Note: The fic is based on the Knight Rider: Fire&Ice fanfic series, specifically the last fic written in it called 'Adaptation'.
Fic archive: archiveofourown . org / series / 8189

Tiny references to the first Transformers movie (you don't have to have any knowledge of it).

Author's final note: I created Nick MacKenzie a long, long time ago while I wrote Knight Rider. When I started watching Person of Interest just a few days ago I was struck by the similarities between what my creation was/had been and John Reese. It took a hold of me and within one night this story had my brain running. I had to write it.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

He hadn't planned on coming to New York. There had been no reason to. He had cases that demanded his attention in other places; at least cases he was thinking about taking on. Lately, working cases had become his only way to stave off the darker thoughts. Cases and the continued presence of his partner. As if Karr would ever leave him alone.

No, he hadn't planned on coming here, but here he was. Nick MacKenzie let his eyes roam and found that nothing much had changed since the last time. Maybe there were even more people, if that was at all possible.

"Didn't think I'd ever see you again," a quiet voice said.

Nick wasn't startled by it. He had expected the man and he was more surprised to see him in one piece, sober and apparently healthy. A little grayer at the temples, maybe, but still like a hunter, a predator, ready to strike.

"I didn't expect myself," he simply answered.

The calm eyes reflected amusement and the man's mouth quirked in a brief smile; so brief, it might have been wishful thinking.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

He smirked. "Aren't we all? As it is, I survived. Death doesn't always have to be permanent."

It was what he had been trained to do: survive. Like the other man. Like everyone who had been working for The Agency.

"I can see that. Is it still Nick?"

MacKenzie shrugged. "It's as good as any name, John."

John Reese regarded him steadily. "Did you come here for a reason?"

"No. Cases are elsewhere. I was simply… interested."

"Sight-seeing?"

"Possibly."

Nick felt the slight pressure in his mind, the presence of his partner as Karr listened attentively. He was close, so very close, closer than ever before. Things had changed so much and Nick was still trying to adapt. He had left Nevada behind to deal with what had happened, to handle the changes himself.

Maybe it had been a mistake, but he had never been one to trust easily. Those he did trust were unable to help them. So it was back to the roots; back to trusting no one and dealing by himself.

"I was surprised to see you're back," he now remarked.

Reese's face was a mask. He was good. Nick knew the man was intensely good at his job, at being what Nick had been so many years ago.

"Heard you got purpose again," he added.

Reese let his eyes wander back to the view before them, the towering skyscrapers of New York City.

"Sorry to hear about Jessica."

The other man stiffened minutely. Then, "Looks like it's our curse."

Nick felt an old pain creep up his spine.

"I left for a reason," Reese said softly, voice so steady, it was as if he was simply talking about the weather. "I was selfish for once. I wanted out. They didn't let me."

Nick nodded slowly. Reese had been a regular. Not like himself. Not shaped and trained and programmed by a man with no conscience. No, he had been in the program and he had done his job. He had been good, one of the best, and he had paid for wanting something none of them were entitled to.

"You haven't changed," he now said, glancing at Nick again.

MacKenzie didn't meet the sharp eyes. Of course he hadn't. Things… things had happened. He still felt them happening ever since that blast of energy had hit him and Karr in Mission City. That had been a death and a rebirth and the worst and the best that had ever happened to him.

Karr surged forward at the thoughts, a liquid shadow that was so much part of him, he didn't really think about what it meant any more.

"Is he still around, too?"

Nick chuckled. "Of course."

Reese was one of the few who knew. One accidental meeting throughout a job years ago. Nick and Karr had made sure John Reese made it out alive. So now Reese knew about their existence, that Nick MacKenzie, a Ghost like him, hadn't died, that The Agency had released their hold on one of its creations…

"Who is holding your leash now?" Nick asked neutrally.

There was a long silence. "Don't you know?" Reese finally asked.

"I know something."

"You were always curious."

It got him a chuckle. Nick turned his back on the view and leaned against the low wall.

"You were supposed to be the next me, John. Possibly you are. You're that good. I hated to see what they did to you. So if the leash means you're past the death wish and the alcohol, so be it. We're hunters. We need to hunt. Whoever he is, he knows what you need."

