Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One), Nathan Hystad [primary phonics books .TXT] 📗

Be in touch,

Rex

I hit send before I could talk myself out of it. My father’s words from his journal rang though my mind as I closed the computer. If life gives you an opportunity, say yes. No one has lived to the fullest overusing the word no.

The younger me hadn’t understood the exact meaning of his words, but now it felt like he was trying to tell me something. A lesson from the past.

Someone knocked on my door, and a second later, Marcus’ head was poking into the room. “Rex, time to ditch the tie. There’s tennis courts in the back.”

I laughed and waved him inside. “It’s November. Not really tennis weather.” My jacket sat near the door, and I recognized the book we’d pilfered from Hardy’s place. In all the excitement, we’d forgotten about it altogether. “Marcus, Hardy’s journal.”

He raised an eyebrow and snatched it up. Lacking any grace, he bounded onto the bed and opened the cover. “This is bizarre.”

The book was covered in symbols and writing, but not in a language I’d ever seen before. “See if you can scan something and cross-reference it with your database. It could be a primitive dialect.” I flipped through it, seeing more of the same squiggly lines. From this vantage point, it appeared to be the ramblings of a madman, but judging by the age of the binding and the cracks in the leather spine, Hardy had written it when he was much younger.

I closed the journal and handed it to Marcus. “It’s always another mystery. Why can’t anything ever be simple?”

____________

Dinner was incredible, and I dropped the napkin on my empty plate. The food had been spicy, and I already knew I’d be desperate for an antacid before bed, but at the moment, I thought it might be the best paella I’d ever had. Marcus was onto seconds, but Hunter had barely touched his food.

The dining room was ridiculously large, but his décor was simple and tasteful. White wainscoting; tray ceilings holding fixtures with minimalistic medallions. It was less distracting than I’d expect from such a mansion, and it told me a few things about the billionaire beside me.

“Why have you never been married, Rex?” Hunter asked out of the blue.

I sipped from a stemmed glass, enjoying the smoothest red Spanish wine I’d ever tasted. “It hasn’t happened.”

“It’s because he’s too closed off to let anyone in,” Marcus said from across the table. “I’ve been trying to convince him to do some dating for years, but he rarely goes on a second one. It’s kind of sick.”

I frowned at him, wondering why he’d tell Hunter any of that. “I haven’t met the right woman, that’s all.”

Hunter set his fork down and dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “This life isn’t for everyone. It’s difficult to keep a partner who understands our obsessions. I had one, once…” His voice drifted with his gaze. “She was everything I ever wanted, but…”

“What happened?” Marcus asked.

“She left years ago. We weren’t copacetic, so it seems.”

“Was it mutual?” I found myself intrigued. I’d expected the wealthy collector to be more difficult to hold a conversation with. My experiences with him as a younger man had been rushed and short-lived, but now, I hated how much I was appreciating the dialogue. Here was a man that had legitimately known my father for years. It was a connection I’d never sought before.

“I have to say that almost any decision in life, when made by two people, is rarely mutual, Rex. Sometimes one person is for or against one side, and the other is leaning that way, but it’s not the same as being equal in the outcome.”

“Meaning you had reservations, but she did the walking,” Marcus offered, making Hunter laugh.

Hunter turned his attention to Marcus. “Yes, Marcus, you’ve read the situation correctly. And you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you wish for a long and healthy existence? Perhaps with a wife, offspring tearing up the carpets and drawing dinosaurs on the wallpaper?” Hunter asked.

Marcus paused eating, his fork hovering with a piece of sausage near his lips. “Nope. No kids for me. I prefer the bachelor lifestyle at this point anyhow. I mean, I couldn’t leave for Venezuela if I was tied down.”

And there it was. I’d asked Marcus to keep our destination a secret, but the moment it leaked, I understood exactly what the old man had been doing. He’d been lulling us into complacency, confident we’d slip about our mission.

To his credit, Hunter didn’t comment on the error. “Children can be far more rewarding than that. It’s one of my biggest regrets.”

Francois was there to clean up our dishes, and he refilled our wine glasses, even though I shook my head when he drifted behind my shoulder. “Look, Hunter, we’re going to take the money, but I’d prefer to keep the details between Marcus and me for the time being.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t want to get a dying man’s hopes up, would we?”

“It’s not going to work. I think I may have found something that can lead us to the Bridge, but if it falls flat, I’m hanging up my hat. You’ll have to dangle your money in front of someone else,” I told him.

Marcus raised a hand, his index finger lifted. “I could always—”

I amended my statement. “Marcus and I will be done if we don’t discover the next clue.”

“Very well. It’s getting late, and I have to be leaving.” Hunter Madison rose, still in his expensive suit, and smoothed his tie with his palm.

I was in jeans and a sweater, opting for more comfort, and I peered at an old grandfather clock just as the hands struck ten PM, a chime ringing as many times. “See you in the morning.”

“I’m afraid I have some business to attend to. The driver will return you to the city. Be ready at nine in the morning. Francois will see to your breakfast.” Hunter stepped over, his arm extended. I