Chapter 1

• Prologue
• When you first entered, it was like stepping into a dimmed room. You never quite knew what to expect. He should not be in here, Ian knew this, but with what the guy was thinking he was obligated to poke around a little bit more, wasn’t he? Someone’s life was in danger here; he had to do this even when he knew the risks.
• You can’t go too far in. He held that thought as he went just a little deeper inside the mind where he was trespassing. Well, it was trespassing; there was no other way to describe what he could do. He could listen in without even trying or wander right in and poke around. This time he needed more information to save someone’s life, not just someone, but a cop. Ian was the last person to be a hero, in his line of work he preferred staying in the shadows and out of the spotlight, but this time his conscience wasn’t going to let him just know and not act.
• Wow, was the next thought as he focused on the state of this mind. It was a mishmash of incomplete. Usually, there was some sort of consistency to the human mind; the more intelligent the subject the more uniform it was throughout—this one was a whole drawer full of mismatched socks.
• Focus Ian. In, get what you need and out like last year’s trends. All he had to do was find some images or memories that would lead him to the identity of the inebriated brain he invaded. As weak as this mind was the chances of being pulled in and trapped seemed highly unlikely, but that didn’t mean he was foolish enough to go behind one of the doors. Ian thought of the areas of the brain as sections with doors. There weren’t any real doors but there were thresholds, one you couldn’t see, he only sensed them and he’d learned early on in his life that crossing the wrong one was a remarkably good way to remain trapped inside the other head indefinitely.
• Cautiously, he turned his attention to the surrounding thresholds, they were weak, but he wasn’t taking any chances and headed to the dullest-hued one first. Yes, he saw them in colors, mostly. Staying just outside it, he sought what was on the other side. Woe, a lot of dark in this person, not much of an IQ but a whole lot of death and pain in this soul’s world. The images held there were blurred, which wasn’t surprising as drunk as this fool was. On the good side of things, with the memories that he could make out, it was probably good they were blurry as they were pretty grim and bordering on gore.
• Onto the next threshold, he still wasn’t able to see much more that would help point him toward an anonymous tip to leak to the police. Doesn’t this man have a home or favorite place? There had to be something here to help.
• Ian continued until his watch vibrated on his wrist, signaling he’d been inside this other person’s cranium for the maximum fifteen minutes he could afford before he started to droop on the outside world. Feeling frustrated and annoyed, he left the mind and came back to his own reality.
• Glancing around the bar, he checked to see if anyone noticed he’d been staring off into space for the last quarter of an hour. Grinning, he shook his head, no one in this joint would even notice. Why do you like to come to dives that are filled with lowlifes again? Oh right, because this is where the best thoughts are pilfered from brains. A guy has to practice and stay on top of his game, doesn’t he?
• Lifting the near-empty glass to his lips, he downed the rest of the contents and looked around the room. There were too many sketchy-looking males to pinpoint who had thought it. Great. So was he supposed to watch the papers and see which cop bought a shortened life by doing their job? Ian wasn’t exactly a choir boy, but in his line of work, no one was hurt—physically. He knew he should just forget about it and go on home, but there was something nagging Ian that made him want to do something about it this time. Oh, yeah, that would be those morals you pretend aren’t there.
• Signaling to the pretty little waitress for a refill, he leaned back and tried to remember why he should forget all about what he’d overheard. It wasn’t that long ago he’d been found out, more or less, and had to relocate and change his name in the business world. Not that he’d ever used his real name for his work. That would lead to a short existence and Ian was fond of breathing.
• A deal hadn’t gone sour in the last few years though, not since he’d become more selective in the jobs he accepted. Although if he closed his eyes, he could still see the reddened face of the COE an inch from his own as he ended the first chapter of Ian’s profitable life. “You’ll never work in this city again. I’ll see to it. People that pry into other’s personal business end up living in a box in this world.”
• Ian had never clarified whether he was referring to a cardboard box in an alley or a wooden one buried six feet in the earth. He’d only gone with instinct and been packed and driving before an hour had passed.
• Pry into other’s personal business? That was a joke. There was no prying involved. If a person thought it, he heard it, inside his head, whether he wanted to or not. Over the years he’d learned how to block out most of it for the sake of his own sanity, but being as it was the only skill he actually had, why not use it to make a fairly comfortable life?
• He tipped the waitress, generously, hoping she’d find a nicer place to work, and then downed the drink in one swallow and got up. Maybe if he slept on it, he wouldn’t feel he needed to be an upstanding citizen in the morning.