The house sat apart from the others on the street, farther from the sidewalk, with a wide moat of grass. One either side, new model homes with neat white trim and carefully maintained bushes made a sharp contrast to the rambling elegance of the farmhouse. Built when cattle still grazed in the park, the house looked like a slice of forgotten time. A single light hung over the door, casting the corners of the porch into shadow. Two guards in dark camouflage flanked the porch, invisible until movement revealed their positions.
Matheus wished he’d brought a book. He’d been watching the house for three hours. Five more minutes, then he’d give up. The wind had teeth tonight; Matheus tired of providing its dinner. An internal tug signaled Quin’s call. Matheus ignored the pull, but his leg still bounced, heel flattening down the snow. His fingers tapped out a counter-rhythm on his knee. He’d considered cell phones annoying, but at least they had voicemail.