He wouldn’t use Maddox’s own car to transport him, because Maddox always drove home in a truck from Spokane PD. That meant there would be GPS tracking, and he would be far easier to find. Hamilton would have to use his own car—not ideal, but he was confident he would be far away from Spokane before the FBI figured anything out.

Then he’d lie low for a long, long time.

But only after you take care of the intruders first. They don’t deserve the house. No one deserves Mom’s house.

No, he would wait awhile before returning to his family’s Liberty Lake house. He could disappear a long time—he had the skills, the patience. Hide close by, like in Coeur d’Alene. Wait for everything to die down. Quit his job—he had enough money to live on for a year, or more. His three shell companies, where he’d put half of every paycheck; his savings account, which he had wisely invested.

He was smart, frugal, patient.

And he could adapt to anything they threw at him. Brian Maddox would not survive the next twenty-four hours.

The first sign that Glen had to change his original plan was when Maddox came home with a female cop. He was quite a distance away, so he couldn’t make out her features. The air had turned icy and she had a hat and scarf on. Snow would be coming, sooner rather than later.

But the setup was still the same. The best place to grab Brian Maddox was still on the other side of the garage, where he parked his truck. As he’d done every morning when he went to work, Maddox would first go out to the vehicle and turn it on to let it warm up five to ten minutes, then go back inside to get his coffee, before he came back out to leave.

Every. Single. Morning.

When Maddox didn’t work, he would go through a similar ritual. On Sundays he and his wife and kids went to church, then out to breakfast at a diner in Liberty Lake that had been around since long before Glen was born. Everyone went there. Glen had only gone once since he’d been back in town because he didn’t want to stand out. The food was good, but not as good as his mother’s cooking.

Maddox worked half days on Sundays and was off Saturdays. Mondays through Thursdays he worked the early shift. On Fridays he started his day a little later. He’d take his youngest son to school, then run errands.

His wife worked from a home office in the garage, and had a couple people who helped her. They would come after Maddox was gone and the kids were off to school, sometime between nine and ten. Not really on a tight schedule. One woman worked until two-thirty because she had kids to pick up from school—he knew, because he followed her once. The other was a guy who left between four and five. He was not much older than Maddox’s oldest son. He wore his hair long and took a lot of smoke breaks.