“Yep. Metro has a BOLO out on him now. After Mr. Pretty Boy told us about the paintings, I had our informant in Atlanta check into any other similar packages going in and out of stash houses. He found a shipping receipt for a package we had agents intercept in Miami—”

“Miami? Who lives there?”

“It’s a dummy address. Last known tenant moved out six months ago. Landlord said he’s had to chase some squatters out of the place, but he and the neighbors haven’t seen anyone inside the home in a couple of weeks.”

Charlie flexed his hands. “Now what?”

“We put a tracer on that piece and left it at the address where we found it. We’ve got guys on the ground ready to follow it as well, but for now all we can do is wait.”

“What about the shipping label?” Charlie paced. “Can we find out who’s sending it or at least who paid for the postage?”

“Tried. Postage was purchased online using a dummy account—hey, hold on.” Agent Edmonds’s voice became muffled. “Sorry about that. Thanks to your video footage of Marco Solis, our cyber unit was able to track him through the city’s camera system to a rental car that was seen at a gas station—El Cheapo, off Highway 17 about two miles west of Walton—the night you found your victim.”

Charlie stopped pacing. The strange man Lane saw . . . A crack of thunder echoed overhead. Every eye turned upward, including Charlie’s. A cold drop hit his face. Then another. Guests jumped from their chairs, but it was too late. The sky opened up and big, heavy drops poured down on them.

“Agent Edmonds, I have to go.”

“Sure. I’ll keep you posted if we get anything new.”

Charlie ended the call and his concern shifted to the woman standing in the middle of the deluge with her camera in front of her face. Was she really taking pictures? The women around Lane squealed as they tried in vain to protect their heads from the pelting raindrops as they darted across the lawn, seeking shelter. Men tried their best to hold their hands or napkins over the women’s heads, but it was useless.

Charlie, shielding his eyes from the pelting drops, jogged over to Lane. “Are you crazy?”

A flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by an ear-splitting clap of thunder.

“Come on, we should go inside,” Charlie said, putting his hand on her waist to guide her out of the rain.

Lane pulled away from his touch. Her hair fell across her forehead as she squinted against the rain. “It’s fine. I’m leaving anyway.” She removed the camera strap from her neck, shielding the camera against her body.