There had to be ways into Canada that avoided border control. He’d figure that out once he got away. He could even use his real name. No one was looking for Cade Kaiser, only Scott King.

With a grunt of discomfort, Cade settled behind the wheel of his car, hoping all the people in Dani Novak’s house would just leave.

And if they never did?

He scowled to himself. He’d still have to force Michael out into the open, so his plan to set the house on fire was still the best option. But with so many people pouring out of the house, it might be harder to get Michael in his sights without shooting anyone near him. More people than just Michael would die.

He wasn’t going to worry about that. If they’d fucking leave, they’d all be fine. It’s their own fault they’re in danger. Plus, taking out a few more people would cause enough of a distraction that he could get away without being noticed. And if Deacon Novak was one of the casualties, all the better.

Novak was investigating him. The man was a living legend in this town. If Cade could take him out of the equation . . . Yeah, the cops would redouble the efforts to find him—or Scott King, anyway. But Special Agent Novak’s death would throw them into disarray for just enough time for him to get over the border.

It was something to consider. But first, he had to start the fire. He thought about the Molotov cocktails in the box on the passenger-side floorboard. He’d need to get close enough to the house to break the window and throw them in. Easier if the house was quiet and dark.

He idly wondered if Amazon delivered flamethrowers, then snorted to himself.

I really need to sleep. Maybe that would be best. Maybe he’d think more clearly after a few hours’ rest. And maybe in that time they’ll move Michael to a real safe house and I won’t be able to find him.

No, he needed to stay awake, alert, and wait for the “platoon” inside to go the fuck home. Then, as if in answer to his command, the door opened.

Cade sat up straighter. Were the assholes finally leaving? He didn’t expect everyone to go, just enough people that he’d be able to slip in and out unseen.

But . . . no. Fucking hell. He slumped, cursing his frustration. It was the other teenager, the one who’d been walking the dogs. He was accompanied by the same two men as before, each of them taking a couple of leashes, but this time they walked in a tight formation, as if they expected to see something.

Or someone. Fuck.