Nowhere to Hide Read Online Free

needed King to get inside the room, maybe running would be the best way to protect Blake and MJ.
    Too late. MJ swung the door open.
    â€œKinger!” MJ said in his radio announcer voice that he thought was cool but no one else did. “Glad you made it. You feeling better?”
    MJ—Michael Johnson—was tall, gangly, and working hard on a mustache. If MJ’s hair had been blond, his mustache would have been invisible. Instead, because he had dark hair, the mustache looked like a smudge of dirt. And MJ was proud of it.
    MJ gave Mundie a questioning glance.
    â€œEvans sent me to pick up William and bring him to you guys,” Mundie said, pushing his way inside.
    William . A warning flag. Or not?
    â€œI’m CIA,” Mundie continued. “Need to see a badge?”
    â€œUh…” MJ said.
    King could tell that MJ was still trying to figure out why Mundie had called King by his first name of William.
    Without waiting for an answer, Mundie pushed past MJ down the short hallway. King stayed with Mundie. The hallway opened to a large suite that had a view of the Seattle waterfront. An open door led to a bedroom. There was a big, luxurious couch in the suite. It still had blankets and sheets and a pillow, as if either Blake or MJ slept in the bedroom and the other out in the suite. The sheets were folded neatly with the blanket, so King guessed it was Blake.
    Empty pizza boxes were stacked on a counter that separated the open suite from a small kitchen area. Beside the boxes were empty soda cans, stacked neatly. That would have been Blake’s work. Blake bordered on obsessive compulsive.
    Blake Watt barely looked up from a couple of computer screens on a desk against the far wall. Directly between both screens was an iPad on a stand, its screen black.
    â€œHey, King,” Blake said. “Good to see you.”
    The computers and monitors were obviously not part of the hotel suite. Cables snaked from the desk to outlets and to a printer on a smaller desk nearby.
    Blake’s chair was on wheels. He swung sideways a few feet to look at the other monitor and then did some rapid-fire keyboarding, still ignoring King and Mundie.
    Blake was fourteen and looked eleven. Skinny and blond. He wore a Minecraft T-shirt. Anyone who looked closely would see small circular scars on his arms. King knew they were burn marks from cigarettes. That too had been part of the Dead Man’s Switch events, all started by Blake and his computer expertise.
    Mundie walked to the screen.
    â€œHuh,” Mundie said after a few moments of observation. “Drone surveillance.”
    That’s when Blake seemed to realize someone else had entered the room with King and that the someone else hadn’t been Evans.
    Blake swung away from the screen.
    â€œWho are you?” Blake said bluntly. “Why are you here?”
    â€œEvans sent me,” Mundie said. “He wants an update.”
    â€œCode phrase?” Blake asked.
    â€œCode phrase,” Mundie repeated.
    â€œMJ,” Blake said, his irritation making him sound ten years older. “You let someone in without a code phrase? Evans said—”
    â€œHe’s got a badge,” MJ said. “He came with King.”
    Blake stood and faced Mundie squarely. He was half Mundie’s size.
    â€œSir,” Blake said. “If you don’t have the code phrase, you’re going to have to leave the room.”
    â€œGood work,” Mundie said. “Evans wanted me to test you. That’s partly why I’m here.”
    Mundie was focused on Blake, and Blake was focused on Mundie. That gave King the chance to slide toward Mundie’s back. King was so intent on what he needed to do, some of the symptoms of his panic seemed to slip away.
    King undid his belt and pulled it free of his pants loops. He slid the belt back through the buckle and left it looped.
    â€œGlad I passed the test,” Blake said. “Now let’s