Reese pushed away, too. The tall frame, clad in a charcoal suit and a neat, white shirt, looked deceptively slender and unthreatening. He moved fluidly, easily, prowling even though he wasn't on a hunt. He let his eyes roam, then stopped and smiled as he looked at a shadowy presence, barely perceptible.

"I didn't know you had a bodyguard, Nick."

"The same as he has always been."

Reese frowned.

"Things have changed, John. A lot."

x x x

Finch had been inexplicably privy to the meeting between Reese and a man who seemed to be a ghost of his past. In every sense of the word. What little had been revealed in the conversation had the billionaire aware that this was something his extensive research into the man who called himself John Reese hadn't revealed. Looking into who Nick MacKenzie was had proven to be impossible in the time he had been listening. The man was truly a shadow, a ghost, non-existent.

But everyone existed somewhere. Even Finch himself.

"Reese?" he asked quietly, making himself known to his 'partner'.

If Reese was surprised to hear him, possible aware that Finch had heard it all, he didn't let on.

"Care to tell me what is going on?" Finch queried, no expecting an answer.

He didn't get any.

So he busied himself trying to dig up something, anything, on the other man. Even the cameras had trouble fixing on him. Something was wrong, as if he was a null zone, a place in the net of electronic eyes and ears that didn't exist. A hole.

Finch didn't like holes.

x x x

"Care for a beer?" John switched topics, drawing a lopsided smile out of MacKenzie.

He hadn't seen the man in a very long time, but there was no denying the fact that he hadn't changed at all. He was older than John, an early creation of a rogue general who had paid for this with his life. Nick was a rumor, a shadow, a ghost, a legend. No one knew if he had truly ever existed and how much of him was true.

As it was, a lot was true and he was a solid reality. Still a ghost, though. A ghost who hadn't changed. MacKenzie looked… surreal, almost.

"Reese?"

Finch's voice in his ear was calm and collected, as he always was. But also curious and slightly on edge.

"Are you aware that your friend doesn't exist? And I don't mean it in the conventional sense you are used to."

Yes, Reese was aware of it. Very much. And something else. Something had happened to Nick, aside from the loss of someone close.

The old pain of losing Jessica reared its ugly head and he squashed it.

They had both lost something. For Nick it had been an even bigger blow. John knew because it had been the second and last time he had met the man before today. He had seen the life drain out of the glacially blue eyes, had seen the hard anger, the darkness, and he had known back then that someone would die.

Someone had. Coldblooded revenge. Reese knew the feeling and he had stood back and watched it happen.

Then Nick had disappeared, burying the one human being who had accepted him for who he was, never demanding him to change, knowing so much about it and still loving him. Reese had received an untraceable email weeks later. A brief thank you and a promise.

He had deleted it.

And continued to live until Jessica's death had erased everything but the pain from his mind.

Now Nick was back, in New York, and the pain crawled around his intestines.

"John, be careful," Finch only said, never expecting him to answer all the time.

He was. Even when they walked to a black car that he had seen last years ago and that still had his hackles rise. The stranger in the shadows had disappeared, like he had never been there. Reese didn't like not knowing, but with MacKenzie not knowing was a given. The man moved on completely different levels, had always been something, someone, way out of anyone's league.

"Hello, Karr," John simply said.

"Mr. Reese," was the dark reply.

He almost smiled. It was more than he had gotten the last time. Not that it helped him in his fight-or-flight response. Reese would have rather walked than gotten into the vehicle. As it was, he did and Finch's silent curiosity echoed in his ear.

x x x

::Reese is wired:: Karr remarked when they pulled away from the lonely viewing spot, heading toward a more populated area and a bar.

His scanners were mapping the passenger's body, looking for weapons – which Reese carried; and comm devices – ditto.

::His handler:: Nick only answered, the use of the implant something he never thought twice about any more. ::See if you can track him::

::You want me to scramble?::

::No::

Karr regarded him for a moment, then retreated without a comment.

Reese was surveying the inside of the car, sharp eyes noting what might come in handy. Nick didn't think the other man thought he could really escape Karr should the AI want to trap him, but he did what he had been trained to do. Nick would always do the same.

"Relax," he said quietly.

It got him a neutral look.

"Karr isn't a killer and you're not the enemy. This is a friendly encounter, John. It always was."

