Page 67 of Werewolves and Witches AU

I hold my own hazel eyes captive in the cabin’s internal mirror and give a small shake of my head—no. Focus.

“This is our Observation Post,” I make a circular motion with my index finger to indicate the truck.

Milo’s expression is heavy with concentration, and I know I have his full attention. Something inside me eases.

Back on the familiar ground of issuing mission orders, I continue. “We are the Patrol, that house is our Target, and what we’re doing right now is called a Close Target Recce, or a CTR.”

“So, not a stakeout?”

The muscle in my left eye twitches, just a little. “Not a stakeout.”

Milo nods solemnly, facial features as equally as severe as mine. “Because no snacks. Got it. So, now what do we do? Sit here until it’s dark?”

He changes position to sit cross-legged in his seat.

I wait for him to settle. “We might. We don’t have the intel to make that decision yet.”

His jaw drops, and he stage whispers, “We might do this in broad daylight?”

I smirk. “Time of day has nothing to do with it, Magpie. We move when we have the greatest chance of the mission being a success. Besides, people don’t expect a burglar to strike during the day.”

Diverting his shock into action, I lock my gaze on the Target in the mirror, and ask, “Did ye find any intel on the occupants?”

His answering nod is a little slow while he processes. “Yeah… Yup. Mhm. Two registered adults, and one birth certificate recorded fifteen months ago.”

“Good. Given the time of day, what might that tell ye about who could be home and what they might be doing?”

Milo gives an excited wiggle in his seat, rubs his hands together, and takes a deep breath. “Likely, there’s only one adult and the baby home. On the drive here, I learned there’s a manufacturing plant a couple of miles away that makes modular homes—a lot of the locals work there. So, I think the dad’s home. And because factories generally run early shifts, I think he clocked off maybe an hour or two ago and is now relaxing.

“The mom probably works the evening shift somewhere—because you know how you need two incomes to get anywhere in this economy, and childcare is expensive. Probably, she’s home when he’s out, then vice versa.

“If they’re organised, they’ll have trained the infant to nap around this time, so she can get ready for work in peace, and when he comes home, he has at least an hour to shower and chill out before having to take on parenting.”

I’m… impressed. That was almost Delilah-level strategising. Milo’s eager face as he awaits my assessment is almost too much. “Very good, Magpie. Very good. The pup might actually make a Dog yet.”

I scan all the mirrors again. “What we do now is called the hard routine.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because we have to sit still and quiet while we keep up a constant observation of the Target to note any comings and goings. And we do that until we’re confident we have an accurate pattern of behaviour on the Target.”

Milo scoffs, fishes his phone out, opens the notes app, and titles a new page Not A Stakeout. “Pah. Easy.”

We sit in silence for a short while, each monitoring the mirrors in turn, until Milo very suddenly lifts himself up in his chair, unfolds his legs, then climbs through to the back seat.

“Eight minutes, Magpie.”

“Huh?” he mutters as he pulls my laptop onto his knees.

“Ye lasted eight minutes. We’ll have to work on that.”

“Okay, you do that.” His tongue pokes out a little from between full lips as he taps and clicks away.

“While you do, I’ll just use all this fancy software you’ve got to discover that our mom gets paid weekly from a diner called Harper’s… and that Harper’s is open until eleven p.m. So, if my earlier theory is right and she’s on the closing shift, then she probably starts at four p.m.”

Milo stares at the screen for a moment longer, then nods to himself before he closes it with a decisive click. “She’s already left, and we’ve got until the baby wakes up.”

As impressed as I am with both his logic and the application of it, when he starts shoving his feet into his boots, I point out, “I like yer thinking, Magpie, but we can’t approach breaking into someone’s home on a hunch.”