“Why?”

“Because it’s better if it’s dark inside here when you pull out, so they don’t see a square of light in the curtain.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No worries. I figured you were about to do it, so I shut the light off. Next time, just give me a signal first.”

“What’s the signal?”

“Lights.”

“Oh. That’s easy.”

“We try to keep everything as simple as possible, so in the heat of the moment we don’t forget.”

“Good plan.” I can picture myself forgetting a code word more complicated than lights. I am secretly appreciative of the genius in charge of passwords and signals, whoever that person is. Is it Ozzie? Seems like it would be. He strikes me as both a thoughtful and practical person.

“Get anything good?” she asks.

I switch the camera into play mode and buzz through the photographs. “Yes. Several.” I hold the camera over by her. “You know this guy?”

“No. But that doesn’t mean anything. We’ll run it through our facial recognition program and see what we come up with.”

“You have that? That program, I mean?”

“Yeah.” She sounds defensive.

“Sorry, it’s just . . . kind of hard to believe you’d have something that sophisticated in a security firm. It’s not like you’re the police or anything.”

“First of all, we’re not just any security firm. Ozzie only runs top-of-the-line operations. And second, we work with the police department. They give us access to all kinds of databases. We can’t do our job very well without it.”

I nod, thinking it through. “That makes sense.” I’m even more impressed with Ozzie than I was before. If I’m not careful, pretty soon I’ll be drooling whenever he walks into the room.

“This is interesting,” Toni says, staring at her screen.

“What?”

She leans a little to the right so I can look at her laptop screen. There’s an aerial photograph of a neighborhood, showing houses, driveways, and even cars.

“What’s that?”

“We’re right here,” she says, pointing to a spot on the map.

“I don’t see our van.”

“This picture was taken awhile ago. It’s not a live feed. Anyway, do you see that?” She points to a house on the street behind the one we’ve been watching.

“Yes.”

“Did it look vacant to you yesterday when we drove past it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“You’re supposed to remember these things.” She shuts her laptop and starts to climb over me.

“I’m confused.” I’m afraid I’ve failed another test with her.

Toni peeks around the corner of the curtain for a few seconds before she pushes it back enough to take the driver’s seat. “Let’s go take a look.”

“Can I come up there with you?”

“If you want.” She fires up the engine and pulls out of our parking spot.

I climb into the front with her and buckle myself in. “What did you mean, I’m supposed to remember that other house?”

“Your job when we’re out surveilling is to take in the details and file them away in your brain for future use.”

“Oh. And which details do I file and which ones do I disregard?”

“Disregard nothing.”

I don’t answer with the obvious response to that, which is, Oh, so I’ll just see about booting up my photographic memory.

“If you don’t have a good mind for details, you’d better take a lot of pictures,” she adds.

I lean into the back and pull a smaller camera with a more manageable lens out of the hard case that holds all the equipment I’m supposed to be using.

“Fine. I can take pictures.” No big deal. That won’t look suspicious at all, a woman driving down the street taking photos of every single detail.

“You’ll learn eventually what things are important and what aren’t.” She turns onto the road that runs behind the target house. “You want to take photos of the street here from this angle, the houses that connect to the target house, unusual things that look out of place . . .”

“Like what, for example?”

“Like a woman who’s sitting in a chair on her front porch. You don’t see that much around here, but when you do, it either means you have an old-school granny who likes to keep an eye on her neighborhood or you have someone employed by a dealer to watch out for the po-po.”

“Grannies do that?”

“Grannies gotta eat.” Toni slows when she gets near the house she pointed out on the satellite photo. “That’s what I thought,” she says, smiling.

I take a few pictures, although I’m not sure why.

“What’s going on?” I ask, leaning over to see the house better as she drives by.

“It’s vacant, I’m pretty sure. And part of the fence connects to the fence of our target. We could get eyes on the back of the target if we can get into that backyard.”

“Is it worth the risk?”

“I’m betting yes. Come on—let’s go see.”

Now our faded blue jumpsuits are starting to make sense. “You mean we’re going to get out of the van?”

“Yes. Put your hair up and your hat on. Sunglasses are optional.”

I’m too shocked to argue. My hands move to my hair and follow her instructions, using the rubber band I had on my wrist. I’m afraid, but I can do this. I don’t want Toni being disgusted with my cowardice, even though I know that emotion is in place to keep me from getting in trouble with the wrong kind of people.

Ego. It’s a terrible thing sometimes.

I slide the baseball cap onto my head as Toni’s getting out. I have to count to ten before I can make my fingers take the door handle and pull on it. My muscles scream with agony as I drop to the ground from the elevated passenger seat.

“Bring your camera, but keep it hidden.”

I take the equipment and put it inside the roomy leg compartments of my jumpsuit, securing it inside with the Velcro flaps.

“Here, take this.” Toni hands me a toolbox.

“What’s in it?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. Just act like you’re supposed to be here, and everything will be just fine.”

I’m already sweating. It’s not that hot out yet, but does that matter? No. Because this jumpsuit, turning into a sauna designed to poach my body, is not hot because of the outside temperature; it’s hot because I’m panicking. I’m not bulletproof!

“We’ll go around the back. We’re meter readers.”

“Oh. Okay. We’re meter readers.” Nothing at all suspicious about two chick meter readers. Ha.

I follow Toni around the side of the house, noticing the windows here are broken or at least cracked. The smell of mildew is strong. I wonder if this is one of those houses that never recovered after Hurricane Katrina. I’d heard that there were still some around.

Toni walks right by the meter. I follow closely behind. The box I’m carrying bangs against my leg, and something heavy and metal rattles around inside.

“Being real quiet is a good idea right now,” Toni says in a low voice.

My heart skips a beat. I try to tiptoe through the grass, mostly unsuccessfully.

She stops at the far left corner of the backyard. I realize as I step up next to her that we’re also at the back fence of the target house. I’m afraid I’m going to pee my pants.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Toni bends down and opens up the toolbox she had under her arm. Inside is a drill and various bits mixed in with some other tools.

“Open yours up,” she says, taking the drill out. She unscrews the end and puts a bit inside, screwing it back tight again when she’s got it where she wants it.

I undo the latch on my toolbox, and my heart leaps into my throat when I see a handgun inside. “Oh my god,” I whisper.

Toni reaches inside and takes the gun out, placing it in the weeds at her feet. The next thing out of the toolbox is a small black box.