Friday evening opened with Rusk standing in the Night Shift office, staring at the evidence board like it had personally disappointed him.
The board had one photograph in the center.
A white Ford dually pickup.
No plate.
Black tarp in the bed.
Passenger-side cab clearance light out.
Three masked men moving around an exterior ATM with the efficiency of people who had practiced being stupid.
Gabriel stood beside Rusk with his arms folded.
“The truck is mocking us.”
Rusk did not look away from the photo.
“It is a white dually in Oklahoma. Mocking is implied.”
Mark sat at the table with his tablet, organizing still frames from the Redbud Mini Mart footage into a timeline. Thane stood near the board, studying the truck.
The first ATM had been ripped from its mounting pad at 21:47 the night before.
The suspects had arrived, chained, pulled, loaded, tarped, and left in roughly ninety seconds.
No plate in the lot.
Maybe a plate reattached as they left.
Maybe not.
The best frame from the lot exit showed a pale rectangle in the right place for a license plate, but motion blur had reduced it to a ghost.
White truck.
Three males.
Masks.
Gloves.
Fast.
That was not enough.
Voss stood near the doorway with a coffee cup in one hand and the expression she wore when the day shift had gotten less than it wanted.
“Financial Crimes is coordinating with the ATM service company. The machine was found?”
Mark looked up.
“No. Not yet.”
“Cash estimate?”
“Provider is still confirming. Enough to make the crime worth repeating if they think they got away clean.”
Rusk made a sound.
“They think they got away clean because they did.”
Thane kept looking at the image.
“For now.”
Gabriel glanced at him.
The sentence sounded calm.
That usually meant the opposite.
Mark tapped the tablet.
“Car wash camera caught the truck approaching from the south, but the camera angle is too wide and the plate area is overexposed. Storage facility camera confirms no rear plate as it entered the lot. Exit angle suggests a plate may have been restored, but not readable.”
Rusk pointed at the board.
“Passenger-side clearance light out.”
“Yes,” Mark said. “Also possible dent or reflection on the left rear fender. Aftermarket hitch. Black bed liner. Dual rear wheels. Crew cab. White.”
Gabriel sighed.
“You just described half the men who own chains.”
Voss looked at him.
“That is unhelpfully accurate.”
Mark continued.
“One suspect has a stiff right knee or recurring guarded step. One wore work pants with a partial reflective stripe under the hoodie. One used tobacco. One smelled like energy drink. One wore cheap body spray.”
Rusk looked at Thane.
“Can you smell cheap body spray on a still frame?”
Thane did not smile.
“At the scene.”
“Right.”
Gabriel looked toward Thane.
“Same three if they hit again?”
“Yes.”
Mark nodded.
“Scene scent comparison may help. Video comparison will help more.”
Voss looked at the map pinned beside the board.
“Mini marts and gas stations with Exterior ATMs have been notified?”
Mark nodded.
“Crowe had dispatch notify owners overnight. Patrol units are doing extra passes on known exterior machines. ATM service company is sending technicians to inspect mounting and camera coverage. But there are too many locations to cover continuously.”
Rusk took a drink of coffee.
“They will know we are watching.”
Gabriel looked at the still frame.
“Maybe that scares them off.”
No one answered.
Because it might.
Because it might not.
Thane looked at the route.
Redbud Mini Mart sat on North Mayfield, close to fast roads, open fields, and several ways out of Cross Timber before anyone could form a net.
“They chose the edge.”
Mark looked up.
“Yes.”
“Not the biggest ATM.”
“No.”
“Fast escape.”
“Yes.”
Gabriel’s expression sharpened.
“They did not pick money first. They picked time.”
Mark nodded once.
“That is my assessment.”
Voss looked from Mark to Thane.
“Then assume they will do that again.”
Rusk stared at the board.
“They hit one and everyone is looking for the truck. If they have any sense, they stop.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“They ripped an ATM off a sidewalk with a chain.”
“Fair.”
Crowe appeared in the doorway.
No one had heard her approach except Thane.
“Briefing,” she said.
Everyone turned.
Crowe stepped inside, looked at the board, and pointed at the white truck.
“I hate that truck.”
Gabriel lifted one paw.
“Consensus.”
Crowe ignored him.
“Patrol has extra attention on exterior ATMs, but we are not parking a unit at every mini mart in town. We do not have the bodies. If another hit comes in, priority is safety, scene preservation, immediate video, and direction of travel. Do not chase a maybe. We need identification, not a crash.”
