He pushed deeper into the woods—thick undergrowth, tangled vines, loose soil shifting. His foot brushed a downed tree he hadn’tseen, and he stumbled hard, catching himself with one palm in the dirt.
“Damn it,” he muttered, breath fogging.
None of it mattered.
He got up and kept going.
A train whistle cut through the dark—louder here, closer than it had sounded from town.
Scout glanced at his watch.
7:00 p.m.
Finally, the ground leveled out—high enough to see over the backyard, but buried deep enough in brush that no one would spot him without a searchlight.
He dropped to a knee and slid the pack off. Unzipped it. Pulled out the infrared binoculars and lifted them to his eyes.
A click. A shimmer of static.
The backyard came into view in green tones. Trees. Fence. A brick structure at the far end of the property.
Scout adjusted the focus.
The small building sharpened.
Brick exterior. Tall pitched roof. Centerline skylights—two long panes of reinforced glass set into the apex.
He panned lower.
The ground glowed pale green. He adjusted again.
Two HVAC units. Side by side. Feeding the small structure.
Scout lowered the binoculars.
Then angled them toward the main house.
At the back of the larger home sat a single, standard HVAC unit.
Only one.
Adrenaline slid sharp and fast through his system.
A guest cottage wouldn’t need two.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself steady.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered.
Scout stayed low, binoculars still pressed to his eyes.
Nothing moving. No shadows behind the brick.
A perfect opening.
Scout’s muscles tightened—ready to drop down the rise and make the roof before anyone could come out?—
Headlights flared at the far end of the street.
