Book of Secrets by Chris Roberson Read Free Book Online Page B

will find the Talon. I believe you will discover that the warehouse is in the possession of Matthews Industries, and that, with the knowledge that the man you will find was the face behind the Talon's hood, should be all you will need to know." 
      "Yes sir," Martenson answered. "Right away, sir."
      Taylor dropped the handset back into its cradle, and then eased back onto the couch. 
      "Miss Aldridge," he finally spoke, his eyes half lidded. "I am afraid I will have to ask another favor of you."
      "What?" Louise shot back, feigning indignation. "What could you possibly need now?" 
      "The use of your couch until morning," Taylor replied. "I'm afraid I'm not going anywhere." 
      Louise smiled, and drew a quilt over him.
      "You got it, Mr. Taylor," she answered, "but I need something from you, too."
      "And what is that?" Taylor asked, almost succumbing to sleep.
      "You still owe me a dinner on the town," she replied, "and I mean to collect."
      Taylor laughed, smiling, and then closed his eyes. Tonight, at least, justice would sleep.

The SECOND DAY

    Morning came early with a spike in my head and an unpleasant taste in my mouth. I lay sprawled on top of the bed sheets and felt myself being baked by the white hot light that knifed into the stale air through the part in the curtain. I rolled off the bed and bumped the air conditioner down a couple of notches, but it gave a sad wheeze and sputter and then stopped working entirely.
      Figuring this as good a time as any to get moving, I thumbed the television on to the morning news, and stripping off my clothes climbed into the shower. I got as wet as I could under the little trickle eking its way out of the shower head, and did my best with the doll-sized soap and shampoo provided for my convenience. Finishing, or rather just stopping a few moments later, I tried as much as possible to dry off using the little tissue-sized towels all cheap motels seem to come equipped with. I was used to the drill, never getting wet enough when in the shower, never getting dry enough once out.
      As I rubbed the little towel against my head, I caught strains from the television in the next room. The usual stuff: stock market down, the wrath of God descending on some trailer park somewhere, some politician caught in some kind of scandal. When I heard the name "J. Nathan Pierce" my ears pricked up, and I ambled into the other room.
      There was a commercial break, and then the anchor returned to pick up on the teaser he'd dropped just before.
       "And in business news, sources close to land and oil magnate J. Nathan Pierce announced today that he had closed a deal to sell his interest in Vista Incorporated…"
      The bobbing blow-dried hairdo dissolved and was replaced by a shot of an elderly giant of a man, dressed in an expensive suit and standing in the middle of what looked like a private library. There was a towering shelf of books behind him, a bronze bust of some dead white man to his right, and a large book with a silver disc on the cover in a glass case to his left. Along the bottom of the screen appeared the legend, "FILE FOOTAGE."
       "…the company which he began out of his father's garage during the depression and which made him a bil lionaire – to the multinational information giant Lucetech."
      The hairdo reappeared, and was soon followed by a computer graphic that hovered over his left shoulder. It showed a circle enclosing two intersecting sine waves, almost like a yin-yang symbol doubled and laid over itself at an angle. Below was the name "LUCETECH".
       "The details of the arrangement at this time are still unclear, and it has yet to be announced whether Pierce will step down from his position as CEO of Vista, or whether he will be kept on in an advisory capacity. And now for a look at sports…"
      I switched off the set as another, jauntier hairdo appeared, and sat down on the edge of the bed, dripping water onto the