Thane nodded.
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
Crowe looked at Mark.
“Can you build a live list of vulnerable locations and exit routes?”
“Already building.”
“Good. Share it with patrol supervisors.”
She looked at Gabriel.
“If you have funny names for this crew, keep them off the radio.”
Gabriel opened his mouth.
Crowe stared.
He closed it.
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
Crowe looked at Thane last.
“They are fast. You will hate that.”
Thane said nothing.
Crowe nodded as if that confirmed her concern.
“Do not let hating it make you careless.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She left.
Rusk looked at Gabriel.
“What funny names?”
Gabriel’s face was pure innocence.
“None suitable for radio.”
Mark said, “Or anywhere.”
Voss pushed away from the doorway.
“Go work. Maybe we get lucky and they stay home.”
Thane looked at the white truck one more time.
Maybe.
But the image on the board looked like motion.
Not ending.
The first two hours of shift tried to pretend the city was normal.
At 19:12, Patel requested help at a small strip mall where a woman had reported a suspicious man photographing storefronts.
The suspicious man was the owner of the storefronts.
He was photographing a damaged gutter for his insurance company.
The caller, a salon owner two doors down, stood outside with her arms folded.
“He looked suspicious.”
The property owner held up his phone.
“It is my building.”
“You could have said that.”
“You did not ask.”
Gabriel looked at the gutter.
“To be fair, the gutter is suspicious.”
Mark glanced up.
“It is detached at the east bracket.”
“Suspiciously detached.”
Patel closed his notebook.
“No crime.”
The salon owner looked at Thane.
“I was just being careful.”
Thane nodded.
“Careful is fine. Staying inside and calling was fine.”
That satisfied her enough that she went back into the salon.
The property owner sighed.
“I still have to fix the gutter.”
Gabriel looked at the drooping metal.
“It has chosen a new direction.”
Mark said, “It needs a bracket.”
“It needs encouragement.”
“It needs a bracket.”
At 20:03, Darnell called them to a neighborhood park where teenagers had climbed onto a pavilion roof to retrieve a basketball and then discovered getting down was less theoretical than getting up.
One teenager kept insisting he had a plan.
The plan appeared to be “wait until gravity felt different.”
Darnell stood below with a flashlight.
“Gentlemen, the roof is not a recreational platform.”
The tallest teenager said, “We know that now.”
Gabriel looked up.
“Growth.”
Mark assessed the height.
“Ladder?”
Darnell pointed toward a maintenance shed.
“Parks has one on the way.”
Thane looked at the three teenagers.
“Sit down. Do not jump.”
“We were not going to.”
The shortest one looked guilty.
Thane narrowed his eyes.
“Do not jump.”
The shortest one sat immediately.
Parks arrived with a ladder eight minutes later. The teenagers climbed down one at a time, embarrassed and unharmed. The basketball remained on the roof because Darnell said it would be retrieved by maintenance and returned.
Gabriel liked that too much.
Mark refused to put it in the call notes.
At 20:48, Grant asked for backup on a welfare check involving a man standing in his driveway yelling at a bird feeder.
The man was not in crisis.
The bird feeder had been emptied by raccoons three nights in a row.
The yelling was tactical frustration.
Gabriel asked whether the raccoon had a snack cake.
The man said no.
Gabriel said, “Then it may be a different crew.”
Mark told him to stop building a raccoon conspiracy.
Thane kept half his attention on every truck that passed.
White pickups were everywhere.
Single rear wheel.
Dually.
Ford.
Chevy.
Dodge.
Work beds.
Flatbeds.
Toolboxes.
Trailers.
Ranch stickers.
No stickers.
A white Ford dually passed them on Western with a hay spear mounted in the bed and a plate clearly visible.
Not theirs.
Another sat parked at a feed store, passenger-side clearance light working.
Not theirs.
A third rolled past a gas station, but it was a Dodge.
Gabriel noticed Thane watching.
“You are going to start seeing white duallys in your sleep.”
“I already see them now.”
“That is not better.”
Mark’s tablet chirped with a location update from patrol.
“No new ATM reports.”
Gabriel leaned back.
“Good.”
Mark looked at him.
“What?”
“You said it.”
“I said no new reports.”
“That is adjacent to quiet.”
“It is not the same.”
The radio cracked.
“Units respond to 7301 West Charter, Prairie Star Fuel. Caller reports three masked subjects removing an exterior ATM. White pickup. Unknown plate. Chain attached.”
