One block from the drugstore.

“Take the back door, Lieutenant.”

“Sir?”

“Jam it but don’t make a sound. I’ve got the front. Keep your distance. Regroup at Wanda’s in fifteen.”

“Stealth on.”

“Stealth on.” The men swiped their thumb IDs and disappeared from the net. Positioning, vitals, outbound video stream, everything, gone. They signaled thumbs up and parted ways.

Maxfield crept through the alley, heel to toe. Rounded the drugstore corner. Kept his head down below the giant picture window.

He opened his tool pack and assembled a peeper, with a 10-foot tether since wireless was a no-go.

The peeper was nearly invisible but the tether wasn’t. Maxfield crawled it up the edge of the building where it was least noticeable. Watched the viewer to see what was happening inside.

Nothing.

The store was in ruins. Shelves toppled, bottles smashed. No sign of Rain. She wasn’t waiting for Shoal after all.

Suddenly the sheriff reeled from a loud, long beep in his head. The lieutenant, stealth off, was flatlining.