Agent Lenz sat in his car, which he’d parked across the street and partway down the block from Jake Wilcox’s big Victorian house. How a kid who wasn’t even twenty-seven could afford such a place, Lenz had no idea, but that wasn’t his present concern. If he’d really cared, he could have asked Dawson to dig up Wilcox’s bank records and tax returns. However, at the moment, he didn’t much care. Jake Wilcox’s finances were no concern of his.
The house was empty. Lenz knew that because he’d been sitting in the same spot for more than an hour, watching the place, and there hadn’t been a single sign of life. Just his luck that his quarry was off somewhere else.
But Jake would have to come home sometime.
Sure enough, about ten minutes later, a small green Fiat station wagon/SUV crossover slowed
