BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

privateinvestigators tended to be a thorn in one's side, particularly when one had themayor in one's pocket and a police force that didn't step out of line. Knewwhen to look the other way. Private eyes worked for themselves, sometimes fortheir clients. They had a bad habit of bucking the system, asking too manyquestions, poking the darkness to see what scuttled out. No respect at all. Thedarkness was better left alone. It thrived on inattention.

Now with the Link, anyone could play detective. All informationwas instantly accessible. Lennox had assumed PI's were a lost breed, extinct;someone like this Harold Muldoon should have died out with the rest.

Obviously not.This particular PI was alive and well, back in actionwith a vengeance, by all appearances. Shooting automatons and abducting monks.Dangerous? Perhaps. What did it mean? What had he wanted with Yeng Zhu? Whatconnection did he have with Cyrus Horton's son?

Something had brought them all to The Pearl's very door. Somebizarre twist of fate? Hardly.

Lennox had played the main part, luring Horton to The Pearl in thefirst place. A lot of good that had done. The geezer was confused by his ownshadow. Such a disappointment, to have fallen so far from genius. Served himright to end up in pieces.

Had Lennox suffered some kind of lapse, reverting to his gangsterways as Ashland said? He'd been so careful lately, worked so hard to keep hisnew image untarnished. But none of that mattered now. Kuan Ti and the boy weresomewhere this Muldoon fellow would never find them. Trapped in another world.Far beyond his reach, or anyone else's.

Have fun chasing your tail, detective. He never should have comeout of retirement. All that Muldoon had to look forward to now was a crampedprison cell. I'll have to make sure he shares a block with a dozen of themen he helped put away.

The PI would be put in his place, and in the process, he wouldlearn a valuable lesson: no one messed with Gavin Lennox. Not anyone inNewCity, anyway. And once he had the BackTracker in his possession, no one onthe planet would ever be able to threaten his destiny again. He would becomeinvincible.

For whoever controlled the past owned the future.

Yet he remembered all too clearly that sickening sense of dreadthat came upon him earlier. After Ashland arrived and he'd swept her off to thebedroom without a word spoken between them. After the cardiovascular workoutthey'd shared beneath the mirrored glass, their bare flesh writhing in ecstasyacross white silk and satin. After she had drifted off to sleep beside him. Thequestion had crept through his mind like a cold whisper. He'd staredup at his reflection and thought for the first time, What if I never findit? What if I never break free of this fixed point in time?

As a rule, Lennox did not allow such doubts to surface. He was anuncommonly lucky man, and as a result, he was accustomed to things going hisway. Life was a game for him to win, and he knew how to manipulate the resultsso they would always be in his favor. Because he knew how to manipulate people.

Human beings were simple machines; they could be programmed, muchlike SYNs. Say the right things, present the correct triggers, and you couldmake just about anyone do whatever you wanted them to do. The best part? Theywould think it was their own idea, all along.

But this time, things were different. He had two worlds toconsider, and two versions of himself to play the role of master manipulator.Not a problem in any other situation, except now he had the distinct impressionthat unforeseen forces were conspiring against him. That albino outside ThePit. The monks kidnapping Horton's son. This Muldoon fellow at The Pearl. Allsomehow related, across two different realities. As if the BackTracker didn'twant to be found in either world.

The closer Lennox came to possessing it, would he face even moreresistance? Was that what he had to look forward to? He almost laughed at thethought. What was this? Superstition? Cold feet? He wished he knew.

He turned away from the wall of glass and returned to the bedroom.He stopped at the doorway, his gaze resting on Ashland's sleeping curvesbeneath the sheet.

"Lights off," he murmured. The room plunged into darkness.

He stepped into an empty room down the hall. In this reality, itwas a study with a case of antique books, hardbound with real paper and glue,worth a small fortune. He retrieved the silver lighter from the hidden room'ssafe and righted the good Dr. Jekyll.

Time to visit his captive audience and pick their brains a bit.See what fell out. After the Q&A, depending on how much they frustratedhim, he would figure out what to do with them. Maybe he'd play the part of Mr.Hyde and trample themunderfoot. The old gangster shtick could be amusingat times. For him.

He flipped the cap off the lighter and stared into the flame.

Moments later, Lennox stood in the armory, in the identicalpenthouse above The Pit. There beside him in the dark sat racks of rifles andhandguns and the locked carousel of one-of-a-kind prototype weapons he'd boughtoff those double-dealers at Alpha Geminorum. Also present: the attire Sir Gavin wasknown for in this reality. Trench coat and boots, chain mail tunic, andsteel-studded leather pants.

After shaking out his hair and making himself presentable, he tookdown a sawed-off shotgun and scooped out a handful of shells from theammunition case, dumping them into the pocket of his coat. He jammed a revolverinto the back of his pants. More ammo clinked into another pocket. Then hestrode out of the armory, shotgun down at his side, coat flailing behind him,left arm swinging easily, fingers flexing. His boots thudded across the carpet.

Armed for bear—was that the saying? Thenext unforeseen forces to interfere with his quest would be greeted withextreme prejudice. I almost feel sorry for them.

He entered the common area and halted. It should have been nosurprise. Of course the boy and the monk were not alone. That would have beentoo easy.

Three Blackshirts lay on the floor, incapacitated but breathing.Not shot; they had been beaten to the ground. Unclear