Gabriel slowly turned toward Mark.
Mark closed his eyes once.
Thane keyed the mic.
“Night Shift responding.”
Prairie Star Fuel was farther west than Redbud, out near a stretch of road where the city gave way to warehouse lots, storage yards, machine shops, and fenced construction equipment.
The suspects were gone before Night Shift cleared the last turn.
They knew it from dispatch before they arrived.
“Caller advises vehicle left westbound on Charter. ATM loaded in bed. No plate visible. Patrol units checking area.”
Crowe came over the radio.
“No pursuit unless positively identified and safe. Units use caution.”
Thane’s paws tightened on the wheel.
Gabriel said nothing.
Mark had the map open.
“Westbound Charter gives them three routes out: county road, industrial loop, or south to the bypass.”
“Too many,” Thane said.
“Yes.”
Prairie Star’s lot was wider than Redbud’s and darker along the edges. The exterior ATM had stood near the side wall beneath a security light.
Now it was gone.
Again.
The concrete pad was torn open. The bolts had pulled differently this time, tearing one corner of the base plate upward and leaving a curved gouge where the ATM had twisted before giving way.
Two patrol units were already there.
Grant held the clerk near the doorway, getting his statement. Patel was photographing the drag marks. A nervous customer sat in a parked sedan because he had been pumping gas when the truck arrived and had decided, correctly, that being very still behind his vehicle was better than intervening.
Thane stepped out of the Humvee and smelled them immediately.
Same three.
Diesel.
Hot rubber.
Cheap body spray.
Tobacco.
Energy drink.
Work gloves.
Metal dust.
Sweat.
Adrenaline with enjoyment in it.
That last part made something in him go cold.
Gabriel came around the front of the Humvee.
“Same?”
Thane nodded.
“Same.”
Mark stayed near the edge of the lot, scanning before stepping.
“Different approach?”
Patel looked up.
“They came from the west, pulled straight in, backed near the ATM.”
Grant walked over with the clerk.
The clerk was older than Mason had been, maybe late fifties, with a gray mustache and the particular anger of someone whose workplace had been turned into a stunt.
“Same truck as the alert,” he said. “White Ford. Big one. No plate. Three guys. Masks. They knew exactly what they were doing.”
Thane asked, “How long?”
“Not even two minutes. I saw the chain and hit the alarm. By the time dispatch answered, they had it loose.”
Mark looked at the mounting pad.
“This one had less secure concrete.”
The clerk looked offended on behalf of the concrete.
“It was installed five years ago.”
Mark did not apologize.
“It failed faster.”
Gabriel crouched near the drag marks.
“They are learning?”
Mark’s eyes narrowed.
“Or choosing easier targets.”
The customer from the sedan came over after Grant waved him forward.
“I got video,” he said.
Everyone looked at him.
He held up his phone.
“I was recording because I thought maybe nobody would believe me.”
Gabriel’s ears lifted.
“You are currently my favorite civilian.”
Mark said, “We need a copy without compression if possible.”
The customer blinked.
“I can AirDrop?”
Mark looked pained.
“We can manage.”
The video was shaky, filmed from behind the customer’s sedan through the gas pump island.
It showed the truck from the rear quarter.
No plate in the lot.
The tarp already folded near the front of the bed.
One suspect moving with a stiff right knee.
One in work pants with a reflective stripe visible when the hoodie lifted.
The driver got out after the pull.
Three men lifted the ATM with ugly coordination and practiced panic.
The camera caught sound too.
Chain scraping.
Engine revving.
Metal cracking.
One masked man yelling, “Go, go, go.”
Another saying, “Plate!”
The word snapped everyone still.
Mark rewound.
Played it again.
“Plate!”
Gabriel looked at Thane.
“That confirms it.”
Mark nodded.
“They removed it.”
The customer swallowed.
“I didn’t know what that meant.”
“It helps,” Thane said.
“It does?”
“Yes.”
The customer looked relieved.
Grant took his information.
Patel came back from the street edge.
“There is a camera on the tire shop across Charter, facing the road.”
Mark looked west.
“If it caught them after the plate was restored—”
“It might have a plate,” Gabriel said.
“Maybe.”
They got the tire shop owner on the phone. He lived fifteen minutes away and said, with the sleepy irritation of a man dragged into police work by his own security system, that he could access it remotely if someone reminded him of his password.
His wife remembered it.
The video loaded on Patel’s phone.
