Free The Solitary Man by Stephen Leather Page B

multi-million-dollar trust fund and the sort of looks that had suitors queuing up to take her out, she worked long and hard and was one of Hutch's most loyal employees. He hated having 52 STEPHEN LEATHER to lie to her, but there was no way he could tell her what was wrong.
    'A week. Maybe longer. You don't mind holding the fort?'
    Chau-ling smiled broadly. Hutch knew she relished being left in charge and she'd regularly demonstrated how capable she was. As well as having killer cheekbones and the longest, straightest hair he'd seen outside of a shampoo advertisement, Chauling had a business studies degree from Exeter University in the UK and an MBA from Harvard. Hutch had already decided that once he'd left Hong Kong, he'd write and let her know that the kennels were hers.
    'And I can't reach you?'
    'I'll call you.' He put his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her oval brown eyes, as trusting as any of his dogs. He felt a sudden rush of guilt, so overwhelming that he caught his breath. 'I'm sorry,' he said.
    'What? Sorry for what, Warren?'
    Hutch forced a smile. 'For leaving you in the lurch like this.' He faked a slow punch to her chin and she grinned. 'I'm going to have to give you a raise.' He picked up his black nylon holdall and patted his jacket pocket to check that his passport and ticket were there.
    'Got everything?' Chau-ling asked.
    Hutch looked around the room. His books, his CDs, the statues and trinkets he'd collected on his travels around the region, all the things that he owned, he was going to have to leave them all behind. 'Yes,' he said, almost to himself. 'I've got everything.' A change of clothes, his washbag, his electric razor, and his Filofax. Not much to show for six years, but he'd left with less before.
    A red and grey taxi was waiting for him outside his front door. Chau-ling waved goodbye as he got into the back of the cab. Hutch closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his seat. He was surprised at how guilty he'd felt when he'd lied to Chau-ling, surprised because ever since he'd arrived in Hong Kong he'd been living a lie. Even the name she knew him by wasn't real: Warren Hastings just happened to be the name that Eddie Archer had chosen for the paperwork he'd put together in his Tower Hamlets workshop.
    He was going to miss Chau-ling, and the dogs, and his friends. He would have liked to have been able to have said a proper goodbye to Davies and Metcalfe but there would have been too many questions. Hutch couldn't afford to let anyone know what his plans were.
    'Shit.'
    'Huh?' grunted the taxi driver.
    Hutch opened his eyes. He hadn't realised that he'd spoken out loud. 'M ganyu,' he said. Nothing important, in Cantonese. He'd gone to a lot of time and trouble to learn the language, and now it would all be wasted. He'd have to run far away from Hong Kong, he'd have to cut all the connections with his old life, just as he'd done seven years earlier. It would be like a rebirth, but first he'd have to kill off Warren Hastings, kill him off so unequivocally that no one would go looking for him. He'd have to find a new occupation, too, and that was a shame because he'd loved training dogs. Chris Hutchison had been a locksmith, Warren Hastings had been a dog trainer; God alone knew what he'd end up doing in his next life. He was thirty-two years old and he was running out of options.
    He patted the holdall. The Filofax in the bag contained details of the half-dozen bank accounts he'd set up in various offshore locations: Jersey, Guernsey, the Cayman Islands and Gibraltar. He wouldn't risk touching his two bank accounts with the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank but he'd be able to transfer his money out of the offshore accounts as soon as he was out of the territory. It wasn't a fortune, most of his assets were tied up in the kennels and the house, but it would be enough to buy him a new identity.
    The taxi dropped him in front of the airport terminal and Hutch strode into the