Just as before, nothing. He wasn’t surprised. Regina ran a prostitution ring. She kept underage girls, selling them to men who liked them young. Men like me. Her staff would find her body and dispose of it, and her second-in-command would take over, likely thrilled with the promotion.

In fact, the new boss of Regina’s place would probably be very grateful. Not that Ephraim was going to chance it. He wasn’t ever going back there.

Satisfied that he’d considered every potential issue, he made himself breakfast in Granny’s kitchen, appreciating the preserves she’d stored in her pantry. He cleaned out the old woman’s pantry, storing the canned goods in the trunk of his car. Who knew when he’d get hungry on the road, and canned garden veggies were better than no food at all.

He’d also take her rifle and search her house for any items he might need. Ammo, rope to tie Mercy, duct tape to keep her quiet . . . all of the normal tools of the trade.

He would need a disguise, though, before he could come anywhere close to the Sokolovs again, especially the cop. He could wear a wig. A fake beard. Anything that would disguise his features, since the asshole knew his face. Law enforcement across the whole damn state knew his face now, thanks to that fucker with a cane.

Ephraim did one more Google search, looking for costume stores in the area.

TEN

ORANGEVALE, CALIFORNIA

SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 8:15 A.M.

The costume store’s alarm hadn’t sounded, but Ephraim was taking no chances. He kept an eye on the big picture window in front, just in case the alarm was a silent one.

He had most of what he needed. A few wigs that weren’t too cartoony, a mustache/beard set, some theatrical makeup that he had no idea how to use. He could google it later. He grabbed a bottle of spirit gum and a package of scars. He’d started for the back entrance where he’d left his car when he heard a soft click.

“Ah, fuck,” he muttered. Not again.

“Don’t move,” a woman said, her voice trembling. “I will shoot you.”

Slowly he turned to find her to be about twenty years old. Cute, if not a bit coltish. In one hand she held what looked like a .22. In the other, her cell phone. Both hands shook like leaves in a hurricane.

Behind her was an open door, probably to a storeroom. He’d checked it when he’d come in, but it had been locked.

“I said don’t move!” But she backed up a step, her terror clear on her face. “I called the police, so don’t make any sudden moves.”

She really needed to stop watching bad movies, he thought. “I don’t want to kill you,” he said quietly. And he didn’t. Especially since he hadn’t pulled the bullets out of Granny. If he shot this girl with Regina’s gun, they’d be able to connect the crimes. If he shot her with his own gun, the neighbors would hear the gunshot.