They all watched a grainy road view from across Charter.
At 22:16:39, the white dually blasted through the frame westbound.
Plate visible.
For five frames.
Maybe six.
Blurred by speed, angle, and low light.
Mark froze the best frame and zoomed.
A pale plate.
Dark characters.
Not enough.
He adjusted brightness.
Contrast.
Still not enough.
“Partial,” he said.
Gabriel leaned closer.
“I see a seven.”
“Possibly.”
“Or a T.”
“Possibly.”
“That is frustrating.”
“Yes.”
Thane looked at the truck body.
“Same missing cab light.”
Mark nodded.
“Same truck. Also left rear fender appears dented. More visible here.”
Patel looked at the frame.
“Can we send it for enhancement?”
“Yes,” Mark said. “But enhancement is not magic.”
Gabriel looked offended on television’s behalf.
Mark ignored him.
Crowe arrived ten minutes later, still in uniform, still grim.
She looked at the missing ATM pad.
“Again.”
Thane said, “Same crew.”
Crowe looked at Mark.
“Plate?”
“Confirmed quick removal. Possible partial on exit from off-site camera. Not readable yet.”
“Direction?”
“Westbound. Likely out of city within minutes.”
Crowe stared down Charter Road.
“They hit after the alert went out.”
Gabriel said, “Either they did not get the alert—”
“Or they do not care,” Crowe finished.
Thane looked at the torn concrete.
“They care about speed. They care about cameras enough to remove the plate. They do not care about being seen.”
Crowe nodded.
“That is worse.”
Mark stood from the camera case.
“Two ATMs in two nights. Similar locations. Edge roads. Exterior machines. Fast exits.”
Crowe looked at him.
“You think there will be another?”
Mark did not answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
Crowe turned toward the patrol units.
“Push the alert again. Every exterior ATM gets extra attention. Tell owners if they see that truck, they call from inside and do not engage. White Ford dually, missing passenger cab light, black tarp, no plate in lot, possible quick-mount plate.”
Gabriel watched officers move.
“They are going to move faster now.”
Thane looked at the empty pad.
“Yes.”
By 00:31, the case room looked like a white truck had exploded across it.
Photos from Redbud.
Photos from Prairie Star.
Map points.
Camera stills.
Truck diagrams.
Suspect notes.
Possible exit routes.
ATM service locations.
Known exterior machines.
Patrol check times.
Crowe stood at the head of the table while Mark connected his tablet to the room display.
Voss and Rusk had come back in, neither pretending they had gone home properly.
Mercer had been notified but was not yet present, which Gabriel considered merciful for everyone’s blood pressure.
Mark brought up the map.
“Redbud was northeast edge. Prairie Star west industrial edge. Both have direct access to low-traffic routes out of city limits. Both have exterior ATMs near side walls, not inside vestibules. Both have camera coverage strong enough to show the event but weak enough to miss plate details if removed.”
Rusk looked at the map.
“They are avoiding central locations.”
“Yes.”
Voss pointed to a cluster of pins.
“Remaining high-risk machines?”
“Too many,” Mark said. “But if they continue pattern, likely smaller fuel stops and mini marts near boundary roads.”
Crowe crossed her arms.
“They may quit after two.”
Gabriel looked at the board.
“They may.”
No one believed it.
Thane stood near the wall, arms folded.
His mind kept replaying the video.
Truck stops.
Chain.
Pull.
Lift.
Tarp.
Gone.
It was not complicated.
That was part of why it worked.
Rusk pointed at the suspect notes.
“Three men strong enough to load an ATM.”
Mark nodded.
“Not necessarily unusually strong. Motivated, coordinated, likely experienced moving heavy equipment or scrap. They know chains, hitches, weight, and speed.”
Gabriel looked at Thane.
“Construction?”
“Maybe.”
Mark said, “Could be construction, towing, farm, oilfield, scrap, heavy moving, or anyone who works with trailers and chain regularly.”
Rusk sighed.
“So still Oklahoma.”
“Yes.”
Voss looked at the truck still.
“Where do they take the ATMs?”
Silence.
That was the harder question.
Not to the open road forever.
Not to a house in a neighborhood.
Somewhere private enough to unload and break into the machines.
A barn.
A shop.
A storage building.
A rural lot.
An industrial yard.
Somewhere loud would not matter.
Somewhere a white dually pulling in with a tarp-covered load would not look strange.
Thane looked at the map edges.
“They need space.”
Mark nodded.
