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

Hunter slapped the arm of the couch and grinned at me. “We’re not finding our answers tonight, but with any luck, you’ll locate the fourth Token. You two know what is needed, and don’t forget to cover your tracks.”

Veronica was at the door in seconds, with her shoulders bare, and she grabbed a shawl from a hook near the exit. Francois abruptly entered from the front of the house, surprising both of us.

“This way.” He’d put on a tuxedo, and he indicated we were to join him in the black Mercedes idling near the doors.

“At least we can ride in style,” Veronica said, striding elegantly for the parked car.

____________

Cal Harken’s house was subtle from the driveway. Lush landscaping hid most of its front, and it was only when we entered the doors that we saw the expert craftmanship. This was the house of a young movie executive trying to break through in the competitive and nepotistic film industry.

Francois drove away in the car, leaving us stranded. He’d assured us he’d be close, and to text him the moment we needed to flee. We’d scouted three rendezvous points, varying from the front drive to the street behind the house to the gas station down the hillside, in case we were caught and had to make a dubious escape.

A young man in a tuxedo asked if we wanted to check any coats, and we turned him down, entering the foyer, which led to a large group of guests mingling. Many of them seemed to know each other, talking confidently and casually about politics or some movie they were trying to break ground on.

These houses were older, with low ceilings and compartmentalized rooms, making the place feel crowded. “Remind me why Hunter didn’t just call Cal and propose to buy the thing?”

It was a good question, and Hunter had his reasons. “How was he going to start that conversation? I was stalking the internet when I saw the hexagonal shape in the background of your shirtless photo?”

“You’re kind of sassy, aren’t you?” Veronica slid her arm through mine and kissed my cheek lightly. “Just play nice, hubby, and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

Most of the people were talking in the living room, which opened up to unfolded patio dividers. Christmas music played in the backyard, and red and green lights were draped around the entire deck. The view was astonishing, with the classic hill views you could only manage in California. Most of the guests were middle-aged or older, with a few younger ones spread out, talking loudly with one another. I spotted a man eagerly discussing his newest film project with a clearly disinterested man. His companion was knocking them back, with four empty martini glasses piled up on the patio table.

“Do you see him?” I whispered.

“Not yet. Wait, that’s his wife.”

I followed her gaze to where Mrs. Sarah Harken was smiling at the couple in front of her. She was probably only thirty, with curled dark hair dusting her shoulders. She seemed to catch us staring and excused herself, coming to greet us. We’d descended the deck steps onto a wonderful courtyard. A wood-burning fireplace sat in a stone wall, and guests milled about, some choosing to sit by the warmth.

“Have you decided on a drink yet? Henry makes the best Old-Fashioneds,” she said amiably. She walked us to the bar and kept talking. “I’m Sarah, Cal’s wife. I assume you know Cal?”

“Not yet, but that’s the purpose of the invitation, I think. My company has interest in working with Cal on a top-secret project, and we’re all very excited about it,” I said, mimicking the tones I’d heard on the pass through the house. Everyone had unbridled enthusiasm for the craft, their voices hitting octaves usually reserved for the theater.

Sarah perked up at this, and I had a feeling this house, the affluent neighborhood, and the fancy cars were something they’d stretched their budget to afford. “I didn’t catch your names.”

“Frank Winkle, and my better half, Chantelle,” I said, putting Veronica on display. She gave a brief curtsy motion, which wasn’t fully possible with the tight dress she adorned.

“Nice to meet you. What’ll you have?” she asked.

The bar was built into the courtyard, and the man behind it waited for our orders. Veronica asked for red wine for both of us, and he nodded, pouring from a dark bottle.

“Is Cal close by? I’d love to put a face to the name.” I peered around the yard, searching for him.

“He’s here. You never know with him. He’s always talking business with someone.” Sarah seemed to catch herself oversharing and smiled again. “I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.” She waved at two newcomers and grinned apologetically. “I have to go, but hopefully, we can connect later.”

“Thank you for coming to say hi. And you have a lovely home,” Veronica told her.

“Thanks, Chantelle.” And she was off.

“Nice work,” I mumbled. “Let’s get inside and see where his study is.”

Her heels clipped across the square and we returned up the stairs, me ducking to avoid the hanging lights near the top. I said hello to a few people, chatting with an older man about the beautiful out-of-season weather like I belonged, and finally returned into the house. Most had ventured outside, and I heard Sarah’s voice trying to gather everyone’s attention.

“I think the hosts are trying to move us to the courtyard,” I told the few people in the living room, and they grabbed their finger-food plates and glasses, almost leaving us alone in the house.

“Nice work,” Veronica said, kicking off her shoes. “I hate these things.” She left them at the end of the hallway and padded for the bedrooms. It was a ranch house, and I stopped near the bathroom, hearing the toilet flush. The door sprang open, and instead of looking like snoops, I pretended not to see the woman as I