The Red Light Girls (Unsolved Mysteries Book 2), Kim Knight [old books to read TXT] 📗

as she hated the habit, she pulled out a smoke, lit it, then filled her lungs with nicotine. For years, she’d been trying to quit.

“Roger, I’m inside now,” one of her officers confirmed.

“Good, everyone ready?” She smirked and pulled on her cigarette.

“Roger,” her team responded.

“Okay. I’m in front of the bar,” she said.

“Roger, got ya,” her partner’s voice said into her ear.

“Where are you?” She glanced around through the crowd passing by.

A loud group of boys walked past her, obscuring her view. The smell of cannabis wafted from the young men. With the relaxed laws on the drug in the city, all she could do was shake her head. She wanted to reprimand them for smoking in the street but, she had bigger crimes to focus on.

“I’m coming your way now,” Detective Logan Gibson said into her ear. “You wanna head inside?”

“Yeah, beats standing on the corner,” Janssen said. “You know how many men have approached me?” She let out a frustrated breath and examined her nails.

Gibson laughed into her ear. “I bet you look great in your wig and heels.”

“Fuck you, Gibson,” she snapped with a giggle. “I told you, I don’t do dick. These drug dealers are fuckin’ up my love life. My girl’s at home waitin’.”

Her partner’s and her team’s laughter roared in her ear again.

Janssen steamed a giggle. She focused her attention on the patrons headed into one of the bars, a few paces away. Her gaze roamed up and down the street once again as she looked for her suspect.

He better put in an appearance soon, she thought.

That’s if he was as predictable as he had been from the surveillance done over the last few weeks.

A tourist had turned up dead in the toilets of a restaurant this side of the city. Turns out she had a dud ecstasy pill. She wasn’t the only one, there had been a few cases. Both citizens of Amsterdam and visitors who flocked to the liberal city.

The supplier, from what she and her team had placed together, was a small-time drug dealer, an immigrant from Morocco, north Africa. It was her intention to close in on him, have him stripped of his European citizenship, then sent back to his native country.

He’s a liability Amsterdam doesn’t need. While the soft drug cannabis was legal, higher class drugs were not. Especially fake ones that could cause fatalities.

Janssen lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, then focused in on a figure making its way through the thick crowd. She could make out the confident walk of her partner, Gibson.

He was six-foot-two, athletically built, and on an average day, he’d proudly don a shirt and tie. This evening, he wore a Nike cap with his hood over the top of his head to mask his face, baggy dark denim, and a pair of Timberland boots.

Gibson adjusted his earpiece, then his caramel eyes met with hers through the sea of people. If she were into men, she’d melt in a heartbeat. Gibson was gorgeous, in a handsome but rugged way.

Not the ‘clean cut’ detective you’d expect. He wore battle scars from his younger days. Born and bred in Jamaica, his parents were immigrants who came over to Amsterdam when he was fifteen. They had come over when his father was posted here for his work.

He nodded and winked at her.

She lifted her chin again to acknowledge his greeting.

“All right, I see him. He’s coming your way,” Gibson said to the team. “Everyone on standby, please.”

Janssen took one final pull on her smoke, then moved her eyes over the crowd to find their suspect. He was tall, tanned skin, and had curly hair with a full beard. He was dressed casually in dark denim and a heavy winter coat.

“Okay, I’m going in.” She stubbed out her smoke on the ground.

“Roger,” she heard in her ear.

Leaving the lamp post, she headed over to the bar entrance. With ease, she swung open the door, stepped over the threshold, adjusted her eyes to the dim light, and looked around.

The tables were busy with drinkers. Waitresses moved swiftly, back and forth, balancing trays. In the background, soft dance music played, and the girls twirled around on their poles.

A few of her undercover team moved around the room, blending in. They sipped their drinks, spoke to locals, all while keeping one eye on the entrance of the bar. Each of them made eye contact with her, one by one, and she nodded discreetly to each of them.

“All right, I’m in, Gibson,” she said.

“Cool, I’m right behind you.”

“What do you have on him.” She headed over to the bar.

“He picked up on the other side of the city. Drove over, parked up, and now, it looks like he’s ready to do business for the night.”

Janssen frowned, leaned on the bar, then tapped her ear. “And his suppliers, what about them?”

“Don’t worry, sweet-pea. Uncle Gibson’s on it,” he teased in response. “There’s a team of men swooping in on them as we speak.”

Janssen raised an eyebrow and looked around the room at her team. They had all heard the conversation. Discreetly they exchanged smiles.

The door swung open, and Janssen turned toward it. Gibson’s large frame invaded the threshold. She noticed him lower his hood and glance around as if he were looking for someone.

He made his way over to a table with plain clothed officers, high-fived them, and took a seat. To the outside eye, it looked as though he’d just met up with friends.

“What can I get you.” She heard a voice behind her.

Janssen spun around and widened her eyes at the barmaid.

Stay focused, she reprimanded herself.

One thing she hated was the distraction of pretty girls on a job. A smile graced her lips just as her eyes settled on the crack of the woman’s cleavage, then made their way down her body.

“I’ll take a Heineken.” She licked her lips.

The barmaid was none the wiser to the lust in Janssen’s eye.

She scooped up the empty beer bottles on the bar.

“Coming right up.”