“I had someone who raised me,” Evan said. “Who was a father to me. He didn’t tell me he was proud of me often. And I remember that even when he did, I didn’t believe it. Because I was just me, right, and even though he was honest as hell, a little tiny part of me thought he’s just saying that because that’s what adults say to make kids feel good about themselves. Or because they have to.” He leaned forward, placed his palm on Peter’s arm, looked him dead in the eyes. “I want you to know I know that little part. I know it in you. And I’m telling you, it’s wrong.”
Peter rose from his chair, circled the table, and hugged Evan around the neck hard enough to choke him.
74
Nowhere Left to Go
Fresh lemon and currant.
That’s what led the nose of Guillotine Vodka. Made from white and black grapes that had been handpicked in the Champagne region, Guillotine was distilled in cognac barrels made of Limousin oak, which smoothed out the mid-palate. Velvety mouthfeel, good weighting on the finish. When Evan closed his eyes, he could pick up the faintest exclamation of Szechuan pepper.
Emerging from his vodka freezer wrapped in tendrils of mist, he set the martini glass on the kitchen counter. His RoamZone was plugged into its charging station, pinning down that yellowed newspaper clipping he’d taken from his mother’s wallet.
His father.
A bronc rider.
For the love of Mary.
He figured that after the last few weeks, he’d take some time before diving into the next familial adventure.
But he’d keep the phone near him. Someone else was out there right now in gut-wrenching despair, someone who needed his help.
And it was his responsibility to be there for that call.
The events set in motion by Veronica’s call had dragged him back to his past and in doing so had taught him about a different kind of future, one that integrated who he’d always been with who he wanted to be.
He needed to meditate and find how these new realities could live inside him. How he could make room for them and let them germinate.
He picked up the phone, smirked, and shot Joey a text. LUNCH AND A MOVIE TOMORROW?
The three bubbles indicated she was typing back. Then: NEW PHONE WHO DIS?
He actually laughed out loud.
Evidently she’d joined him on the other end, her next message coming through. LOL. YEAH.
He padded to his bedroom. Frost from the freezer still clouded the martini glass. It was cool in his grip, against his lips, contrasting with the warmth it spread through his belly.
Delightful.
He reached the bedroom and passed the floating bed. The Laser Warning Receiver clip rested atop his bureau with some spare change. It had served him well.
He had about an hour now to sip vodka and center himself before heading downstairs to join Mia’s dinner party. Her brother would be there—and his wife—and Evan felt the old discomfort glow to life in his chest.
What should he bring? What would they talk about? What if they asked him personal questions?
He moved to the window and gazed out. The setting sun had morphed from yellow to amber, overflowing the horizon to suffuse the urban corridor of Wilshire with a royal glow.
The windows of the building across mirrored back Castle Heights. Evan could see the entirety of the building beneath him, all the floors, all those condos in which people carved out lives for themselves, lives filled with grief and joy, despair and hope.
And for the first time, he wondered if he actually might belong here.
It came so faintly he almost didn’t register it.
Three notes from a bugle.
Taps.
He swung his head to face to the bureau.
Sure enough, the Laser Warning Receiver was lit up.
Panic hit his bloodstream, a mass injection of adrenaline.
He pivoted back.
Saw a metallic glint hovering twenty meters outside his bedroom window. Two yellow-green eyes staring back at him.
And ten meters behind that, three more microdrones loitered in place, a hundred meters above the boulevard below. Grouped tightly to compound their explosive effect.
The glass had already left his hand.
Vodka fountaining up, describing an arc in the air.
He was through the door into the hall by the time the martini glass shattered behind him.
He reached the big room when the first microdrone hit, penetrating the armored glass of his bedroom window.
Heat at his back, a rising hum.
The other three rocketing through the breach hole into the penthouse.
He hurdled a treadmill, shoulder glancing off a heavy bag.
Slammed into the sliding glass door of the south-facing balcony.
Wrenched it open, ripped it shut behind him. He careened into the railing, whirling to face the drop, cars and pedestrians swimming vertiginously below. Nowhere left to go.
An instant later the penthouse exploded.
Acknowledgments
Orphan X gets to live and breathe because of you, my readers. Your engagement, your energy, your passion is why I get to spend my days in a delightful reverie.
You have my gratitude.
As do:
The booksellers and librarians who have been with me from my childhood, shepherds to the world of stories.
My publishing team at Minotaur Books: Keith Kahla, Andrew Martin, Sally Richardson, Don Weisberg, Jennifer Enderlin, Alice Pfeifer, Hector DeJean, Paul Hochman, Kelley Ragland, and Martin Quinn.
