Never Run (May Moore Suspense Thriller 1)

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Josh Evans's address was in the small town of Pitcher, a few miles southwest of the marina. As she climbed into the car and headed onto the main road, May felt choked up with anxiety that she wouldn't be in time.

She was in a race with a deadly adversary who had shown he would not hesitate to kill in brutal ways.

And, simmering in the back of her mind, providing yet another searing layer of stress, was the knowledge that this man might just be holding Lauren.

Was her sister the victim that Claire had told them about, the one who had been kept captive for years? Would she come face to face with Lauren again, and look into her wide, pale blue eyes?

Or would she be too late?

May knew she had to prepare herself for that terrible possibility.

She sped along the main road, barely taking in the last gleams of the setting sun, a fiery smear in the darkness. Her headlights cut through the gloom as she accelerated toward Pitcher.

Her hands were slippery on the wheel. She knew that she was in a race against time to find this killer, and that she hadn't a moment to spare.

The question was, how much time had he given her?

She had to assume that Josh Evans had realized that the police were after him, and would therefore be aware of the danger he was in.

May was determined to work as fast as she could. She didn't want this man to get away. But it was getting dark, and she had no idea what she was going to find when she arrived.

She couldn't stop thinking about what he might be doing at this moment. He would be feeling suspicious and unsettled, knowing that he was being hunted. How long would he allow the girls to live, once he knew that the police were after him?

She hadn't told Kerry where she was heading. She hadn't wanted to, until she had confirmed his location. The fishing permit had been a few years old, and the fear that she was not even ready to acknowledge was that he'd changed his address.

May wanted to check it out first. Then she promised herself she would be brave and make the call.

The road rose and fell through the hills, as May headed south. She passed another small town, and then took a winding side road, lined with spruce trees.

Ahead was the signboard for Pitcher. She was here.

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she reached the outskirts of the town where she saw a scenic, wood-fronted general store opposite a tiny gas station.

She turned left, following the directions on her GPS, until she reached Hill Road.

His house was number eleven. As she drove along slowly, checking the numbers, there was a sense of urgency in her mind.

She knew that this was it. This was the moment when she could end this game, where they caught this man. Here was the house. Number eleven was ahead, on the corner.

May parked across the road, and then sat in the car, breathing deeply, taking a moment to pull her thoughts together because the situation was fraught with tension and danger.

She took a deep breath and climbed out of the car. She heard a dog barking in the distance, but otherwise the neighborhood seemed to be quiet.

Approaching the house, she saw it was dark.

As she got closer, there were other warning signs that started prickling her senses.

The grass in the front yard was long and wild. The gate was hanging sideways off its hinges. The window glass was dusty

In contrast to the neat smartness of the other homes on Hill Road, this one looked to be abandoned. She pushed open the rickety gate and headed up to the front door. There, she knocked and waited.

There was no response from inside. She knocked once again and waited, but still there was nothing.

"Hello?" she called loudly.

There was no answer, and May felt cold despair wash over her. She'd followed this trail so far, but at this crucial moment, she'd run into a dead end. Her hopes were crumbling. It seemed that he'd gotten away.

How could she find him?

Think, May told herself.

She fought to subdue her panic and allow herself to clearly assess what she could do. There seemed to be only one possibility.

This was a small town. In a small town, everyone knew everyone else's business. They might not know that Josh Evans had been a killer, but May felt sure that someone would know where he had moved to, or have a phone number for him, or know who his father was, or something. Small town neighbors were nosy that way. Someone would have seen or heard something.

She turned away from this abandoned home and headed to the one next door. This one was neat and trim, and there were lights on in the windows.

She knocked on the door and waited. In a minute, the door was opened by a woman who looked to be in her sixties, with sharp blue eyes and a kindly face.

"Hello," she said, sounding surprised.

"Good evening," May said. "I'm Deputy Moore. I hoped you might be able to help me. I'm looking to trace the man who used to live next door to you. Mr. Josh Evans. Do you know if he still lives here, or if not, where he moved?"

The woman looked thoughtful.