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Just as the Google search had indicated, Jake Reynolds lived in a quiet suburban neighborhood in Rancho Cucamonga. By the time Agent Lenz parked his Ford Taurus at the curb, it was nearly seven; a bad crash involving a semi on I-15 had delayed him by nearly an hour. Still, daylight lingered on this quiet June evening, the sun just beginning to touch the horizon. The skies were clear, seeming to indicate that whatever Adara Grant was up to in the house on Valinda Avenue, she wasn’t unduly upset by it.
Lenz was also happy to see a black Jeep Gladiator parked in the driveway. Garage too full to accommodate the vehicle, or did Mr. Reynolds prefer to leave it outside so he could flaunt his recent acquisition to his neighbors?
Not that it mattered, except the flashy truck served as a clear
