Headhunters Read Online Free PDF

in a way. I’d
been stuck in a rut. Bound for self-destruction without ever setting out to do
it. I needed something fresh. I tried to say something, managed a nod.
    “Th-thank you, Randall…”
    “Come on, son. Let’s get you home.”
    In my fog, I’d only started to put together that Randall had
not come alone. Two agents stood behind him. I staggered forward, leaning on
Kendrick for support. As we passed the agents, I caught a glimpse of them in
the flashlight glow. They were the same two that had followed me that day after
the funeral. I cursed to myself and hung my head low. It wasn’t an act. I was
beaten. Done. I was no threat to them or to anyone. I only wanted to protect my
kids. To get out of this life. To find something new. I had been so certain in
that moment that I was free.
    Randall led me back to my car and helped me into the seat. I
handed him the keys and he drove. My head lolled back, then over to rest on the
cool window. I opened my eyes and could see in the side mirror that the agents’
car was following behind us. He drove me back to my doorstep and helped me get
in the house.
    “Good night, Simon,” he said and then was gone. I kicked off
my shoes at the door, not realizing then they were covered in mud. I walked
through the house and sloughed off my coat in the hallway, just letting it fall
in a pile. I continued on to my bedroom, closed the door and collapsed into
bed. I fell hard into a dreamless sleep and didn’t wake until after 10 a.m. the
next morning.
     
    ***
     
    I joined the kids for breakfast.
Alaina had been keeping them busy, playing outside. I made a pot of coffee and
watched them through the window. They would swing and chase each other and
every so often, converge on Alaina to hug her. I checked the wall clock and
realized that it was a little after 9 a.m. in Chicago.
    It took me a moment to find my coat, but Alaina had hung it
up. I’d have to thank her later. I dug the business card out of my coat
pocket.  It was thick and tastefully done with a thin gold line along the border.
I read the inscription:
     
    Max
Donovan
    Donovan
& Associates
     
     
    Below the name was a phone number. I
grabbed the kitchen phone and dialed. A moment later, a voice came on.
    “Donovan & Associates.” It was a woman, young but
businesslike.
    “Good morning. This is Simon Parks…” I began.
    “Yes, Mr. Parks. Mr. Donovan is expecting your call. I’ll
put you right through.” Classical music came on the line while I was put on
hold. I looked down at myself and closed my bathrobe. I rubbed the stubble on
my chin and hoped that I was ready for this.
    “Simon Parks, how are you?” the voice on the other end of
the line was a booming baritone, as if I was a prodigal son returning home.
    “Good,” I lied. “How are you?”
    “Fantastic! Randall told me all about you,” he said. Then
his voice softened, “I’m truly sorry about your wife. Sorry for your loss.”
    It always made it worse when people felt the need to tell
you they were sad for you. I understood the human condition. I knew that people
often are compassionate toward one another. I just hated hearing their
sympathies. More so, I hated myself for rejecting the kindness they were
extending.
    “Thank you, sir,” I managed.
    “So, I hear you’re looking to make a change?” The question
wasn’t flippant. It was intended to be a door of opportunity being opened. I
should know. I’d been the one on the other side of the recruiting call many
times.
    “I am. Seems to be the right thing to do. For the kids,” I
added. Liar. It was for the kids, but it was for me as well. I saw Claire’s
face everywhere I went. In every corner of the house, her touch was there.
    “Simon, Randall and I talked a bit about you. He took the
liberty of forwarding your information to my office. Now, obviously, I’m
keeping that in the strictest confidence. I trust that that’s okay with you?”
    Once I’d broken ties with Randall Kendrick, he