Fred wouldn’t tell him who it was on the way to the hotel. “You’ll find out when you get there.”

Why the mystery? Well, he was at the hotel, and he still didn’t know. He was being given a few minutes alone to “freshen up.” He didn’t have any luggage-that had been burned in the taxi-so freshening up consisted of washing his hands to get rid of the hospital smell. And noticing in the bathroom mirror how ugly he looked with two black eyes and the tape that covered his nose and much of his face.

He did have a new shirt and pants. Peaches had purchased them for him while he was at the hospital, because the clothes he had been wearing were covered with blood. Fred had promised that underwear and more clothes, and even a toothbrush and razor, would show up at the hotel. He had yet to see them.

He did one other thing. He opened the bottle of morphine tablets that the doctor had given him, swallowed one, and flushed the rest down the toilet. He knew from his training that morphine was one of the most addictive drugs in existence, and he wasn’t having any part of it, even if it cost him a lot of pain. He wouldn’t be controlled by anything or anybody.

There was a knock on the door. Drake opened it and saw a pleasant-looking man wearing a colorful sport shirt, glasses, and a concerned expression on his face. Youngish, but with a touch of gray in his otherwise dark hair that was neatly in place and cut with precision.

He extended his hand. “Casey Messinger. I’m very sorry to hear about your accident. Terrible thing. I’m looking into it.”

“Nice to meet you.” Drake was surprised at the strength of his grip. His name sounded familiar. “Are you by any chance the CEO of Giganticorp, Mr. Messinger?”

“Call me Casey. And yes, Oliver, I am.”

“Call me Drake.”

They both laughed. Drake immediately liked him. Not just his manner, but he was the first Giganticorp employee Drake had met who might actually be a runner.