The drone displayed a swamp-green image of a man in each upstairs bedroom. In a larger room at the other end of the hall, two images shared the same bed, presumably Henson and Lila.

Two men in the house plus Henson to deal with. If they timed it right, they could avoid being spotted by the guard or waking the men in the bunkhouse. With luck, they would be long gone by the time the DEA or the sheriff got there to round them all up.

They went over the plan for the third time before Edge was satisfied they were ready to go. The first guard had been relieved at midnight and returned to the bunkhouse. Three hours later, the second guard was relieved.

Probably rotating in three-hour shifts. They waited until the guard who’d just finished his turn was back in his bunk and a new guard was on duty, then, staying in the shadows, made their way down the slope, through the pine forest that surrounded the house. Edge used a lockpick to open the back door, and they slipped silently inside.

They would be saving Henson for last, taking down the other two men first, since they were the bigger threat. These guys were streetwise and tough. From what Molly had said, Harley Purcell was former military and mean as they came. Sarah Simmons and Stella Beeker had both been murdered.

Fortunately, none of the men were expecting visitors that night. They were miles from Blancha Springs, in a completely different state. Edge drew his Beretta, while Skye pulled a stun gun from its holster on her belt next to her Glock. At her nod, he quietly opened the door of the bedroom at the far end of the hall.

In the dim rays of moonlight coming in above the curtains, he caught a glimpse of red hair and a short red beard on the man asleep in the double bed. Dutch.

Skye moved, her hand shooting out to jab the stun gun into Dutch’s ribs. Electricity crackled and popped. Dutch’s eyes flew open, and his whole body shook. Muscles locked, teeth clenched. Dutch couldn’t move, and in seconds, Edge had him on his stomach, his hands behind his back, cuffed with nylon zip ties.

Skye slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth, and together they duct-taped his ankles. On a count of three, they quietly lifted him off the bed onto the floor so he lay facedown, then bent his legs back and taped them to his arms. Dutch was no longer a threat.

To be sure he stayed quiet, they dragged him into the closet and closed the door.

One down.