For a handful of tense seconds, Micah had honestly thought it was going to stop, that some rich asshole was going to roll down the back window, beckon him over, and proposition him for a blowjob. But the black, sleek vehicle eventually turned the corner and disappeared into the night.

It had stood out in the bleak, decrepit neighborhood of Queens Micah found himself in, if only for how obviously expensive it was, and sadly – the most exciting thing to have happened his entire shift.

Huddling as deep as he could into the collar of his jacket, Micah watched idly as the dust and pollution unique to the city danced under the streetlights shining above him. Unable to stifle a yawn, he rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

“Micah,” Tessa scolded in his earpiece, “quit it. You’re smearing your eyeliner.”

“Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly. He honestly didn’t know how girls managed to go days at a time without ruining their makeup. It was only about the fifth time he’d rubbed at his eyes tonight. He probably looked like a strung out raccoon by now – not that he thought it’d be a deal breaker for any potential john set on approaching him – or their perp for that matter.

The serial killer the press had “creatively” dubbed the Hooker Hunter was still on the loose.

So far, the NYPD had attributed seven murders to the man, but there could have easily been more victims out there. Prostitutes were one of the most underreported missing people in the country, after all.

All seven victims had been young men, and they all had all been known to exchange sexual favors for money – hence the nickname. The victims had ranged in age from eighteen to twenty-five, which was why Micah had been chosen to go undercover over more experienced detectives.

Of course, it wasn’t only the itch to prove himself that motivated Micah to catch the guy. The Hooker Hunter seemed to strike at least once a month, and it’d been over three weeks since the last body had been discovered. Micah wanted to nail the bastard before he hurt anyone else, force him to face justice for his crimes, and give the families of the victims some closure.

Unfortunately, based on the action he’d seen thus far, Micah didn’t think that would be tonight.

He glanced around. While a random pedestrian hurried by every now and then, there were only two other people stupid (desperate) enough to be out loitering in this weather. Two women were huddled on the other side of the nearby motel, wearing even less clothing than he was, and it didn’t take a genius to know they were probably prostitutes – real ones.

Micah pressed his lips together. “Maybe we should call it a night,” he muttered into his hidden mic. “Should I ask those two over there if they need help? Offer to hook them up with some beds at one of the local women’s shelters?”