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

far more exhausted than she had in the grocery store parking lot. Edith held Carson’s hand, and their eyes were puffy, as if they’d just been crying.

“Fred, we’ll talk about it when we get to the safehouse. Do the kids need anything to eat?” I asked my sister.

Fred poked me in the chest. Hard. “Where are we supposed to go?”

I looked around. We were garnering some attention. “Seriously, we can’t talk here. Trust me, Fred. I’m only doing what’s necessary for you and the family.”

He glanced at my team and nodded slowly. “Fine. But this isn’t over. Where are we going?”

I leaned in, whispering an address. He scrambled for a piece of paper and a pen, but I shook my head. “Memorize it. Marcus?”

Marcus stood, handing Fred a burner phone. “Use the map on this. There’s one number saved on there, and it’s mine. Text if there’s any issues. We’ll be at the house in an hour and a half.”

Fred sighed and took the offering, shoving it in his jeans pocket. He no longer appeared upset, just afraid. “Are we going to be okay?”

I set a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “I think so.”

The waitress came, dropping the one plate to the table with a clatter, and Marcus smiled apologetically at her. “Can I get this to go?”

____________

We were ten minutes late, and by the time we arrived at the destination, we had a folder full of fake passports and a few other pieces of identification. Marcus hadn’t been kidding when he’d said his acquaintance was the real deal. I only hoped they worked when we used them at the airport.

I opened one, seeing Edith’s face. It was a good thing Bev was one of those mothers that insisted on posting every life event on social media, because we’d had a lot of options. This one showed the girl with no smile, cropped from a school picture the previous fall.

This region of Boston wasn’t on my radar, but it was beautiful. To our left was the Massachusetts Bay, and to the right, I spotted a lone lighthouse, standing tall and white, matching the snow on the shore.

“How many places did Hunter own?” Marcus asked.

“No idea.” The memory stick he carried hadn’t contained much, but it had supplied this address and a five-digit code, as well as a farewell message from Hunter himself. I closed my eyes, picturing the speech he’d given us.

His expression had been cheerful, and I couldn’t pinpoint when he’d filmed it. He’d fussed with the angle of the camera a bit before settling on one that made his chin look too big and his eyes distant. From the background, I guessed it had been inside the Parisian hotel, perhaps even on the night we’d ventured out in search of the third Token.

“Rexford, if you’re watching this, something dire has happened to me. To be honest with you, since the moment I saw you in the alley behind Hardy’s place in New York, I feel like each day has been a blessing. My life was due to come to an end eventually, and I’d been feeling that more and more lately. I am not well. The doctors have given me months, so if your heart is heavy over this outcome, rest assured it was inevitable.

“I suppose death is with every one of us, and I’ve lived a good life. Better than most, I like to think, even with my obsession looming over me with every step I took.” Hunter smiled as his hand slipped from the frame, returning with a glass of wine. It was three-quarters full, and he sniffed it before taking a sip. “Don’t live with regrets, Rex. Drink the best wines. Find love. Start a family, because even though we die alone, it doesn’t mean we should live alone.”

I’d teared up the first time we’d watched this. The two of us were more similar than I’d understood, and I heard the truth behind his advice. Now, as I sat parked beside the gate’s keypad, the memory only firmed my resolve.

“Are we going in?” Marcus asked. He was beside me, and he looked concerned. “Do you remember the code?”

“I remember it.” I pressed the buttons and the gate buzzed, swinging inward.

The house was more subdued than his East Hampton mansion, but it was still sprawling, laid out in a ranch style facing the ocean. My sister’s car sat beside Tripp’s borrowed truck, and the lights at the entrance were on. I parked beside them and stepped out, breathing the salty air from the water only a hundred yards past the house.

As I threw Hunter’s pack over my shoulders, I pictured the rest of the message. Hunter leaned toward the camera, his neatly-trimmed beard filling the screen. “You’ll find what you need where I’ve sent you. It’s the best I can do,” he whispered, glancing around the room. “Rex, finish this, and if you find Dirk, tell him I understand why he left me behind.”

I thought about this as I approached the house. Beverly’s shadow met me at the door, and Marcus walked past her with a quiet greeting. “I appreciate you bringing us to your dead billionaire friend’s house, Rex, but you need to tell us the truth.” Fred joined her, and I stepped inside, seeing the kids in the living room playing a card game with Veronica. They were laughing, a joyful sound to break the tension.

Kids were resilient, and they didn’t understand or grasp the severity of our situation. “Can we talk outside?” I asked. I let go of my pack and left my shoes on as I strode through the place. It was warm and inviting. A fire crackled in the woodburning hearth, and Tripp knelt at it, feeding the flames another log.

This house was far different, a style I hadn’t expected from Hunter. But he was a man full of surprises.

I glanced at the edge of the kitchen, to where a fully stocked bar sat. “I