“Get off my property,” Bridget said to Amarok, stabbing her pointing finger at the street. “She’s a kid. I could sue you and the whole Minneapolis PD for talking to her without my permission.”

“You go right ahead and do that,” he said.

He wasn’t worried. He now knew why Bridget had refused to cooperate: she was protecting her brother.

Anchorage—Monday, 5:30 p.m. AKDT

Lyman Bishop frowned at the laptop Emmett had left behind. Old and battered, with gym stickers all over the lid, it wasn’t much to look at, but Emmett had brought it to Alaska so that he’d be able to watch movies on Netflix while he waited for Lyman. Emmett’s life had been that simple. He couldn’t go without entertainment for three or four days.

Nothing was simple for Lyman. It never had been but especially not now. After being unable to get out of bed for the past twenty-four hours, thanks to the physical exertion of escaping from Beacon Point, he’d finally fed his two captives (for the first time today, but he didn’t think they deserved better treatment; he was very unhappy with them) and bellied up to the small breakfast bar in the staff room. He’d been so busy since he’d become a free man, taking care of one situation only to move on to the next, he hadn’t had a chance to even think about what he’d left behind in Minnesota. After tossing his landlady in with Evelyn last night, he’d dragged himself over to the couch, where he’d curled into a ball to be able to endure the pain throbbing through his legs. Every muscle was protesting. But he was feeling a bit better, and he needed to know what was going on, what might be coming up from behind.

As soon as he entered Terry’s name into Google, he learned that the police had ordered an autopsy on Terry’s body and determined his death wasn’t a suicide. That was unfortunate. He’d been hoping for a bit of luck, but he’d never been one to catch a break. And the more he dug, the worse the picture became. The authorities also knew he’d escaped from Beacon Point and were looking for him.

He shook his head. Now everything was messed up.

Lyman wished he had the energy to pace. There was so much anger pouring through him. He needed an outlet. But he wasn’t about to stand up. He hadn’t bounced back completely, was still having trouble controlling his left side. A second ago, he’d caught himself drooling like a baby—and groaned to think how he’d feel if Evelyn ever witnessed that. As if he didn’t have enough going against him with the loss of his hair. He didn’t want to look totally unappealing to her. He knew he’d enjoy having sex with her much more if he could verify she found him at least slightly attractive. Not to mention, at some point he’d need others to believe she was with him voluntarily.