“And tools.”
Gabriel added, “And privacy.”
Rusk said, “And arrogance.”
Thane thought of Silas in the break room, sheepishly laughing about the interview room. Confidence could be a mask. Arrogance could be armor. But this crew’s arrogance felt different.
Less wounded.
More thrilled.
“They are having fun,” he said.
The room went quiet.
Voss looked at him.
“You smelled that?”
“At Prairie Star. Adrenaline. Excitement. They were scared, but not enough.”
Crowe’s jaw tightened.
“That makes them sloppy eventually.”
“Or bolder,” Mark said.
Crowe looked at him.
“Yes.”
Dispatch broke over Crowe’s radio before anyone could answer.
“Units, respond to 4608 East Choctaw Road, Night Owl Express. Caller reports white dually truck attempting to remove ATM. Three masked subjects. Chain attached.”
For one second, the room was frozen.
Then it moved.
Crowe grabbed her radio.
“All units, Night Owl Express. Use caution. Do not engage alone. Night Shift responding?”
Thane was already moving.
“Responding.”
Gabriel was at his side.
Mark had the tablet.
Rusk said, “That is east edge.”
Voss looked at the map.
“Opposite side.”
Crowe followed them into the hall.
“They are hitting while we are chasing the last one.”
Thane did not answer.
He was already running.
Night Owl Express sat near the east boundary, where Choctaw Road ran past light industrial yards, a closed nursery, a self-storage place, and a half-finished subdivision with dark streets and no houses yet.
The call came at 01:07.
They arrived at 01:14.
Too late again.
A patrol unit had beaten them by less than a minute, but the suspects were gone.
The ATM was gone.
The mounting pad looked like a broken tooth.
The clerk was crying angry tears behind the counter while a second employee stood at the door with both hands shaking.
A customer had been in the restroom when it happened and came out to find the front window full of dust, lights, and a white truck leaving with the back end sagging under weight.
Thane got out and stopped before stepping closer.
Same smell.
Same three.
But stronger this time.
Sweat heavier.
Adrenaline sharper.
One of them bleeding.
“Blood,” Thane said.
Gabriel’s head turned.
Mark froze.
“Where?”
Thane moved slowly along the outer edge of the drag marks, following the scent.
There.
Near the broken concrete, on a jagged edge of metal from the ATM housing.
A smear.
Small.
Dark.
Fresh.
Mark’s voice tightened.
“Photograph first.”
Grant, who had arrived seconds after them, took photos.
Mark collected the sample after documenting it.
Gabriel looked at the smear.
“One of them got cut.”
Thane inhaled.
“Driver? No. One of the loaders. Tobacco.”
Mark noted it.
“Tobacco suspect injured.”
Patel arrived from the south approach.
“Nothing on the road. They were gone.”
Crowe’s voice came over the radio.
“Status.”
Thane answered.
“Suspects gone. ATM removed. Same crew. Possible blood evidence recovered.”
Crowe’s response came after a beat.
“Say again.”
“Possible suspect blood at scene.”
“Secure it. Full processing.”
Mark was already doing that.
The Night Owl footage was better and worse than the others.
Better because one camera faced the approach road.
Worse because the suspects had learned.
They pulled farther from the brightest lights.
They angled the truck to block some of the view.
One suspect reached for the rear plate before the truck fully entered the lot. This time, the movement was unmistakable.
A rectangular plate came off the tailgate area.
Magnetic mount.
Or bracket.
He carried it in one hand as the truck rolled forward.
Gabriel leaned close to the screen.
“There.”
Mark nodded.
“Yes.”
The chain went on.
The truck pulled.
The ATM resisted longer than the second one.
The driver backed, jerked forward again, and the machine snapped loose. One loader stumbled as the ATM shifted. His arm hit something sharp.
That had to be the blood.
He cursed loudly enough for the camera to catch the rhythm if not the words.
The third man yelled at him.
They lifted anyway.
The injured one favored his right hand or wrist as they shoved the machine into the bed.
The tarp came over.
The truck left eastbound.
At the edge of the frame, the plate went back on.
For one beautiful, infuriating instant, the front of a neighboring business camera caught the rear of the truck under a streetlight.
Mark froze the frame.
Everyone leaned in.
It was better than Prairie Star.
Still blurred.
Still angled.
But better.
A state plate.
Maybe Oklahoma.
First character maybe H.
Or M.
Second maybe 7.
Last two maybe 4 and K.
Not enough.
