The leasing agent who showed him the property had complained that Tinsley was the first nibble in more than a month. Tinsley took that as a good omen and broke in later that night. He’d been using it as a base of operations, but there was no trace or sign that anyone had been there. He wanted to leave this town without causing so much as a ripple in its surface. Tinsley had no intention at this time of killing the leasing agent, but he’d taken the man’s card in case things took a turn.

Tinsley blinked and the noonday sun greeted him.

Tinsley blinked and the sun dipped toward the far horizon.

His expensive watch told him he had been sitting at the window for twelve hours. His eyes continued to track the hazy movements of the shapes in the park. Nothing of importance had changed. The woman was still on the park bench. The thin, irritable man was still in his car. The third was nowhere to be seen, but Tinsley was confident that Vaughn was back at the motel. Probably typing away on one of his little computers. Type, type, type.

It was ironic in its way—the hunters unaware that they themselves were hunted. And that if they found their quarry it would mean their deaths. It did not impress him, but he did pause to wonder: Would he know if he was being hunted? Was he not arrogant to assume he alone had the edge? The thought made him grin. That would be an intricate play indeed. Set a killer on a killer; tie up all the loose ends. Doubtful but not beyond the realm of possibility. He would recalibrate his senses to be alert to such a betrayal.

In a way he longed for it. This job was proving mundane, and the prospect of killing them didn’t spark anything in him. Hendricks would be nothing. Jenn Charles would need careful attention, but that was all. Tinsley had a history with Gibson Vaughn, but even that did not rouse his spirits overly.

Not that it seemed a likely prospect at this point. Friday was supposedly a pivotal day for them, and so far they appeared to be coming up empty. He should urinate and eat something. He didn’t feel a need to do either, but he trusted the watch to tell him when it was time.

Tinsley’s cell vibrated. He read the text message with cold curiosity. It was happening. He looked back down into the park. The woman was gone from the park bench. His mind found her shape moving up toward the fountain. She circled around the main cluster of people at the tables near the library and stopped to fill her water bottle at a water fountain. The bitter man’s shape was still in the car, but Tinsley could see him talking animatedly into a cell.