An unmarked SUV stopped forty feet back, engine idling steady as thunder walked across the hills. Two silhouettes sat inside without moving. No hazard lights. No badge flash.
Dan slid one velvet box into his coat pocket—instinct, not theft. Proof. Whatever this delivery was, it wasn’t the job he took.
The passenger door of the SUV cracked open. A boot touched down. Then the SUV’s lights cut off, and the road went dark except for his hazards.
That was the moment Dan realized the rain was the least dangerous thing happening on this highway.
