If they had, his handgun was holstered under his jacket. Luckily no one had and he’d been left alone to shop. There were more eyes watching the electronics aisle, so he’d chosen the baby supply aisle instead. Baby monitors came with cameras, and cameras were what he needed. He’d bought one that had a video recording feature, paid cash, and walked out without a single raised eyebrow.

Now he needed to find the proper place to set up the camera. There was no rain in the forecast, so even though the unit wasn’t waterproof, it would be okay for a few days.

He stopped the truck in front of the house he’d deemed to have the best view. It wasn’t across the street from the Sokolovs, unfortunately. Ephraim had tried that, a fact included in the media coverage DJ had read while waiting for Pastor’s surgery to be over. He’d also read that the homeowner had been saved by his daughter, who’d declared that she’d had extra security installed, so sitting too close to the Sokolovs’ house was not an option.

Some assholes spoil it for the rest of us.

The house DJ had chosen was behind and to the right of the Sokolovs’. There was a gap in the trees, through which the street just beyond the Sokolovs’ house was visible. A camera wouldn’t capture the activities of individuals, but it would capture vehicles and license plates.

Getting out of his truck, he double-checked the magnetic sign he’d applied to the driver’s door. Today he was posing as a contractor for PG&E.

Nobody questioned the presence of the utility company.

He crossed the homeowner’s back lawn, along the man’s eight-foot privacy fence, looking for the best spot for the baby monitor camera. It was light pink and would show up if he mounted it to the fence itself. But if he mounted it to one of the trees, he might be able to camouflage it with leaves.

He chose the tree and went down on one knee, laying out his tools, cursing his left arm, which still hung in the sling. Even though he’d developed the dexterity of his right hand, it was still his less dominant and clumsier. This injury made everything take longer.

“Hey! You there!”

DJ stilled. Fucking hell. Slowly he rose, tugging on the brim of his ball cap to hide his face. A man in his sixties stood near the fence, scowling. He’d either come from the house or just been walking down the street, paying attention to things not his business.

Damn neighborhood watchers.

“Good morning, sir,” DJ said pleasantly.

The man’s scowl slipped a little. “What are you doing?”

“I work for PG&E. We’re monitoring the moisture level of the soil. Dry spots are tinder for wildfires.” Kowalski had taught him that spiel as well.

“Okay.” The man took a step forward, then stopped. “But that looks like a camera to me.”

“It monitors temperature and moisture content,” DJ explained, calm on the outside, but inside he was starting to worry.