"Your presence in the same city I am," Reese listed. "Looking me up. Asking for a meeting. You have to say it does make one suspicious."

Nick smiled. "Maybe. But I'm not in that business any more than you are. I freelance and you're not on my list. Neither am I on yours."

"Starting with the problem of you having a valid social security number," Reese agreed.

"There's that."

"So why?"

Nick was aware he hadn't answered the question the first time. Not really. Silently he navigated the sparse traffic and steered them toward a small pub by the name of The Watering Hole. No one was tailing them and no one gave them a second look when they came on and chose a booth. One that was strategically located and gave both men at least some measure of control.

Both ordered a beer, their one and only alcoholic drink for now, and Nick added a large glass of Coke.

"Something happened," Reese remarked. "To you. To him."

Nick looked at the other man; someone who was so much like him. In so many ways.

"Why did you really come here, Nick?"

He smirked. "Don't you know how it works, John? This is so much more than Don't Ask Don't Tell. Even that doesn't work any more. I came here because you blipped on my radar. I was curious. Sometimes the dead rise from their graves."

"I wasn't buried yet."

Hard blue eyes narrowed. "You were almost done burying yourself, Reese. You didn't kill yourself the conventional way. You didn't jump in front of a train or shot your brains out. You took to the bottle and you disappeared. You became a shadow of what you were before, but you wouldn't die. Never easily. Too much fight still left." The ice blue eyes hardened even more. "Because we're trained foremost to survive. Death isn't an option, not even in the worst emotional states. We shy away from it. We simply become… inactive. We fade, but we don't die."

John's face was a mask, but it was clear to Nick that he had hit the nerve. He knew it; he had been there.

"Someone handed you a reason to come back. Someone dragged you out of your grave and made you live again. I wanted to know what side you're going to play on."

"Because I might get in your way?"

"I've learned a lot about black and white, John," Nick said instead of a straight-forward answer. "There are a lot of different shades of gray. I think you like that color as much as I do."

Reese didn't twitch a muscle, just nursed his beer.

::I found the source:: Karr told him calmly. ::Do you want me to scramble?::

::No. Get me the data::

::Let's just say you two aren't the only two dead men walking:: the AI replied. ::The listener is, too::

Why wasn't he surprised?

"Things are very different now," Reese only said, voice level.

"When you're dead, things change." Nick smirked.

And when someone summons you from that grave, gives you a purpose, life changes yet again. Reese had experienced that resurrection and it had done him good. It had chased away the morbid lingering at the edge of death. John Reese wasn't suicidal, he would fight to live, but now he was also fighting to save others.

Nick knew the feeling, the satisfaction it had given him. He had helped. He had saved lives instead of destroying them. He owed this to Michael Knight and Kitt. Reese owed it to a handler Nick didn't know yet, but he would dig up that information.

He was just curious by nature.

x x x

Finch was blindsided by the sudden attack on his systems, drawing information so fast, it was inhuman. Beyond anything a machine could do. Not even a Cray could get in and out like this, fast, furious, in a split second, taking everything and leaving no trace and no damage. Like a sweep. No data corrupted, none copied, just a peek and then… nothing.

"Reese," he addressed the agent, voice maybe a little but more shaky than usual. "Might telling me just what your friend is? Because he might just have hacked into the Machine and taken a peek at everything. And I mean everything."

There was silence. Reese didn't answer him, but the image Finch had on the screen, transmitted by the bar's camera, showed that the former agent had leaned forward.

"Got enough?" he heard Reese ask.

"You know how it works," MacKenzie answered calmly. "And yes, it was enough. Don't worry. I'll be gone again tonight. I've a different job."
Reese said nothing. Then, "You're asking for my trust."

Finch waited, silently watching, aware that whatever and whoever this Nick MacKenzie was, he was out of their league. Way out. Something was different, something was going on… and he knew he would start digging into it, whether Reese asked him to or not.

"No, I'm not." MacKenzie emptied his beer. "I know it's not easily given. But you know me. You know what I did and what I do now. What I can do. This isn't about you or your Handler. It's about me and those who trust me. I failed once. I won't ever again, John. Ever."

Finch felt cold all of a sudden, for no other reason than the fact that those words were no empty promises. His fingers flew over the keyboard, requesting information that he knew was out there somewhere.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

It was late when he entered the abandoned building that housed the heart and soul of their operation. At least it seemed to. Reese had no idea how many different homes and bases Finch had set up. He only knew that Harold Finch had created a net that was as incredible as it seemed impossible.

