It symbolized their bond, she had told him.

 

She was his mentor. He was her prized pupil. Together, they could accomplish

great things. Books would be written about them. They were, together, the tip of

the spear in a brave new world.

 

And I bought every fucking line of the poison she spewed.

 

He had come from nothing, having traveled over an ocean as a stowaway in a cargo

ship to get there. He had no friends, no contacts, and no prospects. No support.

 

And then he felt his luck had changed when he’d answered an ad for a job and run

smack into Jericho.

 

He didn’t know he was to become a guinea pig as a way to achieve her vision for

what the world in the future should look like.

 

He put the ring back on, dried off, changed into the only clean clothes he had,

sat down on the bed, and gazed at the still sleeping Suzanne Davis.

 

It really all came down to Building Q. Jericho was there. She had to be there.

He had tried the mansion in North Carolina. He had killed—or at least thought he

had killed—Chris Ballard.