“This window has a view of the Sokolovs’ street,” a man called out. “He’s got a camera set up. He’s been sleeping in here. Printers are here, too, including a 3D printer.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I found a lot of hair in the trash can. I think he shaved his hair off,” a second man answered.

“We’ll have to update the BOLO,” the first guy said.

“Already done.” There was a slight pause before the second guy said, “He can’t see the Sokolovs’ front door from here, but he could see all the vehicular traffic.”

“And the foot traffic. That spot, right there? I was standing there yesterday with another agent. We were in tactical gear, but . . . damn. We were just standing there.”

The second guy grunted. “You’re charmed, kid. Either he didn’t see you or he didn’t want to risk shooting, knowing we were all there. Come on. Let’s keep going.”

“Stay calm,” DJ muttered. “Stay calm. Think.”

He glanced in his rearview, his heart racing faster when he spied two cruisers behind him. They hadn’t been there before. Neither had the two nondescript black sedans.

You got sloppy, he snarled to himself. You stopped watching.

Because he’d thought himself safe. Because he’d disabled the Civic’s GPS.

How had they found him? A search of all the houses?

“Fuck.” Don’t panic. Think.

It didn’t matter at this point how they’d found him. They had. He needed to ditch this car. He looked around, searching for a way out.

His gaze fell on the box on the floorboard of the passenger side. It still had a few sticks. He leaned sideways and grabbed four sticks. They were bigger than the stick he’d used in the radio station package, but smaller than the ones he’d used in the package he’d dropped off at the courier, bound for the Sokolov house first thing in the morning.

It would be enough to cause a panic, giving him time to ditch the Civic and find another ride.

If not . . . he’d have to shoot his way out. He patted his pocket, relieved to find he still carried Nelson Smythe’s engraved lighter. He set the sticks upright in the cup holder and waited until he had the exact right moment.

He saw it a minute later when a city bus came to a lumbering stop in front of him. Just ahead was a strip mall.

Go, go, go. He floored the gas pedal, forcing a car out of his way so that he just slipped around the bus. He lit the first stick and started to count.

The fuse was two inches long, so he had five seconds.

He rolled the window down. Four, three.

He tossed the first stick out the window, unable to quell his grin when it exploded right on schedule.

People started screaming and cars came to screeching halts. Horns blared and the cruiser lights started flashing as they tried to get past the traffic jam.