Since Vaughn was spending his days at the diner, Hendricks had proposed wiring the diner too. Jenn vetoed the idea, but it left a sizeable gap in their eyes-on surveillance that they had to live with. At six p.m., Vaughn would go straight to the gym for an hour and a half. Home by eight, frozen dinner at the computer, lights out by eleven. Rinse and repeat. Day after day. Christ. She appreciated the importance of self-discipline and structure, but she’d take a merciful two in the head before she let this be her life.

Her report already noted that Vaughn’s entire world was organized around providing for his ex-wife and kid. What was clear to Jenn was that the man was punishing himself. But was he trying to win the woman back or simply atoning by living a forsaken life? First he cheated on her, then turned into Saint Francis of Springfield, Virginia. Jenn couldn’t figure men out in general and Gibson Vaughn in particular. He didn’t spend penny one on himself, his only luxury the gym membership. Although, to be fair, that was money well spent.

Not that Vaughn was her type. Far from it. Sure, he had a rough-around-the-edges charm about him, and the way his pale-green eyes stared through people fascinated her. But she could still see the chip on his shoulder that had landed him first before a judge and then in the Marines. No matter what he’d been through, there was no excuse for the way it continued to haunt him. You couldn’t allow your past to define you.

She ran her tongue over her front teeth. It was a nervous habit. It irritated her whenever she caught herself doing it, but she couldn’t make herself stop. Which only irritated her more. Where was Hendricks with her coffee?

As if on cue, Hendricks appeared at the door with two coffees and a cruller. He had to have twenty-plus years on her; she guessed he was north of fifty, but it was only a guess. After working with him for two years, she still didn’t know his birthday. His hair had receded to the crown and vitiligo had carved out white patches at the corners of his mouth and around the eyes that stood out sharply against his black skin.

“Still in there?”

Jenn nodded.

“Like clockwork, that boy,” Hendricks said. “Regular as a bowel movement.”

He handed Jenn a coffee and took a big bite of his cruller.

“They ran out of jelly doughnuts. Believe that? What kind of bakery runs out of jelly doughnuts before nine a.m.? This whole state needs a chiropractor.”

Jenn contemplated mentioning Virginia was technically a commonwealth and thought better of it. Needling Hendricks only provoked him.

“Today’s the day,” she said instead.

“Today’s the day.”

“Any idea when?”

“Soon as we hear from George.”