His 'handler', as Nick had called him – and in a way it was true – was as always at his computer. Impeccably dressed, posture stiff and the pale face showing lines of ever-present pain, he was a far cry from the men who had given Reese his orders before.

Now he looked up, the eyes behind the glasses sharp as always. John had been struck by the quiet intelligence before, the way this unassuming man was so powerful, moved so easily in the shadows, and held such a secret in his hands.

"You have interesting friends, Mr. Reese. Or shall I say 'acquaintances'?"

Nick was far more than that. He was the same as Reese, a prior model but no less than him. Maybe he was a friend, but shouldn't friends know more about the other? MacKenzie usually knew everything about someone. Reese couldn't say he did about Nick. Aside from the information he had been privy to.

"Mr. MacKenzie is a very fascinating man. I believe 'myth' is still an understatement. From the firewalls and defense programs I've run into looking for him, I take it he has a lot of firepower to aim at us."

There was a nuance of unease and Reese knew that Finch was taking this personally.

"He won't compromise us or the Machine, Finch," he now said.

"How can you know?"

"I simply do. We're not his target."

"How comforting."

"It should be." He almost-smiled. "Look at the data you have, Finch."

"Nothing, Mr. Reese. I have nothing."

"Which is a lot."

The other man gazed at him, face unreadable. His stiff posture was interrupted by a brief flex of fingers, telling Reese of a surge of pain. One day he would find out what had happened to whoever Harold Finch had been. He wasn't one to give up on finding information. Finch knew it and he wasn't really thwarting his efforts, simply watching like a teacher to see how far a student would get on his own.

"Who is he?" Finch asked, straight-forward, voice no-nonsense.

"You know who he is."

"You give me too much credit. I can piece together some information, but the big picture eludes me."

"Then maybe you have a few more puzzle pieces than me."

"He worked for The Agency," the billionaire stated.

Reese said nothing, just leaned almost casually against the wall.

"He got lost in the system, like you. He disappeared, like you. But he didn't try to kill himself."

"Not like me," Reese agreed.

"You know him."

"I know of him. We met before. Twice."

"Since you survived the encounter, I take it you parted on amicable terms."

"In a way."

Memories threatened, of loss and pain and briefly seeing cracks in an impenetrable armor. Seeing emotions where they didn't belong, seeing a human being. Reese had never held Jessica in his arms as she died, but he knew what Nick had felt, what had broken inside the man, what had grown dark and shriveled up and died. He firmly believed that the only reason why MacKenzie was a) alive and b) almost back to human was the fact that his death would mean another death. Karr would perish, too. After turning killer and probably taking out a few more innocent lives, that is. So Nick had worked through something terrible and had come out reasonably human.

Reese became aware of the knowing eyes watching him and he pulled his own shields together. Finch could still see through them and he wondered just how this man could do all that he did, know so much, be who he was.

"Nick MacKenzie was created, Finch. He wasn't recruited the conventional way. That much I can tell you. The Agency graciously overlooked that the program existed and it was very… successful for a while. Then things flew apart. Nick vanished." He hesitated, then decided to take a gigantic leap and give the other man something to chase. "Look up Wilton Knight and his Foundation. Look underneath, Finch, past the glamour. There are two projects there. Nick was intended for the first. The second was implemented later. You won't see his name, but you might get an idea."

And it would keep him busy. Reese had once chased those elusive files and he had been uncharacteristically shocked by what he had found. The few lines had been cold and clinical, but he knew what they meant. He knew where Nick had disappeared to, where he had tried to find a new purpose.

In a way he had.

With a hefty price.

"I will, Mr. Reese," Finch simply said.

"Nick won't be a problem. Not for us, for what we do. Or for the Machine."

"Are you aware that he can create a literal hole where he should be?" Finch asked mildly, but underneath that he was clearly affronted.

John smiled, for the very first time. "I would have been surprised if he couldn't. Look up the files. I think you can get the idea from there. Whatever happened afterwards, I'm not sure."

And something had happened, especially within the last five years. Something had changed, had changed Nick. The man shouldn't look like he hadn't aged a day. Maybe setting Finch on his trail would help close a few more gaps in the puzzle.

