CHAPTER SEVEN
Marcus Clement refused to admit he snored. But just in case, he'd attached one of his night-bag breathe-right strips before drifting off, and now, a few hours of poor sleep later, he blinked blearily in the front seat of their borrowed vehicle.
As his vision adjusted, he peered out at the small gas station they'd parked in front of. No other vehicles in the lot just yet. But that didn't mean their overnight stake-out would be for nothing.
Still, it had left him with a crick in his neck. He massaged at the top of his spine, groaning as he did, but trying to keep the sounds to a minimum. At least in New Jersey, when the two partners had been forced to sleep in a car together, they'd had working vents. The chill, open-space Nevada night had been uncomfortable to say the least
