Molly adjusted her binoculars, the plastic lenses fogging up from the sheer humidity of the stakeout. Crouched behind a rhododendron bush that offered absolutely zero tactical cover, she questioned every life choice that had led her to this moment. Beside her, Bill was dressed in a camouflage ghillie suit made entirely of old Christmas tinsel, which unfortunately made him look less like a commando and more like a festive disco ball having a nervous breakdown. Through the foliage, the enemy compound was visible: a bouncy castle guarded by a teenager in a mouse costume. The objective sat on a picnic table near the gazebo, a pile of brightly wrapped booty waiting to be liberated. It was a high-risk job. The perimeter was lined with parents sipping Chardonnay, and the noise level was sufficient to mask a jackhammer, let alone two career criminals shuffling through the undergrowth. Bill pointed a tinsel-covered finger toward the loot pile. "The perimeter is breached," Bill whispered, watching a toddler fall off the bouncy castle. Molly adjusted her grip on the loot sack. "Focus on the payload. We need the bike." She checked her watch. They had a three-minute window between the magic show and the sugar rush. If they timed it wrong, they’d be facing forty screaming toddlers and a magician who wasn't afraid to use his wand as a weapon.