Jake tugged on the screen door. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Thorburn. May I speak with you a moment?”

“What about?” the woman asked, folding her arms and leaning against the door frame. She wasn’t going to invite him in this time, that much was evident.

Jake glanced past the woman, hoping to see Annie inside. She wasn’t, of course, and as he stood one step down from the doorway, he was still two inches taller than the woman. Jake looked down into her eyes and studied her face. “I’m looking for my wife. Did she drop in to see you today?”

Mrs. Thorburn nodded. “She was here a couple of hours ago.”

Her eyes told him she was telling the truth. “Have you seen Adam today?” he asked bluntly.

She hesitated, fumbling for an answer, then, “No, I haven’t seen him. I don’t believe he’s around here anymore.”

Jake saw the lie in her eyes. Lisa Krunk had been correct. “Where is he, Mrs. Thorburn?”

“I … I don’t know.” She frowned deeply. “I told you I haven’t seen him.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “If you do, tell him I’m looking for Annie and I’m coming for him.”

Her eyes told him everything he needed to know except where his wife was. This time a hint of fear showed on her face, then anger. “I haven’t seem Adam and I don’t know where your wife is.”

“Mrs. Thorburn,” Jake said, “you can get into a lot of trouble for harboring a fugitive.” Jake motioned toward the kitchen. “Is he here now?”

“No, he’s not here?”

“Is my wife here?”

She took a deep breath and let it out in a long-suffering sigh. “Your wife’s not here.” She stepped back and reached for the doorknob.

Jake held the door from closing. “Don’t forget,” he said. “Make sure you tell him I’m coming for him and he’d better be careful.” He moved his hand from the door and it slammed in his face.

He stepped down off the porch, allowing the screen door to swing closed, then made his way back to the Firebird. He got inside, tried Annie’s cell in vain, and then started the car.

He could be fairly certain neither Annie nor Adam was in the Thorburn house. The cops at the road, or the ones in the garage, would’ve seen him for sure, and Adam wasn’t that careless.

There was no doubt Virginia Thorburn was lying to him about something. The only reason she would lie is because she was protecting her son. Jake believed she knew exactly where he was hiding out. And if Annie was in the clutches of the madman and Mrs. Thorburn knew about it, she would be in a whole lot of trouble if anything happened to his wife.

If his message to Adam alarmed her, then she would be sure to contact her son. Jake knew Adam didn’t have a phone—at least not one in his own name. But whether in person or by phone, Jake couldn’t be sure, but one way or another, she would deliver his message.

And he would wait until she did.

Chapter 41

Thursday, 1:06 p.m.

ADAM THORBURN let the steaming water cascade over his head and run down his body. It seemed like a long time since he had taken a shower, and the hot water felt relaxing as it washed away his stress. He would have to be careful not to use too much for fear of getting caught. That is, if he stayed here. Right now, he was uncertain what he was going to do. All his plans seemed to get thoroughly messed up.

He shut off the shower and stood still a moment, his eyes closed, taking deep breaths to further calm his anxiety, then stepped from the shower and picked up a cloth he had found in the kitchen. It looked fairly clean, and he used it to dry off before hanging it carefully on the curtain rod to dry out.

His clothes were stained, but clean enough until he could get some fresh ones or get the current ones washed. Maybe he would scrub them in the tub before he went to bed and let them dry overnight. His socks especially. They were kind of grimy, and he hated pulling them on again after his shower.

After getting dressed, he picked up the pistol from the vanity, looked at it, and sighed. He hated the thing, but for now at least, it was a necessary evil. He tucked it behind his belt and pulled his shirt over top.

He went out to the living room, lay on the couch, and curled up under the blanket. But the peace he had found in the shower was short-lived. All his miseries came rushing back—Annie in the basement, his unknown future, and the people he had murdered in cold blood.

His anxiety grew by the second, and he shook with fear, anger, and emotional turmoil. He stood and paced the floor but couldn’t contain his anguish. It was overpowering him again and he was terrified the voices would return.

Dashing to the bathroom, he found his medication in the cabinet where he had been careful to store it. He popped two pills, one of each, and helped them down with cold water from the tap. He looked at the half-full bottles. He was depending on them more and more, and what little good they did was only temporary.

He put the pills in the cabinet, went back to the living room, and lay down again. He realized now, he would be caught eventually. There didn’t seem to be any doubt about that. His life had been ruined by others. Since he was young, he’d been taunted, tortured, and teased beyond what anyone should have to endure.

“You must get rid of Annie, Adam. You must kill her now.”

“No, Adam. It’s not her fault.”

“Kill her, Adam. Use the pistol. She’s putting you in danger.”

“No, Adam. No. She’s the only one who cares what happens to you.”

“Kill her, Adam. Shoot her, then run as far away as you can. Trust me, Adam.”

Adam rolled off the couch, stumbled to his feet, and threw his head back. “Leave me alone,” he howled, covering his ears. “Leave me alone.”

The voices subsided but his anger remained. His life was a living hell and no one understood. No one knew the agony he went through each day to survive. No one knew the torment inflicted on him every waking moment.

He paced the floor, enraged, his hatred increasing. Then he stopped abruptly, an idea growing in his mind. He smiled grimly and pulled out the pistol. He hadn’t fired it yet but figured it couldn’t be too hard to get the hang of it. He found the safety, made sure it was on, then popped out the cartridge. There were more than enough bullets for his purpose. He worked the cartridge back in and eased the weapon in behind his belt.

He strode to the kitchen, found the cap his mother had brought him, and pulled it low over his eyes. After making sure no one was on the sidewalk, he crept out the door.

He would have to be extra attentive. With all the police in the area, and Jake Lincoln nosing around, people would be on their guard, watching for him.

He kept the hat low and turned his head when he passed a house—someone might happen to be looking out the window at the wrong time. He crossed the street to avoid a pedestrian, ducked behind trees when necessary, and gradually worked his way toward his destination, four long blocks away.

Richdale Plaza was in the heart of this working-class community, a strip of stores that served the surrounding neighborhood. He’d had a short-lived job in one of the stores awhile back, delivering pizza on a broken-down bicycle to cheapskates who had no idea what a tip was. The rat-infested establishment was called Richdale Pizza, and that’s exactly where he was headed now.

He slipped around the end of the building, made his way toward the service alleyway at the rear of the units, went halfway down the alley, and stopped in front of a hand-painted wooden door. A sign on the door read, “Richdale Pizza. Employees Only.”

He’d been in and out of that door too many times on his delivery treks, and he knew it was the door the delivery boys used when coming and going.