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balance by learning to moderate his obsessive behavior. He’d emerge drug-free, slave to nothing. The experience may even impress upon his son some of the privileges that come with positions of power. But Edward must act now, tonight, before James leaves Britain. He must use his resources to prevent his remaining son from harming himself, the family name, or God forbid, succumb to addiction, and sever Edward’s only real connection to his beautiful Anna.
    Creaks and pops of his bones echo in the quiet garden as he stands. Death does not accompany him as he walks back inside. It stays out in the damp night, filling the air with plumes of steamy laughter, and gives him a sly wink just before he enters the portrait-lined hall.
    Edward returns to the study, sits down in front of the laptop and pulls up Home Secretary Rt. Hon. Douglas Perkins profile. Five hundred thousand dollars in donations to his Reform Referendum should be more than enough to call in one small favor.
     
     
     

BOOK ONE
    Entropy
    Chapter One
     
    Martin Risner stares out the living room picture window and watches the towering redwoods sway against the deepening indigo sky. He counts seconds between the lightning flash and the sound of the thunder. Storm’s still off a ways. But it’s coming, and a smile creeps across his face. Martin loves storms—the power, the drama, the rain. Had John shared his enthusiasm, they’d be enjoying the storm together right now.
    Christ, they’re so old and boring.
    He looks through the telescope—John’s housewarming gift to the both of them years ago, and spies lightning cells dancing along the southern ridge. He watches, astounded by the beauty, and saddened by another shared moment missed.
    Front gate buzzer sounds.
    Can’t be anyone for John’s clinic. Everyone in the area knows to use John Muir Hospital in Auburn if there’s an emergency after five. Has to be some idiots looking for wine tasting who didn’t bother to read the sign on the stone wall that says ‘Private Residence.’ Martin can’t see who it is. Gate camera is still out. John promised to fix it about a hundred times already. Promises. Promises.
    He ignores the first three rings, but by the fourth he goes down the hall and presses the button. “What is it?”
    “Martin, is that you? It’s James Whren. Could you open the gate?”
    His heart practically skips a beat. No. Couldn’t be. The voice, and British accent sounds familiar, but strange, more East End than cultivated. Besides, James hadn’t used his father’s last name since he left England.
    “Who is this?”
    “Martin, it’s James—Logan. Will you please open the gate?”
    “James?” He can’t believe it. “Is that really you?”
    “Yes! Open the gate, Martin.”
    He presses the gate release. It has to be some sort of joke. James has never just shown up. But Martin isn’t too concerned with letting whoever it is in. Cameras at the front of the house still work. Can see who it was without ever having to open the front door. Would be wild if it was James. My beautiful James. Last time Martin saw him was at Ian’s funeral, over a year ago now. Was some weird rumor going around about him after that. What was it?
    He turns on the floodlights and lights up the front of the house like daylight. He’d heard James was on a DreamWorks project at Apple in London. No . It was something else. Something stupid and he’d dismissed it. Oh well. He’ll think of it later.
    Martin stands in the foyer and watches a white SUV come on to the security monitor. Windows are up and reflective so he can’t see who’s inside. He waits for the car to stop when it comes to the center circle, but it doesn’t. It keeps going, very slowly, and sideswipes the fountain. Martin stares at the screen in shock. Car finally jerks to a stop. Then the horn starts blaring.
    He can’t believe it. And right then it hits him he’s not watching TV. Martin runs from the house and out to the car,  hesitating