DJ nodded tightly. “What about my pot? I couldn’t help but notice my basement is empty.”

“I ‘hauled it out’ the day you called me to tell me you were out of commission for a few weeks. I’ve been tending the plants in your grow houses, too. They’re ready for harvest.”

Translation: Get busy or else.

He disappeared into the stairwell to the basement and a moment later, DJ heard the muffled sound of a door closing. His house had a walkout basement, and that was the way Kowalski generally came and went. It let out on the side of the house opposite Mrs. Ellis, so she wouldn’t see him.

DJ rubbed his temples. Food, then sleep. He also needed to make a few new license plates and signs for the truck. He figured he’d been caught on surveillance at the office building that morning. His own face wasn’t as important as the identifiers on the vehicle he was using.

Mercy and Gideon had likely described him to law enforcement, and if they hadn’t, Amos Terrill had. But nobody knew where Eden was, so he’d been safe there. Would be again once Mercy and Gideon were dead.

His vehicle was another story, though. That was more easily tracked. If they were able to identify his vehicle through street and toll cameras, he wouldn’t be safe anywhere.

Still, Kowalski was the more immediate threat. He’d be pissed off if he found out that DJ’s face and fingerprints were known to the FBI. He’d decide that DJ’s usefulness was over and . . . well, that would be bad. So he wouldn’t get caught. It was that simple.

He called in an order for pizza delivery, then went back to his home office and powered up the 3D printer. Using an “unauthorized” searchable database of vehicle registrations, he found the list of license plate numbers that belonged to trucks most closely matching his. None of the vehicles with these plates had been reported stolen, so no cops would be looking for them. He typed the next number on the list into the template he’d developed and set it to print.

The resulting plate would be indistinguishable from an actual California DMV-issued plate.

Technology was so cool.

ROCKLIN, CALIFORNIA

WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 1:05 P.M.

“Well, hell,” Croft muttered as Tom drove them from the Sokolovs’ house to his duplex in Rocklin. It was a tidy two-story, split down the middle into two separate units. They shared the garage and the backyard. He’d bought it after his first visit with the real estate agent partly because it would allow him to live close to the field office. But mostly because Liza had loved the backyard and a duplex allowed him to keep her close without stomping on her privacy.

She could come and go as she pleased. An image of Mike the Groper flitted across his mind and he wanted to snarl. But he didn’t, because she could also date as she pleased.