Back in the States, Dennis West patrolled the Home Builders Depot parking lot, looking like a lost soul who had lost his wheels. For the most part, he stayed close to the garden center since Stacey Copeland came into work early and would have a choice front parking space. Abner had confirmed that her hours were six-thirty to two o’clock. She was off weekends, and management did its best to work with the students who worked part-time to control their hours. He now had her home address and the make and model of her car. At the moment, he was parked one row over and three cars behind her silver Ford Taurus. Since he already had Copeland’s address, all he needed was to see her get into her car, and he could drive out to Columbia Heights where she lived and mosey around on his own. This way he didn’t have to worry about her spotting her tail. He continued to look around, but he couldn’t detect any of Snowden’s operatives. If they were even here. If they were, they were damn good at what they did. Then he caught Copeland out of the corner of his eye. Tall for a girl. Lanky, actually. She looked to be in good shape. She wore jeans and a T-shirt with the Home Builders Depot logo on the back. She yanked at a baseball cap that was smashed into her back pocket, clamped it down on her curly head, then got into her car. She very casually looked around before she pulled her sunglasses off the visor and put them on. She backed out of her parking space carefully, her head going to the right, then left, then back right again. Clearly to Dennis, she was looking to see if anyone was paying attention to her.

Dennis gave her a good five-minute head start because he wanted to see if anyone appeared to be following her. When he deemed the coast clear, he changed gears and left the parking lot. He’d already programmed her address into the GPS. For all he knew, he might even get to where she lived before Copeland did. He wished he’d taken a dry run while he waited so he had an idea of the area. Well, too late now. He settled down for the drive, glad that traffic wasn’t heavy.

Thirty-seven minutes later, after two drive-bys, Dennis pulled into a private driveway with a FOR SALE sign on the lawn. If the house was empty, and it appeared to be with nothing on any of the windows, he was good to go. Parking as he did at an angle, he had a clear view of the four-apartment building complex where Stacey Copeland lived through his side-view mirror.