Then again, maybe it would open up a lot more holes.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

They hadn't left immediately. Nick sat inside the black Stealth, eyes on the quiet darkness outside. Things moved in the shadows, but he didn't really care. The car was near-invisible and even if there was unwanted attention, it wouldn't be a bother for long.

Old wounds. Facing Reese had opened a lot of old wounds. Not the truly ancient ones, just those he had worked so hard on scarring over. Loss had threatened to tear him apart and he had no idea how he had survived the months after Alex. He knew Karr had played a big role. Karr and Kitt and Michael. They had helped. As had the cases he had thrown himself into. One had been the fateful one in Mission City where his life had been yet again turned upside down and inside out.

Gazing at one hand he flexed his fingers. Skin, muscle, bone and tendons. Nothing out of place, but he knew he was different now. So much had changed.

It was no use pondering that now. He couldn't go back and undo it. He had to live with it all, make the best of it.

At least it meant that Karr didn't face the problem of a human's life expectancy and then a shut-down. Because that had been the ugly specter looming over them. Nick had never had any illusion about his own life, of how it would end. Violently. Prematurely.

At least it would have been like that before his involvement with the Foundation and the other neuro-link pairing.

He sighed softly.

Karr was silent, waiting, his presence subdued but alert.

"It's watching," Nick finally broke the silence.

"His Machine," Karr agreed. "It's not sentient, though. It's hardly even intelligent." He sounded disdainful.

Nick smiled. "Intelligence can develop."

"It wasn't programmed to be one."

"What it records… it's almost impossible to comprehend."

And he had tried. Karr had actually watched the Machine, had given him a copy of one of the reports, of the irrelevant data Finch snatched each night and copied to his own files, those that gave Reese a new one to handle. But there were so many and all were lives who were possibly in danger.

It boggled the mind.

Nick was tempted to follow one of the numbers, find out what was really behind it, but he knew it was impossible. He had different cases, other lives to save.

"Let's go," Nick murmured and the engine started with a soft purr. "I need a change of scenery."

The Stealth rolled out of the shadows, onto the sparsely populated streets, leaving New York at a moderated pace. Nick didn't look into the rearview mirror. He simply gazed up ahead, aware that Reese's knowledge of them was risky. Then again, Reese was a ghost himself.

"Do you really trust him?" Karr broke the silence.

"As much as I can."

The AI mulled that over as they headed north, toward Washington. Michael and Kitt were there, handling a delicate matter. Nick needed a distraction and political cases were usually distraction enough.

Karr snorted.

His driver smiled, pushing the last dark thoughts away.

Karr would keep his own files on the Machine, on the irrelevant data. He would keep a close eye on what Finch and Reese did because maybe one day, Nick might need that intel. It always paid to be prepared.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Harold Finch sat in the dark, quiet space he called his base of operations. Outside the smeared windows the city was lit up and bustling with the night life of New York City. Inside the abandoned building there was silence. Except for the hum of the machines around him, nothing moved.

He gazed at the screen, reading over the information he had gathered within the past weeks, mind almost blank.

It read like a movie script.

Reese had given him a name, thrown him a lead, had let him run with it. Finch had no illusions about Reese's intentions. It had been hard enough to dig this deep, go past very elaborate security measures and drag the ancient files back into the light. He knew he was good; he had the codes and the knowledge and the backdoors.

Now he knew a little more and he knew that his curiosity would get the better of him. He wouldn't stop digging. It was dangerous, but Finch hadn't come this far by shying back from danger.

He had ideas now, where to look, where to tread carefully. He had file numbers he would be able to track, he had names. He had what he could unearth about Wilton Knight's KARR project. That alone read frightfully like a horror movie. He knew where MacKenzie had come in and what Knight had planned with him. He also knew the man had disappeared when the project had failed.

Finch didn't believe in the failure; he believed that since MacKenzie was out there, the project was also still active. But how and why and when and through what, whether it still ran the original course or not, that was still a big unknown.

Reese had been completely silent about it all, letting him do what he wanted. He was on their latest case and it was for once a rather easy job. About to be wrapped up. It gave them both a breather.

Not that Finch appreciated free time. Too much time to ponder, to think. In that he and Reese were very much alike.

