She almost smiles.
The waitress arrives with coffee and eggs.
“Passing through?” she asks.
“Something like that,” I say.
Wren flashes the easy smile she uses when she wants people to be comfortable.
“We’re working with the county on search-and-rescue coordination,” she says. “We heard this town runs some of the best volunteer teams in the state.”
The waitress brightens immediately.
“Oh, that’d be Pastor Eli’s group.”
I take a slow sip of coffee.
“Good people,” she continues. “They’ve helped half the counties around here during storms.”
“Storms?” Wren asks.
“Floods. Wildfires. Missing hikers. Those folks show up faster than the sheriff sometimes.”
Interesting.
“Where can we find them?” Wren asks casually.
“Church down the road,” the waitress says. “They’ve got a meeting this afternoon.”
I nod.
“Appreciate it.”
She heads off to another table.
Wren waits until the waitress is out of earshot.
“Search-and-rescue,” she murmurs. “Just like the file.”
“Community trust,” I say.
“Entry point.”
“Recruitment filter.”
We exchange a look.
This is exactly how Sentinel used to do it.
Help people first.
Sort them later.
A shadow moves across the window.
My attention snaps toward the door as it opens.
A tall man steps inside.