My crew at Michael Joseph/Penguin Group UK: Rowland White, Louise Moore, Laura Nicol, Ariel Pakier, Jon Kennedy, and Christina Ellicott.
My representatives: Lisa Erbach Vance and Aaron Priest of the Aaron Priest Agency; Caspian Dennis at the Abner Stein Agency; Stephen F. Breimer, Esq.; Dana Kaye, Julia Borcherts, Hailey Dezort, and Nicole Leimbach of Kaye Publicity.
The subject matter experts Evan depended on for this adventure, including:
—Geoff Baehr, expert in all matters digital
—Michael “Borski” Borohovski, hacker
—Duane Dwyer, United States Marine, co-founder of Strider Knives, professor of Gracie Barra Brasilian Jiujitsu
—Philip Eisner, narrative wizard
—Dr. Melissa Hurwitz, physician
—Jeremy Levitan, PhD, expert in microdrones
—Dr. Bret Nelson, emergency medicine (offense and defense)
—Kurata Tadashi, twenty-first-century samurai
Delinah Hurwitz, my heart; Natalie Hurwitz, my light; Simba and Cairo, my id; and Marjorie and Alfred Hurwitz, my foundation.
Also by Gregg Hurwitz
THE ORPHAN X NOVELS
Orphan X
The Nowhere Man
Hellbent
Out of the Dark
Into the Fire
OTHER NOVELS
The Tower
Minutes to Burn
Do No Harm
The Kill Clause
The Program
Troubleshooter
Last Shot
The Crime Writer
Trust No One
They’re Watching
You’re Next
The Survivor
Tell No Lies
Don’t Look Back
YOUNG ADULT NOVELS
The Rains
Last Chance
About the Author
Gregg Hurwitz is the author of the New York Times bestselling Orphan X novels, most recently Into the Fire. Critically acclaimed, his novels have been international bestsellers, have graced top ten lists, and have been published in thirty languages. Additionally, he’s sold scripts to many of the major studios, and written, developed, and produced television for various networks. Hurwitz lives in Los Angeles. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraphs
1. A New Brand of Danger
2. Serious Business
3. Whittled Down to Uselessness
4. Next-Level Deep Shit
5. A Killing Tool
6. A Suicidal Ghost
7. Cookie-Cutter Psyops
8. Sucker
9. The Woman
10. A Dog’s Breakfast
11. Just Fucking Perfect
12. People Skills
13. A Test
14. Wildly Out of Context
15. A Million Pieces of Evan
16. Outsize Monikers and Well-Honed Skills
17. The Social Room
18. Picking a Fight with Vodka
19. End of the Line
20. Bad Company
21. Busted Creatures
22. A Lifetime Ago
23. A Statue Garden of Zombies
24. An Unusual Relationship
25. The Wide World of Fuck
26. Pick Your Poison
27. Lost Boys
28. Penance
29. Broken Heart
30. From Nothing to Something
31. Chasing Good
32. Lifelike
33. Search and Destroy
34. Taste of Copper in the Air
35. Science for Two Hundred
36. Four-Letter Word
37. To Be Continued
38. Road Trip
39. Hold This
40. Proper Identification
41. A Dark-as-Fuck Rabbit Hole
42. The Stranger
43. Cuddle Huddle
44. Rorschach Blot
45. The Waiting Darkness
46. And They Laughed
47. White Knight
48. Better Than Real Life
49. A Nobody
50. Dummyproof
51. A Blob of Undefined Nothingness
52. Dogpile
53. Bump in the Night
54. This Shitty Life
55. Lost Cause
56. Help on the Ground
57. Some Kind of Thrill
58. A Whole Other Kind of Loneliness
59. A Burst Seam
60. The Other Half
61. Family
62. Your Dirty Parts
63. The Most Awful Thing
64. Wear the Brown Pants
65. Darker Darkness
66. A Nightmare Symphony
67. Mud Monster
68. Stop
69. The Love You Deserve
70. Dark Road
71. Ready
72. A Matter of Time
73. A Little Tiny Part
74. Nowhere Left to Go
Acknowledgments
Also by Gregg Hurwitz
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by Minotaur Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
PRODIGAL SON. Copyright © 2020 by Gregg Hurwitz. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by Ervin Serrano
Cover photographs: man © plainpicture/Mark Owen; cityscape © Gabriele Maltinti
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-25228-9 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-79449-9 (international, sold outside the U.S., subject to rights availability)
ISBN 978-1-250-25229-6 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250252296
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact your local bookseller or the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First U.S. Edition: January 2021
First International Edition: January 2021
Prodigal Son Page 39