He should have left almost fifteen minutes ago but we can still see the motorcycle in the driveway. A text pops up on Dax’s phone asking if Rowan has left yet. It’s from Haden. Dax takes another look at the house through his binoculars before replying. I’m seeing some movement. He should be leaving soon, he messages. I can feel the anxiety starting to build as I try to psych myself up for another breaking-and-entering job. Seriously, when did my life become a James Bond movie? Rowan finally comes out of the house, pulls out of the driveway on his motorcycle, and races off down the street, passing us without so much as a glance. “Let’s go,” Dax says, hopping out of the driver’s seat. We jog up to the door and, a moment later, Dax has it unlocked and we’re inside. “Where do we look first?” I ask. “You start with the kitchen. I’ll take the living room. Then we’ll make our way upstairs. Make sure you check everywhere: behind boxes, air vents, the fridge. Everywhere.”
