Oliver sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, staring down at the cheap whiskey bottle that sat unopened on the rickety nightstand. His mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts.
He had been hiding here for three days now—three long, agonizing days since his escape. The CIA agent had let him go, clearly underestimating his resourcefulness, and Oliver had slipped away, avoiding prying eyes and unnecessary attention. But now, with no pursuers, no threats at his door, his thoughts turned to William.
William always knew everything. There wasn’t a single significant event in the city that escaped his network of informants and loyal dogs. Oliver was certain William already knew he had been released. And yet, no word had come. No summons. No call. Not even a coded message.
The sil
