ethan snapped.
“Can we keep goin’? Not nice accosting a couple’a citizens.”
Rachel glanced at her phone with the screenshot of the pimp who’d driven off with Candy, their third victim.
This man definitely wasn’t a match.
Rachel felt her heart sink. They’d wasted precious time on a dead end. But something about the man’s demeanor made her uneasy.
“Can we see some ID?” she asked, keeping her gun trained on him.
The man hesitated for a moment, then reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. Rachel motioned for him to toss it to her, and he complied. She caught it with her free hand and flipped it open, scanning the ID.
“Michael Thompson,” she read aloud, her brow furrowing. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, Mr. Thompson?”
The man shrugged, his eyes still flickering with anger. “I travel a lot for work.”
“What kind of work?”
