The Overseer by Conlan Brown Read Free Book Online

the window to make rude remarks and gestures. He declined the impulse and maintained his composure as a courteous motorist. Back straight. Hands on the wheel—ten o’clock and two o’clock positions. He let his eyes close for a moment.
    The Lord’s Prayer—just the way his grandmother had taught him so many years ago.
    “Our Father, who art in heaven…” The words rolled from his lips—perfectly rehearsed, flawlessly articulated. He glanced at traffic to see if it had moved, then closed his eyes again. “…hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done—on Earth as it is in heaven—”
    His car. The street. The seething city filled with noise and anger. All of it seemed to melt into the distance as he let his words take shape. “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
    The Manhattan skyline no longer existed outside the window. The city folded into itself and was gone.
    “And lead us not into temptation”—the words surrounded him like a blanket—“but deliver us from evil…”
    A rush of images. Incomprehensible.
    Devin’s eyes snapped open, staring forward.
    He waited.
    Nothing happened.
    He waited another moment, then let his eyes resume their closed position. “For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory…” He let the words settle around him for a moment. “ Forever. ”
    He opened his eyes and unclasped his hands. “Amen.”
    Devin thought for a moment, considering whatever it was that had washed over him just a few moments before. What was its purpose? Why had it happened, and how did it inform his actions? He let his mind dissect the sensations for several moments more, executing a thorough sweep of all the possibilities he could conceive.
    Nothing.
    He shook his head and began to stand—
    Images. In an onslaught. The future —
    Ski masks. Automatic rifles. Shotguns.
    Bullets breaking glass.
    Screaming and fleeing.
    Dozens wounded.
    A well-known politician dead—
    —assassination.
    Devin reached into his jacket for his phone—his mission was clear.

    John stepped off the elevator onto his floor, cell phone pressed to his ear.
    “Hello?” the other end answered.
    John moved down the hall. “Vince, it’s John. We need to talk.”
    “What happened with Hannah Rice?”
    John shifted the phone as he approached the door to his office, reading the plaque: John Temple: Overseer . He hated the sign. It seemed pretentious, but it seemed like the only way he could remember which office door was his. “Hannah was in a house fire.”
    “A house fire?”
    “She was tracking some girls who are going to be trafficked. Something went wrong. One of the people she was following spotted her or something.”
    John opened the door to his office and stared.
    Devin Bathurst—striking dark skin in a crisp suit—turned from his place at the window and looked at John.
    Vince continued on the other end of the line. “Is she OK?”
    “She’s fine. Some guy named Angelo—” He paused. “Hey,” John interrupted himself, eyes focused on Devin, “it looks like Devin needs to talk to me. Can I call you back later?”
    “If you need to, John,” Vince said firmly. “But keep me updated on Hannah.”
    John nodded. “I understand.” He said good-bye and closed his phone.
    “You didn’t need to get off the phone for me,” Devin said in his typical commanding tone, eyes unblinking as ever.
    John waved a dismissing hand as he moved to the other side of his desk and took a seat. “Boring conversation anyway. So, how did things go with the suicide?”
    Devin took a seat across from John. He cleared his throat before speaking with very deliberate words. “I dealt with it.”
    Concern tugged John to inquire, “What do you mean by you ‘dealt with it’?”
    “The man didn’t complete his suicide attempt, and he’s now at an institution where he can recover and rehabilitate.”
    John nodded. “So, how did you