I had to leave everyone and everything behind. My life is a lie, a fake ID. All because I stumbled onto LeHavre's secret lab.

They listed their own whistleblower number, but I never trusted corporations. The larger ones don't mess around. Government security pales in comparison to that of corporations involved in certain kinds of research.

They're not openly called hit men, but they designate a few of their security team as proactive and,voilà, you've got yourself a hit team. I assumed LeHavre's whistleblower number was that team's direct line. Their only question would be, "Where are you right now?"

Paranoid, yes, but better safe than sorry.

I had been working in IT at LeHavre's North American regional headquarters the past couple years in Brentwood, just south of Nashville, Tennessee. A conglomerate from Belgium was gobbling up bioresearch firms on this side of the pond and bought Hemsley Research shortly after I started there. I had a clearance level of "secret," but only those with "I'd tell you but then I'd have to kill you" clearance knew what really went on at that lab.

When the lab director's assistant Darla – a full-fig Get it here or here.

As recently as a few months ago, the Lazy Pug Café was nothing but a dilapidated old two-story farmhouse. Set back forty yards from the road, there was a beautiful old weeping willow in front and massive ancient oak tree out back. Abandoned years ago, the estate's only purpose lately was to serve as a sad but charming reminder of days gone by. Locals witnessing its resurrection were grateful someone was finally bringing the old girl back to life.

Despite the storm moving in from the southwest, people came from far and wide to have a look-see at the renamed, repainted and refurbished Lazy Pug Café. Originally white with a red tin roof, faded to pink, the newly dubbed Lazy Pug Café was now soft yellow with white trim and a solid black roof. From a distance, the thin film solar panels on top were invisible.

Between the Café and road was a long, gravel horseshoe driveway. In the middle of that space now stood one of the Café owners, Kirk Winley. Just shy of six feet, with thick brown hair and a full beard, his farmer's tan made his blue eyes stand out more than they might have otherwise. He crossed his arms and soaked it all in with a deep, satisfied breath. Get it here or here.

Dobie Pokorny was on tour in support of his manifesto, Another Way: Beyond the Status Quo. Driving north from Tennessee, after an angry mob in Indianapolis, he veered southwest. With stops in Illinois and Missouri – things got interesting in Missouri – followed by Oklahoma and Texas, it got downright weird in New Mexico.

His latest book was an anti-corporate diatribe born of a lifetime of people-watching and corporate employment. He never had a career. Just employment. One job after the other, never quite fitting in anywhere, never believing in the company he worked for.

The manifesto was something he believed in completely. From now on, spouting off for a living would be his career in spite of those who did not like his message or its messenger.

Word was spreading. Crowds were growing with each passing week. Well into his tour, he was filling up those previously half-empty hotel conference rooms, even the occasional small concert venue, as he shared his plans to save the world.

He was feeling good about things by the time he made it to New Mexico. After a rough start, he was finally doing what he wanted, staying sober, and saying what needed to be said. Get it here or here.

Zenya was just two-and-a-half when two very strange people came to visit her orphanage. They talked funny, she thought, as if almost able to speak properly, but with such horrible accents it was difficult to understand them. She assumed they were stupid. Gloopy, in Russian. They were there to see her, though – just her! – so she let it go.

She was devastated when they stopped coming after one week. It was not fair! They had been coming every day, and she had bows in her hair and wore a pretty dress every time! She thought they were The Ones! Guess not.

After a couple months – forever at that age – the memory of her visitors faded as that infamous Russian winter approached and she blended back into daily life at Dome Rebyenka (Baby Home) No. 1 on the outskirts of town. Someday, she knew, she would have her very own grown-ups to take care of her. She just knew it! They needed to hurry up, though.

Sure enough, one day as she and a dozen other children sat in kid-sized chairs along the back wall, those same two wonderful strangers reappeared.

Smiles all around lit up the playroom. Zenya's exuberance then collapsed into a withering pout as she remembered the abandonm Get it here or here.

Riva's gray eyes reach out and grab anyone careless enough to look directly at her. Her flawless skin glows in contrast to her long black hair.

She knows the effect she has on men and is not afraid to use it... most days. Not today. Her hair is a tangled mess, eyes bloodshot, skin a sickly pallor from whatever ailment has befallen her as she holes up in a 4-star high-rise hotel on LA's west side. She hates waiting on anyone or anything, but is now awaiting the arrival of her boss and mentor, Serge. The fact that she might be coming down with something only makes it worse.

She is in the downward-facing dog position, doing her evening yoga, when she gets the feeling she is not alone. Someone is in the room with her.

She ends the session with namasté, picks up the small-caliber pistol always within reach, and digs into her purse for a device given to her at training. The thing magically detects electronic bugs and heat signatures, all in one. She is not typically impressed with gadgets but has to admit this thing is pretty cool.

"There you are," she coos when she finds what might be mistaken for a cell phone. Clipping it to her waistband to leave her left h Get it here or here.

Benny sat alone by the door in a recently opened Asian restaurant. The laminated menu offered Mongolian, Chinese and Japanese dishes, with each written in its native language. He had to flip it over for the English version on the back.

He was taking his therapist's advice, "throwing caution to the wind" and "letting the chips fall where they may." A sex therapist branching out to grief counseling, she was all about the clichés.

Several months earlier, she suggested he get out more. Try new things. "Socialize! Experiment! eXult!" she quoted the tag line on her business card.

The "exult" line made him laugh, but he had to agree with the "get out more often" part. It had been a year and a half since the accident, and he was becoming a hermit.

Now, he was reconnecting with the world, getting out and going to restaurants with indecipherable menus. When the fortune cookie arrived, he cracked it open. One side of the paper displayed his lucky numbers. The other side said, "You will be a great leader someday."

"Ha!" he said to no one. "Who writes these things, my therapist?" A young Get it here or here.

Benny was on the elevator of a building he'd never been in before. It was climbing fast. Too fast. "It didn't stop on those floors," he said, looking at the still-lit numbers as it sped upward.

When no one replied, he looked to see if anyone heard him. Apparently not.

To his right stood an attractive blonde woman, thirtyish, in a blue blazer, matching skirt and white silk blouse. Seeing the crazed look in his eyes, she turned away and clutched her purse with both hands.

To his left stood a young couple. The woman's long black hair hung down over most of her face. She seemed intent on avoiding eye contact. Her heavily-muscled friend met Benny's gaze with a silent glare.

Benny returned his attention to the elevator control panel. He was the only one concerned or even aware the elevator was not stopping on their floors. What is with these people? he thought. He hadn't pushed all those buttons. Didn't they?

The elevator continued upward with increasing speed. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. It's going too fast! They were just a few floors below Benny's, and the knot in his stomach cinched tighter and tighter. Get it here.