slowly release. People who cut into their steak right away disgusted him. Why buy a perfect cut only to destroy it in the cooking process? There was nothing worse than dry meat. He’d had enough of that in his MREs, which he’d been grateful to have while on mission.
Restlessness filled Carl as he paced his deck, wanting to go to Avery. He was trying to figure out his feelings for her, and instead he found himself aching, needing to hold her, needing to talk to her, needing to figure out why he was feeling how he was feeling.
Forgetting about his steak sitting on the counter, Carl walked inside his house, then moved to his garage. He went to his garage door and flipped on the light.
His tools, golf clubs, and hunting gear sat neatly on a shelf in the back corner. But a person wouldn’t even notice that stuff as their eyes would be fastened to the black Audi R8 Spyder that was a pleasure to open up on the road. With all of the custom upgrades, the final price had been two hundred thirty-five thousand dollars. His first thought as he’d presented the cashier’s check for the fine automobile had been that it had cost three times more than his father’s one and only home purchase.
Surprisingly, Carl had never had regrets about buying it. He loved his car, but he still kept his sturdy truck. One of Carl’s stress relievers was finding back roads to test the power of his fine machine.
Looking at the car, Carl knew what he needed right then was a fast drive. He had to get this fog out of his head. He had to figure out why his life seemed to be spinning. Was it time to leave his job? Was it time to move on? Did he want to leave San Francisco? Did he want to leave Avery? What was happening to him?
Forgetting all about his perfectly grilled steak, he decided he needed speed more. He jogged inside the house, grabbed his wallet and keys, then slipped into the buttery leather seat of his car before revving his engine.
For just a moment he turned the car in the direction of Avery’s place. On their way back from Napa Valley, she’d insisted on having the top down and she’d laughed with joy as she’d held her hands in the air, her cheeks pink, her eyes lit, her smile heart-stopping.
What wasn’t to love about her? There was a connection between the two of them he couldn’t deny — didn’t want to deny. But she was helping her mother at the bar that night, so he didn’t want to distract her. Her uncle wasn’t doing well, and that was cutting into their time together. He felt selfish for missing her, for wanting to take all of her time.
Instead of heading to Avery, he found his way to HWY101. At night, there wasn’t as much traffic, and he luxuriated in the cool wind blowing over him while the heater kept his body warm. The farther he got from the city, the freer he felt.
No stress.
No flashbacks.
Nothing but wind and a smile on his face. Damn, he needed to do this more often.
He was about a hundred miles from Frisco when a notification lit up on his console, new text from Eyes.
It was still hard for Carl to use Jon’s name. In the military, at war, or preparing for missions, they always used call signs. Hell, some men never knew the real names of members in the military.
Carl hit the button to read now and a voice message came over his speaker: Stop everything you’re doing, make sure you’re sitting down, and take a call coming in to you in less than five minutes.
“Alrighty then,” Carl said out loud before replying with a simple, OK.
The music began again where it had been paused for the message, and Carl hit his blinker as he slowed enough to whip into a driveway off the road. He moved down it, noting the overgrown foliage. It was abandoned.
Perfect.
An old barn was about half a mile down the rock driveway, and he moved up next to it, parking. In exactly five minutes his phone rang with an unknown number. He clicked the send button.
“This is Carl Schwartz,” he said in a clipped voice.
There was a short pause. “Carl, thanks for taking my call. My name is Chad Redington; I have a matter to discuss with you that requires discretion.”
“I’m alone, you can talk,”