"Yeah. I guess." I shrugged a shoulder. "Where are you going?"

"The mountains."

"When?"

I'd have to solve the case before he skipped town.

"Right after they bury Mick." Frasier turned on a heel like he'd been army trained and entered his home with a slam of his front door.

I ran all the pieces of the case through my head as I walked back to my car. I'd need to make a list of people and stories I'd heard because nothing matched up. It's like Clearwater had an entire town of liars.

My phone buzzed as I shut the driver's door, and I grabbed it before leaving.

"What's up Tony Balonga?"

He groaned on the other end. "Isn't it enough that I let you call me Tony?"

"Not really. No." Antonio was a nice name, but Tony Balonga was better. "Can you meet me in Clearwater in thirty minutes to help with that jumper? Dress slutty."

He always had the weirdest requests. A bounty hunter might be the only profession more random than PI, and I was totally here for it.

Literally and theoretically.

"It's a twenty-minute drive, and I can't dress slutty because that word is offensive."

He groaned again, but it came out more as a sigh. Apparently, Tony was in a hurry. "Okay, I'll find someone else."

"No! Wait," I hurried to keep him on the line. "First off, you don't know anyone else in this town, and second, I'm already in Clearwater. But I'm not dressed slutty."

Not unless his bail jumper really had a thing for jeans.

He paused, letting the line fall dead between us until I figured he'd let me down gently.

"Okay, we'll work with it. He won't be looking at your clothes, anyway. I'll send you my location."

"Perfect." I held the phone between my ear and shoulder while rubbing my hands together. "What's the job?"

"Prostitution."

**

Broadrick would lose his shit when he found out Tony had me posing as a prostitute, so I spent the drive to our meet-up location listening to loud music. It sounded like a better option than trying to figure out what the hell he had planned. This way, if Broadrick asked what I was thinking, I could honestly answer that I hadn't thought about it.

I pulled up to the curb across the road from a stand-alone liquor store on a main but long forgotten street in the middle of Clearwater. Homes in various phases of disrepair lined the streets. An abandoned factory two blocks away filled in between the lines of what happened to the area.

Tony stood propped up against the hood of his white Dodge Ram with his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles in front of him. Draped over one arm, he had a long tan trench coat. Maybe he was going for a new look. Trying to beat Anderson in earning a role on Law and Order.

"I have to be a hooker at a liquor store?" I asked as I approached him. This plan of his grew worse by the minute.

Tony laughed, and his tattoos flexed with the movement. "The house behind the liquor store."

"I don't know if that makes it better or worse." I followed his finger as he pointed toward the home. "Also, a little cliché."

I mean, really? Behind a liquor store? Come on.

Tony stepped away from his truck. "I do what I can."

"Well, try harder next time." I rubbed at my bare arms from the chill. The temperature had significantly dropped since the sun left the horizon.

He laughed harder. "Sometimes clichés are there for a reason, princess."

"It wouldn't kill you to mix it up every once in a while." I rubbed my arm harder. "Let's get this done. What do you need me to do?"

Tony led the way toward the liquor store and then continued past it, cutting through a patch of grass that was trying hard to jump back to life after the winter.

We stopped at a waist-high fence, and Tony tried to peek in the windows from our position. He needed binoculars. And someone to open the blinds. A Mickey Mouse sheet covered a back window completely.

"You grab him and I tag him with cuffs?" I asked when he didn't tell me the plan.

"Not exactly," he said, and let his gaze travel across the home. He adjusted his trench coat to the other arm but never attempted to wear it. I wanted to ask, but we had more pressing matters.

I narrowed my eyes at him, but he didn't notice since he had his gaze on the house. "Then what?"

The white paint on the wooden siding had flaked away in large spots at the corners. A pole holding up the porch leaned to the side, making the thing tipsy. A strong wind might knock the entire thing to the ground.

"You got your stun gun on you?" he asked.

I lifted my shoulders. "Yeah. I always have it."

Actually, it was in my old office, shoved in a desk drawer. The office that Anderson still had locked down as a crime scene. But if f I told Tony that, he'd never let me help him.

"This guy is suspicious of everything. I need your help getting him to open the door."

"That's it?" Nothing about that sounded too hard. "How do you want me to do it?"

Tony ran his hand over his short hair. "I got a tip that he hired a call girl."

I nodded once slowly in understanding. "And there's the prostitution part."

"Bingo." Tony snapped his fingers and pointed at me. "I need in that house, Vonnie."

It's not that I didn't want to help him, but it wasn't my particular skill set. It's not like they offered classes on it. A car stopped at the store, and Tony moved us closer to the edge of the building to keep us out of sight. My shoe scuffed against the cement block foundation.

"I don't know how to be a prostitute," I said and stuck my hands on my hips.

Tony jerked his head back in a weird guy nod. "Fake it." He said it so nonchalantly I almost believed it was no big deal.

"Sure, sure. Except I can't fake it." I tossed my arms out, and Tony motioned for me to lower my voice.

But did he really think I had enough experience to fake prostitution? I lived in Pelican Bay. What did he think went on in small-town America?

"It's easy. Just act like you want to have sex with him for money."

"You're impossible." I leaned closer so I could yell without having to raise my voice. "Also, we have other problems."

"Your outfit," he blurted.

Another car door shut somewhere to the front of us. I tried to lean past Tony's shoulder, but I still couldn't see the street where people parked for the liquor store. If anyone caught us back here, they'd definitely believe the prostitute theory.

"Exactly."

"Wear this," he said and snapped out the tan coat, holding it out for me.

I took it from him and opened it up. "It smells like mothballs."

He crossed his arms when I tried to pass it back. "I picked it up at the local thrift store. It will hide what you're wearing."

"Yeah, and scare everyone away." I didn't have experience in prostitution, but I didn't think they smelled like my great-grandmother's attic.

Tony waited for me to put the coat on. I didn't.

With a deep breath, he said, "I'll let you put the cuffs on him."

"Done." I whipped the coat around and threw it over my shoulders, using the thin strap to tie it tightly around me.

Hmm. It didn't look half bad on me. Maybe Anderson was onto something. I'd be super cool walking down the street in one of these.

"Fantasize about being a gumshoe later," Tony said, interrupting my visions.

My forehead crinkled in annoyance. "I wasn't," I lied.

"Go up to the house through the front door and get him to let you in, but make sure he leaves the door unlocked. I'll be less than a minute after you," he said back to staring at the house.

My stomach twisted. "What if the porch falls in from my weight and a piece of wood cuts my face and I have to live with the scar the rest of my life? I'd have to make up a much better story than I crashed a porch."

Tony sucked in a deep breath. "Broadrick is such a patient man."

"True, but that doesn't change the porch dilemma, Tony."

"Just go," he said and gave me a little push on the shoulder.

I pushed back but turned toward the home. "Fine, but you better come visit me in the hospital."