Enough to haunt them.
Gabriel stared at the frame.
“I hate almost knowing.”
Mark’s voice was clipped.
“Yes.”
Thane looked at the truck.
This time, the bed sag was visible under the tarp.
Three ATMs in two nights.
They were not stopping.
Crowe arrived on scene at 01:38, hair pulled back, expression carved from irritation and focus.
She looked at the torn pad.
Then at Thane.
“Blood?”
“Collected.”
“Same crew?”
“Yes.”
“Direction?”
“Eastbound. Plate reattached after leaving lot. Partial frame.”
Mark handed her the tablet.
Crowe looked at it.
“That is almost useful.”
“Yes,” Mark said.
“Can we narrow plate possibilities?”
“With state database and vehicle type, maybe. But partial characters uncertain. If we search too broadly, we get thousands.”
Crowe handed the tablet back.
“Do it anyway. Start with white Ford dually registrations in state and surrounding counties. Missing cab light, dented fender, aftermarket hitch, if any prior stops or inspection images show it.”
Mark nodded.
“Already starting.”
Gabriel looked toward the road.
“They hit three corners.”
Thane turned.
Gabriel gestured broadly.
“Northeast. West. East.”
Mark’s eyes moved to the map.
“They are not moving randomly.”
Crowe looked at him.
“What?”
Mark opened the map layer and marked all three locations.
Redbud.
Prairie Star.
Night Owl.
Three points near boundary roads.
Different parts of town.
Not the closest targets to each other.
Not the richest ATMs necessarily.
Not clustered.
Thane saw it a second after Mark did.
“They are testing response.”
Gabriel’s ears lowered.
“Or proving they can beat it.”
Mark drew rough drive-time circles.
“Each location offers multiple outbound routes. Each hit occurs when patrol attention has shifted after the prior event. They may be staging outside city limits and selecting targets from a preplanned list.”
Crowe looked at the map.
“Can you predict the next one?”
Mark did not answer immediately.
His silence tightened everyone around him.
“Maybe not exact. But I can narrow the risk.”
Gabriel looked at the three points.
“They are making a shape.”
“Not a shape,” Mark said. “A pattern of constraints.”
Rusk would have hated that sentence.
Thane loved it.
Mark continued.
“They need exterior access, truck approach, low vehicle congestion, quick exit to non-city roads, camera positions they can defeat, and enough time between patrol passes. They are avoiding locations with bollards, narrow lots, or interior vestibules.”
Crowe pointed at him.
“Build me that list now.”
“Yes.”
The injured clerk from inside shouted something at the owner over the phone, then slammed the receiver down hard enough to make Gabriel wince.
People were tired.
Angry.
Afraid.
The thieves were not just stealing money.
They were making the city feel like it could be yanked loose in ninety seconds.
Thane walked back to the empty pad.
He crouched beside it, careful not to touch anything.
The concrete was scarred and ugly.
Three men and a truck had done this.
Just planning, speed, and the confidence that no one would arrive in time.
For now, they were right.
That sat badly.
Gabriel came up beside him.
“We will get them.”
Thane looked at the drag marks.
“Yes.”
Mark stepped out of the store with the exported video drive and the look that meant his mind was already three streets ahead.
“I have a preliminary list,” he said.
Crowe turned.
“How many?”
“Seven high-risk locations remaining in city limits. Eleven if we include immediate county edge. Of those, three match the pattern strongly.”
Gabriel looked at Thane.
“Third chapter.”
Thane looked at him.
“What?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“Nothing.”
Mark ignored that entirely.
“One is closed overnight. One has bollards recently installed. One is vulnerable.”
Crowe’s face hardened.
“Where?”
Mark brought up the map.
“Sooner Stop on County Line Road.”
Thane looked at the pin.
South edge.
Fast roads.
Exterior ATM near the side wall.
Open twenty-four hours.
Lot wide enough for a truck.
No bollards.
Multiple exits.
A white Ford dually could be gone before anyone breathing normal human air knew what happened.
Crowe keyed her radio.
“Dispatch, increase patrol attention at Sooner Stop, County Line Road. Quietly. Do not alarm staff over open radio. I want a unit nearby but not sitting in the lot.”
Thane stood.
The night had become very still inside him.
Gabriel’s humor was gone.
Mark’s eyes stayed on the map.
Crowe looked at all three of them.
“They have beaten us three times.”
Thane looked toward the dark road where the truck had vanished.
“They do not get four.”