Jack slowed the car down and turned off the headlights. They came around a corner and saw the shadow of a house through the fog. Light glowed from two windows. An all-terrain vehicle sat parked next to two pickup trucks. Jack slowly came to a stop, then killed the engine. Lynda glanced at her watch. It was already ten thirty. They didn’t have a lot of daylight left.

They got out of the car and met at the trunk. The temperature had dropped into the midforties. It felt good to put on their FBI ballistic vests and jackets. Jack slipped on his cap and held hers out. She shook her head, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She hated anything on her head. Jack tossed it back into the trunk, then quietly closed it. Lynda made sure her 9mm pistol had a full magazine. She bent and secured her knife in her ankle sheath.

As they walked toward the house, Lynda mentally prepared herself for a long night ahead. After they apprehended the leader of this organization, they would have to question him. Once they had him in custody, they had only twenty-four hours before they had to bring formal charges. So much for the romantic weekend. Of course, even after twenty-four hours, they could still get a day or two at the spa.

“I probably should call for backup,” Jack said, pulling out his phone.

“Wise.” She didn’t add “like I said,” because he wouldn’t find that funny. She bit her lip to stop herself from smiling.

Stepping carefully, they walked up onto the wooden porch. Lynda ducked under the window to the other side, and they both peeked through the window. She could make out three people sitting at a table—a blond man, a black-haired man, and a man with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She held up three fingers, and Jack nodded. He stayed where he could see them while she knocked on the door. He lifted his chin in her direction, communicating that someone inside was approaching the door. She stepped back slightly.

The door opened, and the tall blond man who had sat at the head of the table asked, “May I help you?”

Lynda pulled her leather wallet out and flashed her gold badge and ID. “FBI. We’re looking for Damien Cisco.”

His face relaxed, and he smiled. “Ah, I figured you must be lost. This is not exactly the place where we normally have people come to the door.” He came out onto the porch, and she moved back to keep an arm’s distance away from him. “Damien lives on down the road about a quarter mile.” He took a step and lifted his arm northward. Lynda took another step back and looked in the direction he pointed. “His driveway is hard to see.”