“I found it,” she said into the phone. “Black sedan, 1128 Marlow Street. Driver is out. Device is under front left wheel well. Send bomb squad now.”
Ethan stared at her.
Bomb squad.
The words seemed too large for his quiet little street.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The woman ended the call and looked at him like he was either the luckiest man alive or the dumbest. “My name is Rachel Voss. And if I hadn’t looked out my window thirty seconds ago, you’d be dead before your coffee got cold.”
Ethan looked back at the car. The black box lay on the pavement near the tire, ugly and small and impossible. His hands went numb. “Why would anyone put that on my car?”
Rachel’s expression changed.
That was when he knew she already had an answer.
She looked toward the gray house two doors down, the one with closed blinds, dead flowers on the porch, and a For Sale sign that had been crooked for three months. Ethan had barely noticed the place except to complain once that the owner never mowed the lawn. Rachel noticed everything about it. She had been noticing for weeks.
“You really don’t know?” she asked.
“No.”
Her eyes searched his face, and for the first time her anger cracked into disbelief. “You’ve been parking in front of that house every night.”
“It’s public curb space.”
“That house doesn’t belong to the man selling it.”
Ethan looked from her to the house. “What?”
Rachel picked up the bat again, not to threaten him now but because her hands needed something to hold. “Three months ago, my brother disappeared after trying to report a laundering ring using vacant properties. That house is one of them. I’ve been watching it because the police treated him like he ran off with debt. Last night, I saw two men under your car.”