Late at night, Lars and Amelia remained inside the apartment.
The lights were off. Only the faint glow of the city filtered through the large living room window.
Lars stood near the glass, binoculars pressed to his eyes, observing the white house across the street — their client's home.
She had arrived earlier that afternoon.
A second car had pulled into the driveway shortly after. Her eldest son's vehicle. It stayed for less than an hour before leaving.
Had he only come for a visit?
Since then, there had been no unusual movement. A few pedestrians had walked past the property, but none approached the mailbox. No one left letters. No one lingered near the entrance.
Nothing.
Amelia sat on the sofa behind him, dressed in formal black pants, a fitted black long-sleeve top, and black sneakers. Lars was dressed similarly — black pants, black shirt, black shoes.
From a distance, they would look like shadows.
