22 KentKent brushed sweat off his forehead and shifted on the tailgate seat of a late-model Dodge caravan. He’d parked in the shade of some tall firs, but even at twilight, the interior was unpleasantly hot and smelled of stale dust.
Fall was his favorite season, especially when the warm days and the crisp cool nights were each twelve hours long. He bet the balmy evening air outside carried the scents of river water, fir needles, and ferns. He didn’t dare lower a window to find out.
He’d have been more comfortable in the Washington State Patrol’s much larger windowless Ford surveillance van with the fancy control panel, periscope camera, and craftily hidden interior ventilation. Well-concealed and tied into the WSP communication system, he could’ve donned his uniform, lace-ups, and badge
