The congregation stirs. Whispers start.
Pastor Jenkins clears his throat. “Let’s give Dorothy a round of applause for her testimony and her generous heart.”
More applause. Dorothy returns to her seat, face composed, but I can see her hands shaking.
Phoebe leans close to me. “I’d say we’re in motion.”
“Now we wait.”
***
Three Days Later
Dorothy’s niece’s house looks ordinary from the outside.
Inside, it’s anything but.
Three undercover officers are positioned throughout the property. Two in the garage. One in the kitchen. Two more vehicles are parked down the street.
I’m in the living room with Phoebe and Detective Ramirez from the Millbrook Falls PD. We convinced Captain Morrison to approve the operation after showing him the evidence—the financial records, the timeline, the pattern. He wasn’t happy about using a civilian as bait, but he agreed it was our best shot at catching Ryan before someone actually died.
Dorothy and her niece are at a hotel fifteen miles away.
Surveillance cameras cover every angle, and motion sensors are on all the doors and windows. We’ve turned this place into a fortress.
Now we wait.
It’s Tuesday night, three days since Dorothy’s church announcement. We’ve been here every night since, watching, waiting for Ryan to make his move.
“Maybe he’s smarter than we thought,” Phoebe says, scrolling through her tablet. “Maybe he knows it’s a trap.”
“Desperate people aren’t smart. They’re reckless.” I check the camera feeds for the hundredth time. “He’ll come.”
Ramirez yawns. “If he doesn’t show by midnight, we’re pulling the team. Can’t keep this many officers tied up indefinitely.”
“He’ll show.”
At eleven-forty-three, motion sensor alerts on the back fence.
Everyone goes silent.
I pull up the camera feed. A grainy night vision image shows a figure climbing over the back fence—dark jacket. Face partially obscured.
“We’ve got movement,” I say into the radio. “Subject entering from the rear of the property. All units hold position.”
The figure drops into the backyard. Looks around. Moves toward the back door.
It’s Ryan. I can see his face clearly on the camera now.
He’s carrying something, a red gas can.
My pulse kicks up. “Subject is armed with accelerant. All units prepare to move on my signal.”
Ryan tries the back door. Locked. He pulls something from his pocket—lock picks. The door swings open.
He steps inside.
“Wait for it,” I murmur. “Let him commit.”