Something drew his attention to his mail account. One of the many he kept. There was a message there. Finch frowned and clicked it open.

You are very good, Mr. Finch, the mail read.

Against his better knowledge, Finch hit reply and typed, Thank you, Mr. MacKenzie.

He wasn't surprised to get an immediate answer.

I wouldn't have expected any less of a man who gave John Reese a new purpose.

Like you were given?

Our situations differ, Mr. Finch, but essentially we are the same. I'd appreciate you keeping this as close to your chest as you keep everything.

I don't like threats, Mr. MacKenzie.

It's far from a threat. It's a request.

Finch pondered that. A new mail popped up. It contained a string of numbers.

You don't know me, I don't know you, was written underneath. Should you need to, contact me. It's a one time offer.

Translation: follow the number and Finch would probably lose more than a few files. The sweep had shown him what this man was capable of, what he had access to. The sweep had tickled memories of a project he had been called upon once, years ago. He had had access to something surreal for only a few hours, but he had recognized the sweep as something similar in origin.

He made a mental note to look up some old files when he had the time.

The number was a code, a phone number for his computer, for any electronic device he could use to send an email. Use it and he would get in contact with MacKenzie. Abuse it and things would get more than a little hairy.

Finch hadn't come as far as he had by thinking people like this man made idle threats. If he was who Finch believed him to be, who Reese hinted at, he would follow a promise made.

He closed the mail account and briefly considered deleting it and any trace, then decided against it. Nick MacKenzie was very savvy in that regard. Thinking he didn't know about the other accounts would be very foolish.

"Your friend is a rather… intense person, Mr. Reese," he said, adjusting the headset.

John was cleaning up the last traces of a finished job. "You think?" he answered casually as he left the car he had used where it wouldn't be found for a while. Even if it was, there was no lead back to him or Finch.

"He gave me his number."

A chuckle was the answer. "You piqued his interest."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Depends on what you want to do with the knowledge. You thinking about recruiting him, Finch?"

There was a light teasing note, something that had come into their conversations now and then in the past weeks. Reese was slowly adjusting to Finch, as Finch was adjusting to what might be called an operative in any other agency. He wasn't an agency, though.

"I believe 'handling' you is my full-time job for now, Mr. Reese," he replied mildly.

"Don't sell yourself short."

He smiled thinly. Pushing all thoughts of Nick MacKenzie out of his mind, Finch turned to his board, gazing at the many faces and numbers and newspaper clippings. The machine had given him so many possibilities again and he would have to pick one.

Keep busy.

Keep them both from thinking about their pain and their loss.

And keep him from losing himself in the search for what the other ex-agent was, where he was, what he was doing, and who was possibly handling him. If anyone was at all.

Finch made a choice and set to work.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

It was two months after their meeting that Reese received a package. He had no idea how anyone could know where he lived, but when he took out the smart phone, he knew. He was surprised, but not too much.

The device clicked once, then booted without his doing. The screen lit up.

'ID confirmed' it read and Reese wondered how it could have known. Then again, if this came from who he supposed it was, he shouldn't wonder. Nick had some really interesting tech.

The smart phone dialed and suddenly Nick's recorded voice came through the ear bud that was normally only accessed by Finch.

"Hello, John. Don't worry about anyone listening in. Mr. Finch is currently not privy to this. He's a very curious man and so am I. Quite an interesting character, actually. I'd love to meet him one day. I found some things you might be interested in. It's up to you what you do with them. The phone reacts only to you. Anyone else won't ever know what is on it."

Yes, very nifty tech. Reese was secretly impressed.

"Let me just say that I had to dig deep. Graveyards are that way."

The voice message clicked off. Reese understood. Graveyards. Places where he and Nick had gone to. Land of the dead. He had suspected Finch to be there, too. Dead to the world. His cover personas were multiple and various.

Scrolling through the files he started to read. Names, faces, finances. Companies and stocks. Connections and trades. It was a lot. Some things didn't even bear a mark of the man, but it all ran together somewhere. Nick had been thorough. Very, very thorough.

Reese finally clicked off the phone and slipped it into his pocket. There was more, a lot more, very detailed and thorough, but for now he knew enough.

Enough to stay on and let his new handler call the shots.

Enough not to call it a leash.

Enough to start trusting a little more.