Hostile Witness (Sanctuary, Inc. #1)

Chapter 5

5

V ince admired his new flattop buzz cut. It had been worth the twelve-mile drive to the next-largest town to have it done. Surveying himself in the mirror from both sides, he grinned. That fat barber, Ralph, had done okay by him. He tucked the business card for the barbershop into the pocket of his blue uniform shirt. The things you could buy online these days were amazing. He’d spent seven hundred dollars and purchased himself a whole week’s supply of work clothes. If he was going to work down here, blending in with the locals was paramount.

Leaning against the doorjamb, he slid the hotel-room closet open and reveled in the neat row of ironed police uniforms. What a score. Five shirts, three pairs of pants, two eight-point hats, a bulletproof vest, one bona fide duty belt, handcuffs, a stun gun and charger, and a pair of kick-ass police boots from the world’s largest online marketplace. He looked every bit as good as the cops he’d observed in this two-bit county. The pace was way too slow down here. This was nothing like New York.

It was a definite bonus to have a relative who wore the shield. They resembled each other enough for it to pass the quick glance test. And it wasn’t like civilians asked to see a policeman’s badge often during routine traffic stops. In addition, he’d purchased a name tag with R. Smith engraved on it. It wouldn’t have been right to take his cousin’s name tag and risk getting him in trouble.

He was glad he’d stuck around and watched the commotion after Plante’s demise through his high-powered binoculars. The redheaded lady cop had a great body but not an impressive IQ. Why hadn’t she just gone inside and used the bathroom instead of squatting in the bushes?

He studied his uniform in the mirrored closet doors. There was no doubt he looked like a sworn officer. He had even purchased and installed a light bar for his car that had come with easy removal instructions. Tomorrow, he’d start pulling folks over.

Pointing the radar gun at his hotel television, he pretended to shoot. Sweet. Radar was an absolute must-have for traffic stops. He patted his hip and stroked the new leather on his holster. Thank you, Margie Plante, for the Glock secured inside it. He snickered.

You owed me anyway, bitch.