Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) by Nathan Hystad (ereader iphone .TXT) 📕

“You know the drill. We have to make it inside so we can speak with him.” I had a feeling Hardy would want to talk to me once he heard what I had to say. A breeze carried through the courtyard, rustling more leaves, and I cringed against the chilly air. “Let’s go.”

“You sure he’ll be up?” Marcus asked, dropping his mostly-empty cup into the trash.

I peered at the watch, the same one my father had left in my care before his final trip. It was like he had known he wouldn’t be returning. I wondered what he’d given my sister. Bev had never mentioned anything of the sort, but then again, I hadn’t thought to ask.

“It’s after seven. He’ll be up.” The dawn was only beginning this late in the year, and we hiked the cobblestone sidewalk to the museum grounds exit. I didn’t bother going to the crosswalk, and waited until there was no traffic coming before jogging across the street. Marcus beat me to the other side, and we strode with purpose toward the building’s entrance.

“This guy must have done well for himself,” Marcus whispered as we neared the doors.

He was right. This building was gorgeous. Old money nice. I admired the ornate stone carving above the awning, and a hefty doorman opened the doors at our arrival.

“Can I help you?” he asked. He smelled like cigarettes and coffee, and I noticed the frayed sleeves and scuffed shoes.

“We’re here to see one of your residents. Mr. Brian Hardy. Suite nine-seventeen.” I dropped a hint of Bostonian culture into my voice, mimicking some of my old professors.

“Mr. Hardy rarely has visitors. Is he expecting you?”

I glanced at the man’s nametag without him noticing. “Darrel, we’re with the Committee of Archaeology and couldn’t reach Mr. Hardy by email or phone. He’s won an award for a study previously unpublished until someone found it in the archives two years prior. It is an article worthy of so much more than our mediocre award, but Mr. Hardy should be notified nonetheless.”

“I’ll have to call up, see if he’s better today.”

“Better?” I asked, furrowing my brow for added concern.

Darrel seemed like he’d said too much and lifted a finger, walking to the desk, where a pack of cigarettes lay beside an unread newspaper. I saw a key ring hanging on a nail stuck into the side of the desk, with a bellhop’s hat on the floor underneath. He returned a minute later, shaking his head.

“Sorry, sir. No answer. If you’d like to leave a message, I can…”

“No worries. Marcus, give the man something for his troubles.” I waved for the door, and Marcus seemed to comprehend my motivation.

“Thank you, Darrel. We appreciate your time…” Marcus walked to the exit, pulling a twenty from his wallet, and I moved as fast as I could, silently pilfering the key ring from its resting place. It was tight in my pocket, and I clutched my trench to keep the keys from ringing.

“Cold morning out there. Take care.” I stepped past Darrel, who was none the wiser, and hurried down the sidewalk with Marcus in tow.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

When we were around the block, I stopped and pulled the key ring from my pocket, two dozen keys jangling as I waved them.

“Professor Walker. I didn’t know you were so sneaky.”

With one glance at the building’s entrance, I waved Marcus into the alley. “Time to find our own way up.”

“Fine. But you owe me twenty bucks.”

6

After testing my patience searching for the loading zone entrance key, we were inside and jogging up the stairwell. It was dimly lit, and I doubted any of these well-off tenants used them often. By the time we made it to the ninth story, I was sweating under my suit and jacket. Marcus seemed unfazed by the workout.

“Getting too old for this, Prof?” he asked, holding the door open for me.

I huffed a bit and bumped him with my shoulder as I passed by. “I’m fine.”

“What are we going to do, break in?” Marcus asked. The carpets were a dark green, old but well maintained, and we walked by five suite doors before arriving at Hardy’s. Nine-seventeen.

I lifted a hand to knock but held back.

“What’s the matter?”

“What are we even doing here?” I asked. “I should be at home, working on my final exam study guide.”

“Don’t give up on me now, Rex. I had to break a date.”

I peered at Marcus, and he stared back eagerly with his dark brown eyes, a smirk on his face. He was right. I knocked three times and let my arms dangle by my sides.

No one answered. I went to knock again, and the door opened just enough for me to see a middle-aged woman through the crack.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a Filipino accent.

“We’re here to speak with Brian Hardy. He’s won an award…”

“How did you get up here?” she asked, glancing at Marcus.

“Darrel said he wouldn’t mind some visitors.” She started to shut the door, and I acted quickly, shoving my foot in the jamb. “Please. We’ve come a long way. Just tell Hardy that Dirk Walker’s kid is here to discuss the Bridge.”

She clearly had no idea what I was talking about, but nodded and opened the door wider. I didn’t enter yet, and we waited for a lengthy five minutes while she was gone. The décor inside the foyer was dated, but in pristine condition. There was a stack of papers near an umbrella stand, and a long mat covering the oak floor.

“Mr. Hardy will see you.” She seemed surprised by this.

“We’re sorry for interrupting,” Marcus told her, and she gave him a muted smile.

“Follow me.”

The hallway was short, the walls empty and devoid of anything personal. We passed a clean but dated kitchen, and I saw the living room was tidy, with a little TV mounted on the wall. The furniture looked unused.

There were two bedrooms, one with a cross on the