Molly traced her finger across the map of the park, stopping at a cluster of oak trees. It was perfect. They could stash their gear, a modified stroller with hidden compartments, disguised as napping twins. She glanced at Bill, who was meticulously polishing a set of lock picks shaped like colorful crayons. "Think you can crack those bike locks?" she mumbled, her eyes still on the map. Bill snorted, holding up a lock pick with a flourish. "Please, Molly. I could pick a lock on a rocking horse blindfolded."