every move and thought. So far, he was winning—well, surviving—thanks to high, nightly doses of drugs designed to dull his consciousness and knock him out. But it was catching up and he was slowing down; soon it would overtake him. But for now, he poured all spare energy into solving this elusive case.
Needing to bide time until the lab processed the photos, he yawned again. He turned to his computer, shoved the cluttered papers on his desk to one side, and pulled up the case files once more. But he hadn’t finished the initial page of the report before his fatigue took over yet again. His head drooped to the desk and he nodded off, falling into dreams of chasing a shadow that could never be caught.
***
As Will regained consciousness, he became aware of moonlight streaming through the overhanging leaves of the tree under which he dozed. It was dark outside! He’d slept too long!
He stumbled to his feet, pulled his jacket tight, and started moving again, this time with a limp. He was acutely aware of the sharp throbbing in his leg, a corollary of the gash above his right knee. The bleeding had stopped, but the pain was as fresh as ever. A small laceration was also open above his right eyebrow—he hadn’t noticed that earlier—and a small trickle of blood had dried on his face.
Moving as fast as possible, Will lumbered in the direction of town. He was short on time and backup was probably out looking for him already. Normally, he wouldn’t think to head in the direction of those predators, but time was limited and he couldn’t see an alternative.
As he worked toward Greenlake, Will’s mind raced. The leg wound was his first concern. Unable to move with any speed, he’d never be capable of outrunning a pursuit. But a house in town contained a trusted friend who could patch his leg. The bigger issue was why he ran in the first place: the people hunting him. Will recognized he was up against immense resources and firepower.
Yet, he knew from his collegiate days of hitting the hardwood the dangers of underestimating the power of the mind. He hadn’t earned his playing time based on any innate skill or athleticism. A skinny, un-athletic, white kid would never have seen the court that way. No, his greatest strength was his brain. By understanding his opponent’s thoughts and predicting their next move, he remained one step ahead.
But these men were more complicated than your average ball player. Normal tactics weren’t the best course of action. He’d seen their work before. Two years ago, his previous partner fell into the trap of trusting traditional tactics and learned the consequences the hard way. Caught trying to run for it, he sought to explain himself, but all that earned him was a single bullet in the temple and a brief obituary in the local paper claiming Zachary David Cohen, a 29-year-old businessman, was a victim of accidental suicide.
Attempting to devise an explanation, however legitimate, was no longer an option if he hoped to avoid the same end result as Zach.
He needed an alternative.
Chapter 6
One of the earliest memories Will Ricketts recalled of his father was from when he was seven or eight. He’d tagged along to work one day in the big shiny office building downtown, all the way to the top floor. William Ricketts, Sr. stood at the pinnacle of his career, a testament to hard work, drive, and a little luck. He was the sole owner of one of the biggest investment banking firms in the country.
William Ricketts, Sr. had always been proud to have a son to take over the family business and hoping to spur an early interest in banking, he often took Will to work with him when school was out. Not allowed to sit in on meetings with private clients, Will kept himself busy by talking to Cindy, the nice receptionist, and playing on the floor of their office.
This particular day, he’d brought a few books to read, but soon became bored and began to look for a different activity. He
Needing to bide time until the lab processed the photos, he yawned again. He turned to his computer, shoved the cluttered papers on his desk to one side, and pulled up the case files once more. But he hadn’t finished the initial page of the report before his fatigue took over yet again. His head drooped to the desk and he nodded off, falling into dreams of chasing a shadow that could never be caught.
***
As Will regained consciousness, he became aware of moonlight streaming through the overhanging leaves of the tree under which he dozed. It was dark outside! He’d slept too long!
He stumbled to his feet, pulled his jacket tight, and started moving again, this time with a limp. He was acutely aware of the sharp throbbing in his leg, a corollary of the gash above his right knee. The bleeding had stopped, but the pain was as fresh as ever. A small laceration was also open above his right eyebrow—he hadn’t noticed that earlier—and a small trickle of blood had dried on his face.
Moving as fast as possible, Will lumbered in the direction of town. He was short on time and backup was probably out looking for him already. Normally, he wouldn’t think to head in the direction of those predators, but time was limited and he couldn’t see an alternative.
As he worked toward Greenlake, Will’s mind raced. The leg wound was his first concern. Unable to move with any speed, he’d never be capable of outrunning a pursuit. But a house in town contained a trusted friend who could patch his leg. The bigger issue was why he ran in the first place: the people hunting him. Will recognized he was up against immense resources and firepower.
Yet, he knew from his collegiate days of hitting the hardwood the dangers of underestimating the power of the mind. He hadn’t earned his playing time based on any innate skill or athleticism. A skinny, un-athletic, white kid would never have seen the court that way. No, his greatest strength was his brain. By understanding his opponent’s thoughts and predicting their next move, he remained one step ahead.
But these men were more complicated than your average ball player. Normal tactics weren’t the best course of action. He’d seen their work before. Two years ago, his previous partner fell into the trap of trusting traditional tactics and learned the consequences the hard way. Caught trying to run for it, he sought to explain himself, but all that earned him was a single bullet in the temple and a brief obituary in the local paper claiming Zachary David Cohen, a 29-year-old businessman, was a victim of accidental suicide.
Attempting to devise an explanation, however legitimate, was no longer an option if he hoped to avoid the same end result as Zach.
He needed an alternative.
Chapter 6
One of the earliest memories Will Ricketts recalled of his father was from when he was seven or eight. He’d tagged along to work one day in the big shiny office building downtown, all the way to the top floor. William Ricketts, Sr. stood at the pinnacle of his career, a testament to hard work, drive, and a little luck. He was the sole owner of one of the biggest investment banking firms in the country.
William Ricketts, Sr. had always been proud to have a son to take over the family business and hoping to spur an early interest in banking, he often took Will to work with him when school was out. Not allowed to sit in on meetings with private clients, Will kept himself busy by talking to Cindy, the nice receptionist, and playing on the floor of their office.
This particular day, he’d brought a few books to read, but soon became bored and began to look for a different activity. He
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