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

kissed Veronica. She pressed against a bedroom door and let out a groan as we made out.

A few seconds later, she pulled away. “I think she’s gone,” Veronica panted.

I smiled, dabbing my lips with a sleeve. “I’m sorry. I panicked.”

“I’m not complaining.” She turned and tested the handle. It unlatched, and she entered the space. It was a guest room. I scanned the furniture. A twin bed with far too many pillows. An antique dresser with a vase of flowers and a candle. A closet. I went for it, opening the doors to find quilts and more cushions.

“Not here.”

We exited into the hallway. The master would be through the end door, so we tried the next one, finding it open as well. “Cal’s study,” I said as we entered.

Framed photos neatly covered the entire wall, and showcasing Cal posed with numerous movie stars, some hot newcomers, others Oscar winners, but I ignored them all as I went to the desk. A laptop sat unopened beside a banker’s lamp, and I flicked it on.

“If I was a unique metal souvenir from Hawaii, where would I be?” I asked out loud.

“He probably wanted to stick it on the mantel, but from the first encounter with his wife, she doesn’t seem the type to have things out of place. Especially during a party.” Veronica quietly sifted through his drawers, and we found the lower right one locked. The rest were stuffed with take-out menus, notes on napkins, and nothing remotely interesting.

I grabbed the utility knife from my pocket and sprang it open, making quick work of the cheap security system. The results were confusing. Inside were handcuffs, a necktie, and various contraptions I didn’t picture his put-together wife, Sarah, partaking in.

“There it is,” Veronica whispered, indicating beyond a clear bottle.

“Grab it,” I told her as I watched the door.

“No, you—” Footsteps cut her off.

I snaked my hand into the drawer, clutching the Token before sliding it shut. Veronica was already searching for a hiding spot and opened the closet doors. I sprinted in behind her and struggled to pull the second panel shut as the study’s entrance opened up.

“What are you doing?” a woman’s voice asked.

“What do you mean? I’m making some alone time,” Cal Harken said. I saw his face through the slats in the closet. The woman was most assuredly not his wife, and I judged her to be a good fifteen years younger than him: a young starlet looking for her first big break.

“Sarah’s here, Cal.” The girl put her hand on his chest, and he grabbed her wrist.

“I don’t care. She’s preoccupied with her little party.” He kissed the girl too roughly for my liking. I could smell the booze on him from here and saw Veronica tense as the young woman struggled to break his grip.

“Cal, not now. You have a house full of—”

“Listen, Brittany,” he said.

She slapped him, stopping his train of thought. “It’s Brettanie, and I’m leaving.”

His palm slammed the study door closed, and the girl gasped.

I was about to burst from the closet when Veronica beat me to it. She crossed the room with three quick steps and grabbed Cal by the collar, tossing him to the side. He hit a bookshelf and fell to the floor, his face shifting from shock to anger in a flash.

Cal tried getting to his feet, but I was on him, shoving him with my shoe’s heel. “Not today, buddy. Here’s what’s going to happen. Brettanie leaves, and you’ll go enjoy the party. You didn’t see us, and you’ll never touch her again.” I pointed at the girl, who was wiping her wet cheeks.

“Who the hell do you think—”

I opened the study door. “Sarah! Would someone find the hostess, I think she might…”

“Okay. Okay!” he hissed. “Just get the hell out of here. All of you.”

I smiled, making sure the girl went first, and we left abruptly, leaving Cal to recover inside. The Token was in my suit jacket pocket, and I could feel the metal shape pressing against my chest right where my tattoo was.

“Who are you?” Brettanie asked, her fake eyelashes fluttering.

“We’re your guardian angels, so take this as a sign from heaven. This world isn’t for you, sweetie,” Veronica said in her best motherly voice.

The girl nodded, gathered her stuff from the valet at the door, and disappeared down the drive.

“We should leave,” I said. The living room was half-full again, with guests tiring of Sarah’s speech, and someone had moved Veronica’s heels.

“Rex. Time to go.” Her voice was small, and I glanced up, seeing recognition in one man’s eyes. His suit was dark gray, his hair styled lavishly, but it was the same guy, the one from the black BMW in Boston. I’d only spotted him through tinted windows, but it was him.

“Damn it.” I turned, trying to be casual as I pulled my phone out. I texted Francois the number 2.

Veronica was out the door, barefoot, and I slipped the attendant fifty bucks. “Anyone comes after us, stall them.”

He looked at me, then at the money, and nodded with a smirk on his face. And we were off.

Ten cars were tightly parked on the front drive, and we broke onto the street at a full run. It was dark, with the moon high in the sky. A pair of headlights shone onto the street, and tires squealed as Francois raced toward the house.

Behind us, I heard the commotion as the attendant earned his cash. The Believer fell, tripped up, and a woman tried helping him to his feet. He slapped at her arm and pulled a gun.

“Stop!” he shouted as the Mercedes skidded to a halt. We started climbing into the back seat, and the passenger window opened.

I heard the gunshots before I saw the 9MM in Francois’ grip, and he pulled the trigger twice. The Believer fell to the ground before he had a chance to retaliate. I stared at his lifeless body, his own gun lying a short distance from his unmoving