Especially with a reflective blanket of snow stretched in every direction. I eased my car into a parking space and stepped out, squinting against the glare. The one-story brick building that housed Stroop Finders was dark, quiet. I carefully picked my way over the packed snow and ice, then waited in the entryway a moment while my stinging eyes adjusted. My fingers danced over the security keypad. I could have done it blind, but my father had the system set so that one mistake would trigger a phone call to him, and two mistakes would unleash the combined might of three counties of law enforcement. Dad didn’t take chances; Stroop Finders had pissed off too many criminals and would-be fugitives. Once inside, I headed to my desk—and a fresh stack of waiting folders. Dad had uncharacteristically given everyone a few days off, but apparently he was still assigning cases. And as usual, the bulk landed in my lap. Just one look at the pile, and the enthusiasm that had propelled me into the office vanished.
